“You have no cause to worry Grace. It’s my belief that when he gets to see you, he’ll be more than content.”
Grace opened her mouth to ask what in the world he was talking about when it suddenly struck her. The Duke of Blackmore had no idea who she was.
Oh God, that was even worse. How the devil was he going to react when he saw her face for the first time as they made their vows? He may not even complete the ceremony. Grace couldn’t decide which would be worse – if he cried off, or if he actually went through with it.
“You know quite well father that we don’t mix in the same social circles,” she countered desperately. “I’ll be a laughingstock.”
The Reverend couldn’t help observing that his daughter was now wringing her hands, and alarmed, he looked over at his wife who actually appeared to be asleep. Grace’s response had been the last thing he’d expected.
“Agnes?”
His wife’s only answer was a gentle snore. Hastily the Reverend pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time before tucking it back into his waistcoat. “Now there will be none of that,” he finally said gruffly. “You are my eldest and far past marrying age. The Duke has agreed a more than generous offer and you will wed him.” He finished on a suitably decisive note which he hoped would put any ideas of rebellion out of her head once and for all.
Grace’s thoughts conjured up the man who’d haunted her every waking moment since their meeting, his cold piercing eyes and deep frown sending shivers down her spine. What would it be like to be married to such a man? He would most likely lock her in her room and throw away the key
“I cannot,” Grace said, once more, her voice this time trembling in a most un Grace like fashion. “I cannot father. Do not force me.”
The Reverend was at a loss. Not for one second had he imagined Grace would be against the match. Faith, it was far, far better than the chit could have hoped for. And to top it all, the Duke was hardly in his dotage, but a man in his prime and handsome to boot. A war hero no less.
“Grace,” he said finally in exasperation, “What exactly is it you wish me to do? Do you wish me to refuse the man who has our livelihoods in his hands? We would likely end up in the workhouse. Is that what you want for your sisters?”
Grace stared wordlessly at him, stricken. The Reverend knew he’d struck a chord and shamelessly pressed his advantage. “Should you refuse to wed him, I will be forced to choose another of your sisters to take your place,” he stated matter of factly. “The decision is yours.”
With that, he climbed laboriously out of his chair and pompously exited the parlour in the manner of a man accustomed to having his commands obeyed by his offspring.At the door, he paused and turned back. Grace hadn’t moved. “I will expect your decision before dinner,” he said, ensuring his tone was firm and brooking no argument. “The wedding will take place the day after tomorrow.”
Grace frowned and opened her mouth to speak, at which point the Reverend decided that stateliness be damned and beat a hasty retreat.
∞∞∞
“The day after tomorrow!” Oh Grace, how can father expect you to get married so quickly?”
“I thought the Duke was dead.”
“He’s so old!”
“Is this the new Duke?”
“I didn’t know there was a new one.”
Temperance and the eldest twins, Faith and Hope, were the three sisters closest to Grace in age. They had been hurriedly dispatched to attend their sister by the Reverend in another obvious attempt to force his eldest daughter’s hand. So far, it seemed to be working. There was no way Grace could in good conscience allow any of her sisters to be sacrificed in her place. Nevertheless, their horrified faces weren’t exactly helping matters.
Grace fell back on the narrow bed; her body still numb with shock. She was going to be a wife in two days.
To the Duke of Blackmore. The man she’d rudely informed not two days ago that she had no intention of ever taking a husband and would never belong to anybody.
Looking about the room, Grace briefly contemplating gathering a few things and climbing out of the window to escape the fate that her father had bestowed upon her. She could smuggle a few notes from the drawer in his study and beg a ride out of the village.
But where would she go? She had no extended family to reach out to and everyone she knew lived in this village. And she simply couldn’t leave any of her sisters to endure the same fate.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. She had no recourse but to marry the Duke.
Temperance reached out and patted her sister’s knee. “I know how you must be feeling dearest, but surely it could be worse. He could have promised you to Percy!” She frowned at a sudden horrified thought. “Surely father wouldn’t consider any of us for Percy…”
“Faith,” Grace muttered, “it’s certain poor old Percy would have an apoplexy at the thought of being saddled with any of us.”
She refrained from commenting that their father was going to find it difficult to provide all eight of them with suitable matches – or any one of them for that matter, so it wasn’t entirely a bag of moonshine to imagine their father might be desperate enough to consider his curate.
The only reason the Duke of Blackmore considered her suitable was because he’d only recently returned home and didn’t know of her. Or her sisters…
“And you will move into that grand house,” Temperance continued, determinedly avoiding the thought of Percy as a possible husband, “with your own servants and beautiful gowns. Oh, and the parties. You can throw wonderful parties.”
Grace looked at her sisters.
