He sounded so bloody rational. Sensible. Logical, even. Jordan didn’t want to mention that Bentley had wanted to reject Miss Whitehall because she was less than appealing for some reason. No need to inform his siblings their new sister-in-law would likely be a troll of some sort. Nor did he want to express any of his other, unkinder, decisions he’d made where Odessa Whitehall was concerned.
Whitehall would getnothingbut a title for his daughter. That would be the extent of their association. If he had visions of attending balls and the like or a crop of titled grandchildren to bounce on one knee, he would be sorely disappointed.
Jordan didn’t spare a thought for Odessa.
“Bentley is dead?” A delicate voice came from the entrance of the drawing room. “And you’re marrying some horrid girl none of us have met so we won’t be poor?”
He, Tamsin, and Drew all looked up to see Aurora watching them, a basket filled with berries clutched in one hand. His youngest sister didn’t look upset, only annoyed she was the last to hear the news.
“I would like to clarify, for the room.” Aurora tossed her thick plait of dark hair over one shoulder. “That I gave up wishing for Bentley to rescue us long ago. I know you all think I’m fanciful, but not where he was concerned.” She frowned. “I don’t mean to say I’m not distressed at Bentley’s passing. He was my brother. But I’m far less upset than anticipated.”
Tamsin held out one hand, urging her to come sit. “You have a wonderful heart, Aurora. Bentley doesn’t deserve you mourning him. And we don’t know that Miss Whitehall is horrid.”
“Yes,” Jordan added without emotion. “She might be perfectly lovely.”
Chapter Three
“This is mostwelcome news.”
Miss Odessa Whitehall perched on the edge of the sofa in her father’s drawing room, nibbling on a currant scone. Amazing how much better a scone could taste when it was coated with relief. The Earl of Emerson, her unwanted, despised suitor, the third in little over a year, had perished when his barouche overturned.
“A gentleman is dead, Odessa.” Her great-aunt and chaperone, Miss Charlotte Maplehurst, looked up from the book in her lap. “I do not think his untimely demise is a cause for celebration.”
“It isn’t as if I’m dancing about or giddy with delight. But you must agree that Lord Emerson wasbeastly. Each visit was more awful than the last.”
“Yes, but you became more…revolting, niece. Your conversation grotesque at times. So much so that I am only relieved when your father didn’t see fit to be present when Emerson visited. Any gentleman, when faced with suchadversity,would find it hard to control his feelings. I feel I must point this out.”
“I expected disgust from him, but he was overly cruel, don’t you think? Condescending. Comes from being overindulged and privileged your entire life. I’ve more character in my pinky finger,” Odessa held up her hand, “than Lord Emerson possessed in his entire body. Thankfully, the fates sought to rescue me. I didn’t even have to resort to eating a strawberry to dispel him from my presence.”
“A truly fortuitous turn of events.”
Odessa wasn’t trying to be unkind in regards to Emerson; it was only that she hadn’t liked him. Overly pompous and possessing an extravagant ginger mustache, Emerson behaved at each visit as if Odessa were in the presence of royalty. He was the veryworstsuitor Papa had ever sent her way.
“Papa’s obsession with having me wed some titled, limp-wristed fop in the hopes it will make society accept me, and thus him, is an absurd notion. No acceptance was forthcoming after his marriage to Mama and no doors opened for me since. And Mama was the daughter of a viscount. Do you recall how he strong-armed Lord Norris? Forcing an invitation to his lordship’s ball?”
That ball was several years ago, before the parade of suitors. An event at which Odessa had been an unwelcome guest. Lord Norris’s ball had been the first real indication of her standing in London society. Or lack of standing. She’d planned her gown weeks in advance, a pale pink tulle, the skirts covered in tiny brilliants. Fresh roses had been woven into her hair. She’d been so excited.
“I do,” Aunt Lottie answered.
“What a travesty. Not one gentleman asked me to dance.” Requests for an introduction were nonexistent. Odessa’s presence was ignored completely. She had stood along the farthest wall, her hopes for dancing and perhaps a stolen kiss fading faster than the blasted roses in her hair. Possibly if she’d been a great beauty, some young lord might have risked paying Odessa some attention, but she was, at best, only passably pretty. Yes, her dowry was enormous. Papa liked to boast about the obscene amount at every turn, which did nothing to endear Odessa to society. No titled lord that Season had been desperate enough to allow their line to be tainted with the likes of the low-born Angus Whitehall or his somewhat plain daughter.
Papa, undeterred, changed tactics, hand selecting Odessa’s suitors.
“Now I face a stream of impoverished lords. My preference is not some titled nitwit who finds me so beneath him socially that only my dowry would induce him into my presence.”
Odessa had a stubborn streak and a great deal of determination. Papa’s choices of husband for her were, at best,repellent. Her romantic nature was partially to blame because she could not even contemplate the idea of feeling affection for the sort of man Papa thought appropriate. Or possibly, it was knowing the misery that awaited her from a marriage made for financial gain and status but little else. Her own parents had been trapped in such a union with disastrous results.
“Honestly, I don’t know why Papa assumes I want a gentleman, especially one with a title. Who cares if he can trace his line back to William the Conqueror? I certainly don’t. Lolling about doing nothing but gambling, dressing well, and attending balls.” She made a disgusted sound. “There isn’t anything wrong withworking. Papa is self-made.”
“Angus doesn’t see it that way.”
“Which is why I’ve had to take matters into my own hands.”
Dire circumstances often inspire enormous creativity. She had extracted a tear-filled promise from Papa, demanding that at the very least, she was to be courted by the man she would wed. If Papa were so determined she be a lady, shouldn’t Odessa be treated as such? Polite calls. Walks in the park. Possibly a carriage ride. Didn’t she deserve to have at least the semblance of affection?
A flood of tears had erupted from Odessa as she tried to convince her father.
She could not wed a complete stranger, or a man who loathed her. Odessa would do her part to foster a sense of companionship, but if the gentleman in question didn’t find she suitedhim, then Papa must accept the decision. There was a shoe for every foot, Odessa reasoned. She must be allowed to find the right fit.
