A Hasty Betrothal. Jessica Nelson

      Elizabeth’s arms crossed her middle. He would like to imagine she was sorry for her harsh words, but he began to think he’d assigned to Elizabeth a heart that perhaps she did not truly possess. All for the better that she found marriage as abhorrent as he did. Her family could deal with her. He was done.

      She sounded strained as she said, “I am merely pointing out that I want to marry only for love. Rumors abound in the ton. Let the gossip run its course. My parents and John shall be fine. They shall not suffer for my actions.”

      “And if the rumors don’t subside?”

      “I cannot marry someone who feels forced into the deed.”

      “You are being naive, Elizabeth.” He felt unruly inside, unsettled by her unexpected irritation, her complete lack of faith in his husbandly virtues. Not that he had faith in them himself. This was all for the best, he told himself. He turned the horses for Bitt’s home.

      “Better to hope for the best than settle for the worst,” she said.

      “Indeed,” he muttered. The worst meaning him, of course. “It was merely an idea to keep you from ruin, but since you feel it unnecessary, then we shall not discuss this again.”

      “I do so appreciate your putting aside your distaste for marriage in order to help me, but fear not. All shall be fine.” The hopeful lilt of her tone did not comfort him.

      John could still pressure them into marrying, citing honor, but at least Miles had offered before the request became a demand. He had fulfilled his obligation, but where he should have felt relief, he merely felt a deep emptiness, a wrenching certainty that things had not turned out how they were supposed to.

      Elizabeth wished to face life on her own terms. He could understand such a goal, and yet, watching her proud posture as they rode back, he could not shake the nagging feeling that this Season was bound to interfere with his life in a most uncomfortable way.

      * * *

      Life did not unfold as Elizabeth hoped. Neither did the rumors abate.

      She was sitting in the library the following day, congratulating herself on her newest find from Hookham’s Library, when her mother blasted into the room.

      Or so it felt.

      Mother snatched the book from Elizabeth’s hands, prompting a startled gasp and immediate irritation. She straightened, eyeing her mother carefully. The older woman paced the library. The calm she usually carefully exuded was gone, replaced by a tenseness that permeated the room and ruined any vestige of comfort Elizabeth had felt.

      “Is something the matter, Mother?” She played with the lace on her dress, dreading the answer.

      Mother swung around, slapping the book down on the nearby desk. “As a matter of fact, Elizabeth, there is. I was denied a voucher to Almack’s today. Denied. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? To be told my family does not have the prestige to enter? We have never been denied entrance. Never.”

      Elizabeth’s hopes imploded. “Was a reason provided?”

      “I know what the reason is. You are still in the gossips’ line of fire. There is only one way to remedy this.” Elizabeth did not miss the imperceptible tightening of her mother’s lips.

      The coiffing of Venetia’s hair must have taken her lady’s maid at least an hour to fix. She wore her favorite emeralds, as well, handed down to all the wives in Father’s family. His affluent earldom more than made up for Mother’s step down from being the daughter of a duke.

      She quietly waited for the woman who birthed her to speak. There had been a time Elizabeth longed to know the mother whom she resembled so closely, but that desire no longer existed. Not for many years, not since the evening she’d overheard a conversation that revealed her parents’ true feelings toward her.

      “Your father and I are in agreement that Lord Wrottesley might be willing to marry you.”

      Venetia’s eyes, the same shade of ice blue as Elizabeth’s, implored her to listen.

      “He is a viscount who has already shown an interest in you. There is no reason to believe that has changed.” Her mother paused, but not in a dramatic way. No, Mother did not put on airs. Her calmness quite made Elizabeth want to stomp a foot. “If Lord Wrottesley offers for your hand, your father and I are prepared to accept the proposal.”

      Elizabeth gasped. She’d suspected her parents’ plans, but for mother to speak them in such a way, with such finality... She clenched her skirts, readying to retort, but Mother held up a hand.

      “This Season, to my utter dismay, is proving more disastrous than your first one. An intervention is in order. Due to your unique situation, finding a husband is nigh impossible. Thankfully, Lord Wrottesley is in need of funds to bolster his estate, and you are in need of a husband to provide for your future and save you from ruin. This is a solution that will prevent further harm to the family’s reputation.” Mother bent her head, looking at Elizabeth in a not unkind way. “We worry about what will become of you, our only daughter.”

      How was it possible to wear such an air of concern while shattering Elizabeth’s world into a million unalterable pieces? A looking glass dropped to the floor could not be more broken than she felt at this moment. Her skin tingled, from temper or hurt, she was not sure. Her mother’s insinuations bristled every ounce of pride Elizabeth contained.

      “The reason I have no suitors,” she said in a tight, emotionless voice, “is due to a lack of desire for them. Should I want a man to secure my future, there are plenty of impoverished earls to choose from. There is no reason for you and Father to concern yourself with me.”

      Had she said such a thing to her mother? Yes, those words issued from her mouth, daring and bold and perhaps a very big mistake, for Mother drew herself to her full height, a scant inch above Elizabeth’s, and eyed her forcefully.

      “It is time for you to marry. Not only is it what is expected, but your actions have left us no choice in the matter. What of our reputations, Elizabeth? Your brother can not afford to be ill spoken of at this time in his career. A good name is pivotal to his success.”

      “What about Grandmother? Who will take care of her?” The fight was leaving her body, seeping away like morning mist. “And have I no say in who is to court me?”

      “If Lord Wrottesley offers, and we have reason to believe he will, then we shall accept on your behalf. A thanks would not be too much to ask.”

      “I should be thankful that you are forcing me into marriage with a cad?” Her cheeks flamed as she struggled to keep indignation from her voice. “He is the reason I find myself in this dilemma.”

      “Whatever are you talking about?”

      A hot flush of shame spiraled through Elizabeth. “He forced a kiss on me. At Lady Charleston’s ball. Mr. Hawthorne interrupted Lord Wrottesley’s ungentlemanly behavior, but it is because of him that I returned to the ball disheveled.” The admission cost Elizabeth her composure. Her fingers trembled. “Please do not encourage the viscount. He is dishonorable. I wish to marry for love, and love only.”

      Mother’s brows lifted. “I am dismayed. Why would you be alone? That is what a companion is for. To protect you from the likes of overly zealous gentlemen.”

      “He is no gentleman,” Elizabeth said darkly.

      “Regardless, you shall not marry a man of business. Mr. Hawthorne is an unsuitable candidate. Wrottesley is a viscount, heir to an earldom. There is no adequate reason to reject his courtship.” Mother waved a hand, dismissing further argument on the matter. “And what is this talk of love? That has nothing to do with a marital contract. Have you been reading that ridiculous poet again? Byron, is it?”

      “No, I simply long for a love like Jacob and Rachel’s in the Bible. Or perhaps Hermia and Lysander...”

      “Shakespeare? Really, Elizabeth,