She had said it.
Facing Kendall in this moment . . . well, she now knew how to describe the sensation of a doomed man looking down the barrel of a rifle. The mad heartbeat, the perspiring palms, the sense of surreal calm . . . they all had to be similar.
Kendall stared at her, thethwap thwapof his hat against his thigh echoing loudly in the silence.
“I have invested significant time in this political maneuver, Miss Brodure. I will not have it upended at this juncture due to female vacillation and hysteria. Too much is riding on your commitment.”
“Your Grace,” her father stretched out a placating hand, “I am sure with some discussion we can reach a compro—”
“Save your conciliatory speeches, Dr. Brodure,” Kendall snapped.
Her father flinched, retreating back.
Viola experienced a flash of anger over the duke addressing her father so.
“I face strong opposition from the Whigs,” His Grace went on. “Periodicals likeThe Rabble Rouser—a publication I shudder to call anything other than a putrid cesspool of typescript—are gaining traction with their melodramatic stories of woe. We need Miss Brodure’s tales to counteract their message and ensure that my rivals are unsuccessful in their attempts to reform the Poor Laws. Our current laws are already sufficient.”
Viola’s lungs tightened.
Yes.
Definitely the sensation of imminent death.
She closed her eyes, praying for divine guidance,anythingto help her understand how to proceed.
“And then there is the matter of Mr. Penn-Leith.”
Viola’s eyes flew open. “Pardon?”
His Grace tossed his hat atop a side table. “I overheard talk about your relationship with Mr. Penn-Leith.”
“Mr. Ethan Penn-Leith?” Viola asked faintly. Just for her own clarification.
“Of course Mr. Ethan Penn-Leith. What other Mr. Penn-Leith is there?” Kendall’s frown deepened, as if she were the veriest simpleton.
Right.
Viola took in a slow breath, pleading with her lungs and nerves toplease cooperate just this once.
“I cannot say that I consider Mr. Ethan Penn-Leith to be anything other than a f-friend, Your Grace.”
“I am hardly convinced that is the truth, Miss Brodure,” Kendall said. “From an outsider’s view, you seem to enjoy Mr. Penn-Leith’s company.”
“But—” Viola began.
“No. I will not argue this point. You will carry on as you have.” Kendall held up a staying hand. “You do not have to actually marry Mr. Penn-Leith, Miss Brodure. Simply become betrothed. Write the story.The Gentleman’s Magazinewill run your tale.Everyonewill read it because your name will already be in every newspaper due to your betrothal. Then once the vote has been defeated in Parliament, you may quietly cry off. I fail to see why this process remains so difficult for you to follow?!”
Anger and outrage filtered through Viola’s anxiety.
Oh! The audacity of this man!
How could he stand there, gray-haired and looming, and propose such unconscionable scenarios as if they were commonplace?
“B-because it would be hurtful to Mr. Penn-Leith to lead him on so. Because it is my own reputation, Your Grace, and I do not wish to be labeled a jilt—”
“Pardon? Your reputation is already in jeopardy. You have led Mr. Penn-Leith to have expectations.” Kendall began to pace the room, a concession, Viola supposed, to his agitation. “Everyone anticipates you two will marry. The Queen herself awaits it. Whether you refuse him now or in a few months’ time, the damage to your reputation is already done.”
Viola inhaled—a sharp, staccato sound.
