“So, here is what will happen, Miss Waterstone. You will meet the dowager countess at the upcoming Shaftoe ball and behave as if we are a love match. Do not embarrass me. Obedience is paramount. After we wed, produce a handful of brats. In return, once you’ve fulfilled your duty, I will allow you to live out your pathetic life in the country along with the other sheep. Do I make myself clear?”
The entire courtship was a ruse, as was any illusion that she’d ever had a choice in marrying Dufton. It had likely been decided before she’d even met him. She might have considered, after today, that wedding Dufton would suit her, had Estwood not appeared and forced the earl to show his true nature.
There is only one way to have Marsden.
Father’s words at dinner. But what did it have to do with her? Mr. Hopps had been clear Lucy had no dowry. No property. No inheritance from her mother. Nothing of value at all.
“Would you like an ice from Gunter’s, Miss Waterstone?” The charming mask Dufton usually wore was firmly back in place. Asking her if she wished a bloody ice as if he hadn’t been threatening to lock her away mere moments ago.
“Delightful, my lord,” she murmured.
I will not survive marriage to Dufton.
That much was clear. Her existence with him would be far worse than her current situation under Father’s roof. Under no circumstances could she wed him.
A trickle of fear ran down her spine.
No matter how agreeable Lucy would be if they married, Dufton would still find a reason to lock her away one day. She knew it as well as she knew her own name.
“Splendid.” He sat back on the leather seats. “I know Waterstone said you didn’t care for ices, but I disagree. Everyone adores an ice on a lovely day. And this outing has been delightful.”
A sob crawled up her throat. Her fingers trembled. But she remained still.
At heart, Lucy was a coward. What little defiance she possessed had been a more recent development. But avoiding Dufton merited greater courage. Strategy would be required. She could not blindly accept the awful fate awaiting her.
I will not wed Dufton under any circumstances.
She repeated the words, over and over, like a prayer, hands clasped tightly so Dufton wouldn’t see her distress, as the carriage rolled in the direction of Gunter’s.
6
“Miss Waterstone.” Lord Dufton took Lucy’s hand in greeting. “How lovely you are today.” The practiced flattery coming from his lips did nothing to dull the threat lingering in his eyes. Nor to stop his hold on her hand, as he squeezed the fingers so tight, the bones pushed together.
Lucy wanted to scream. Stomp on his foot. Declare she would never wed him. But she only whispered, “Good day, my lord.”
“So fragile.” Dufton pulled her close so Sally wouldn’t overhear. “Breakable, in fact. Don’t make me break you,pet.” He released her fingers slowly before approaching her stepmother. “Mrs. Waterstone.” Dufton took Sally’s hand. “Another beautiful flower in Waterstone’s garden. He is a lucky man.”
Sally preened at the compliment, fluttering her lashes as if a rock were stuck in her eye.
Lucy took a place beside her stepmother on the settee. Clasped her hands. Stayed perfectly still. Watched as Dufton charmed Sally with his false smiles and platitudes. Her stepmother giggled like a silly schoolgirl the entire time. If she only knew what sort of man Dufton truly happened to be.
The earl flashed a sly grin in Lucy’s direction.
She tamped down the inclination to shudder, because he wanted her to be afraid. Dufton would take great pleasure in crushing Lucy beneath the heel of his boot. There was cruelty behind that affable mask he wore, a promise he would enjoy hurting her.
I won’t marry him.
I cannot be forced.
True, she had been subsisting on Father’s charity, so to speak, but that was due to the theft of her dowry more than anything else. She would rather live in Hyde Park than wed Dufton. The thought brought Estwood to mind, handsome and dazzling. Hating every inch of Lucy. It pained her greatly, what he must think of her. Possibly if she had shown even a hint of backbone at Granby’s long ago house party…if she had just?—
Stop, Lucy. There is a more urgent matter at hand.
She raised her chin a fraction of an inch to regard Dufton. He frightened her. But not enough to accept her circumstances. Father was a difficult man. Lucy knew that truth better than most, after a lifetime of tiptoeing around him. But she wasstillhis daughter. True, he’d taken her dowry. The money left to her by Mama.
Resentment seared at her skin.
But regardless of his glaring faults, Father loved her. He wouldn’t want her physically harmed. If Lucy explained the situation, surely, no matter the desperate circumstances he faced, Father wouldn’t wed her to Dufton.
