“Then just be so awful that he won’t want you,” Miss Dodd suggested. “That’s what I do with the earl. It’s working for me.”
Tabitha raised her brows. “Is it working?”
She’d seen the way the Earl of Gilbourne gazed at Miss Dodd when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Miss Dodd’s cheeks flushed pink. “All right, maybe it’s more complicated than that.”
“I wish life wasn’t complicated at all,” Tabitha said with feeling.
Her most fervent dream was to be released from this arranged marriage to a man she could not stand—and who patently had only the most superficial interest in her.
Tabitha wanted to be chosen for herself. Not for her age or her bosom or for the sake of convenience. She didn’t want to be a pawn in a lordly chess match. Or a consolation prize to a viscount who found her interchangeable with any other.
She dreamed of a love match. A real one. Birds and flowers and butterflies.
But even the best dreams came to an end.
“My father has no male heirs,” Tabitha said softly. “The marquessate dies with him because I was born the wrong gender. Papa’s sole legacy is for me to make a match that unites our bloodline with the Medfords. One little ceremony will heal a generations-old rift. And even if that weren’t the case, the damage is done. I’m already promised. Viscount Oldfield is my father’s bosom friend and… a fine catch.” She choked on the words. “If granting the dying wish of a father I adore is within my power, I must do it.”
Even if it killed her in the process.
Chapter 7
After the arrival of Lord Oldfield in Marrywell, the festival became significantly less enjoyable. Tabitha mourned the loss of her earlier pleasant days exploring the village and attending events alongside Mr. Frampton, but he could no longer even speak to her with his employer present. With the atmosphere thus spoilt, Tabitha made no objection to traveling home to London early.
In truth, she also missed her father. Every time she was away from him, she feared he would no longer be there when she returned. That day was imminent. But knowing the fate that awaited him did not make Tabitha feel any more prepared for his loss.
Hours later, she knelt once again by his bedside. This time, they were alone, save for a discreet footman and the omnipresent physician.
“Are you certain I should attend more balls, Papa? I don’t mind staying in with you.”
“Of course you should go,” he rasped. “We both know you won’t attend a thing during your year of mourning. I’d prefer you to make the most of your life while I still have mine to see it happen.”
Tabitha swallowed hard. The reminder of his impending demise was unnecessary and unwelcome. But the point of his message remained sound.
She nodded and squeezed his hand. “I just fear—”
The marquess turned his head. “Doctor, tell her what you told me this morning.”
Dr. Collins spoke briskly. “Your father’s health, while fragile, appears to be stable. You might have as much as two more months left together.”
Might. As if two months were a long time.
Then again, maybe they were. If Papa had eight weeks left, there was no reason to rush into a marriage with Viscount Oldfield. The nuptials could take place next month, and there would still be plenty of time.
Tabitha opened her mouth to make her case.
Before she could do so, a coughing fit overtook her father. Dr. Collins rushed over to help, while Tabitha looked on, concerned.
At last, the coughing subsided. Her father sent her a weary look. “Go and enjoy your youth, daughter. We’ll talk later.”
Tabitha squeezed his hand. She hated to leave him like this. But he needed his rest far more than she needed to pester him by pleading for a postponement to her wedding. So she kissed his clammy forehead and trudged back to her bedchamber, where Mary Frances eagerly waited to prepare her mistress for tonight’s ball.
Perhaps a change of scenery was just what Lady Tabitha needed.
By the time she alighted from the carriage, Tabitha was in much better spirits.
That was, until Lord Oldfield stepped out of the carriage behind hers.
