She needed a husband who would make a place for her, who wanted her by his side, who would do whatever it took to be together. A partner. Someone who loved her for who and how she was, without exception.
More importantly, she did not want the sort of man who would send her away out of hand, who saidyou do not belongand meant it.
“What if,” Mrs. Eastburn mused aloud, “we discarded dukes for a moment and considered earls and marquises as well. There are many more of them, which would give us far more opportunity to find at least one willing to take a chance on your daughter.”
“It has to be more than a chance,” Mother said firmly. “He must take her as hiswife. Nothing else will do. I shan’t allow him to play with my daughter’s feelings.”
Bryony sighed down at the crooked horns on her sampler. It was statements like these that she both loved and hated the most.
On the one hand, it proved that Mother truly did care about her happiness, and that she fully believed marrying Bryony off to some titled stranger would be in her daughter’s best interest.
On the other hand, it also confirmed every suspicion that Mother hadn’t the least inkling what Bryony’s feelings on any given matter might be.
Possibly because she’d never listened.
“What kind of husband do you imagine for her?” Mrs. Eastburn asked.
“It has to be someone strong,” Mother said, as if considering the options. “A weak man would be unable to mold her into the kind of wife he needs her to become. The sort of woman Society expects her to be.”
Bryony rolled her eyes.
Even Mrs. Eastburn’s answering murmur was skeptical. “How much can we reasonably expect her to change?”
“I am certain she is capable of anything,” Mother said without hesitation. “She’s very clever, with more than just her violin. But she’s also very headstrong and requires a firm hand to keep her pointed in the right direction.”
Bryony’s skin crawled. She did not want a firm hand. And wouldn’t the right man be pointed in the same direction as she? Wasn’t that how one knew she had found the right suitor?
If her husband wished to mold her, to push her into a predefined shape until she hardened in his image like wax, wouldn’t that mean he had never wantedherat all?
Once again, she could not help but recall her most recent encounter with Max.
They had discussed numbers. Worked out a strategy. He did not treat her like a silly girl, or even like a man. He had treated her like an equal. Like a fellow human whose ideas and opinions were worth considering on their own merit.
And then he had actually done so. Had listened, taken her thoughts seriously. He had not accepted her words out of hand, of course, nor would Bryony have respected him for doing so.
He had done his own calculations. And when he determined she was, in fact, correct, he said so. Just like that. No angst, no anger, no issues. Justthank you, splendid idea, I’ll do that.
Very well, those might not have been his exact words. But it had been the sentiment. A sentiment Bryony felt so deeply because it so rarely was directed her way.
It meant even more because Max was no fool. Every other potential investor had turned down his daring proposal because they didn’t believe anyone could turn such a mishmash of ideas into a profitable club. He had done so in spades. Had proven them all wrong.
Instead of investing when they had the chance, all those naysayers now begged for the opportunity to walk through the front door and hand over their money. Delicious irony, that. Max knew what it was like to be underestimated. To be labeled without potential. A bad investment.
Perhaps that was why he was on her mind so much. It wasn’t his dark good looks, or the way one must keep one’s gaze fixed upon that wide, sensuous mouth if one had any hope of catching it in a smile. It was deeper.
They were more alike than she previously realized, and yet as much as they had both fought to carve their own paths in the world, they were still stuck inside the glass cases in which they had been born.
If and when he took a wife, it would be someone whose family would be proud of him, and vice versa. Who would rightfully believe their daughter had chosen wisely.
It would not be Bryony.
Chapter 8
After a long week of doing her best to stand up at every dance and flutter her eyelashes at any unwed, acceptable gentleman who chanced to glance her way, Bryony could not stay away from the sanctity of the Cloven Hoof for another moment.
Rather than let herself in a third time, she waited in the shadows until the last of the employees had left before rushing forward to knock on the rear door.
A sliver of moonlight fell across his face when he answered the door.
