Yes. This man thirty-plus years her senior desired her for reasons unrelated to conversation.
Such was her impending marital bliss.
She turned and dropped to her knees beside her father’s sickbed. “Papa, surely you can see—”
“This union will heal a centuries-old rift,” he reminded her, sensing the direction of her plea and putting a stop to it before she could embarrass them both in front of the viscount. “You should be proud to be a vessel of peace.”
A vessel. That was exactly what she was going to be. A hard, empty vessel for Lord Oldfield to fill at his whim and to use as he saw fit.
Such unceasing attentions might break her.
“He’s a lord,” the marquess said hoarsely. “You should be grateful I’ve given you to such a fine friend. You might recall that Oldfield saved my life. I can never fully repay him for that. From the moment he and I first guarded the trenches together—”
Another war story. Heaven save her, Lady Tabitha had heard them all, dozens or hundreds of times each.
Father and Viscount Oldfield had met as British soldiers stationed together in the French revolutionary war, in the early 1790s. They’d both been raised to despise the other’s family, but nonetheless had become unlikely friends, united against a common foe. And when it had mattered most, Oldfield had been there for the marquess.
“He’s like a brother to me,” Father continued.
Tabitha wanted to scream, You wouldn’t betroth your daughter to your brother, much less whilst still in the womb, but she held silent. It didn’t matter what she said. Father was the marquess, and his word was law.
“Besides,” her father said gently. “You’ve always hated to see people upset or at odds. Your marriage will wipe clean a century of bigotry and prejudice. You should be proud to play such an important role, daughter. You love to restore peace. And a titled match makes you the envy of your peers. You have better fortune than most.”
Yes, yes, all of that was true, but…
Still on her knees at her father’s side, Tabitha cast a despairing glance up at Viscount Oldfield. He leered at her, displaying the multicolored teeth jockeying in his mouth. He’d lost several in the war. All of which had been replaced by teeth scavenged from the French corpses littering the battlefield.
She would get to think of that every time the viscount kissed her.
Tabitha shuddered. She couldn’t help it.
“It’s your turn to serve the greater good, daughter.” Father tilted his head toward the viscount. “Can you procure a special license?”
“No!” Tabitha scrambled to her feet. “I cannot marry yet. I’m not ready. This is… It isn’t a good time. In fact, I won’t have a free moment for a fortnight. I’m…” What could she conceivably be doing that would be more important than marrying a viscount? “I-I’ve already promised to attend the May Day festival in Marrywell. It lasts a week, and I must leave by morning to arrive for the opening ceremony.”
Father held her gaze, then cast his exhausted eyes up toward Dr. Collins. “If we read the banns first, what are the chances I will live long enough to attend the wedding ceremony?”
Tabitha sagged with relief—and guilt. She did not wish to disappoint her father or to cause him pain. A good daughter knew her duty and fulfilled it without question. Was she being selfish by not rushing into an unwanted marriage with a lecherous roué over twice her age?
“Shall you last another three weeks, milord? I should think so,” said the physician. “You’re not quite at death’s door yet.”
“But I have arrived outside its residence,” the marquess said dryly, only to be wracked by a rattling cough.
Viscount Oldfield jerked his gaze toward his attack dog. “Hudson, see that the first banns are read tomorrow.”
Mr. Frampton nodded. “It will be done.”
Lady Tabitha let out her breath. The banns would be read three consecutive Sundays. Fifteen days total, from the first reading to the last. It was not much of a reprieve, but it was at least something.
“Oldfield,” rasped the marquess. “Procure a special license as well. If I should worsen faster than expected…”
Tabitha swallowed. Her final fortnight of freedom would be curtailed in a second if there was cause to believe her father unable to hold on for the full reading of the banns.
“Consider it done,” Mr. Frampton assured both men, without looking at Tabitha.
The marquess’s pale blue eyes found his daughter. “Daughter…”
“I know, Father,” she murmured. “I promise to make you proud.”
