Victor assumed the worst. He could not help it. Gwen’s description of the man had been soft compared to what he imagined now. He pictured locked doors. Harsh words. Broken things. A woman shrinking in corners. A girl forced into compliance.
He should not think of those things. They were none of his concern. They had nothing to do with him. Yet each assumption lit a fuse that never reached its end.
On the third morning, his mother insisted on a walk in the park. She claimed the fresh air would improve his disposition, which she said had grown intolerably sharp. Victor did not argue. The alternative was remaining alone in the study with yet another ledger he could not focus on.
Dorothea kept her arm looped through his as they walked. She wore her most fashionable bonnet and nodded politely at every passing acquaintance, then frowned at Victor each time he failed to mimic her polished courtesy.
“Must you look as though someone has shot your favorite horse?” she whisper-hissed.
“I am not aware that I look so,” Victor answered.
“You look absolutely miserable,” she said. “If this is the result of mingling with the ton, I shall stop arranging invitations altogether.”
“That would be preferable,” Victor muttered.
Dorothea gave a soft huff of exasperation. “You cannot sulk forever, my dear. It is unattractive and gives people the wrong impression.”
“People have always had wrong impressions.”
They turned a bend in the path, and suddenly, two young ladies stopped short in front of them.
“Oh,” Arabella gasped. “Your Grace.”
Eleanor, ever composed, bobbed a graceful curtsy. “Good morning, Your Graces.”
Dorothea nodded with mild warmth. “Good morning to you both.”
Victor attempted nonchalance. “Lady Gwendoline is not with you?”
Arabella and Eleanor exchanged a look.
“No,” Arabella said softly. “She is not.”
“Why not? Is it not a lovely day?” Victor asked. The question came out more forcefully than intended.
Eleanor hesitated. “We have not seen her in several days, Your Grace.”
Dorothea looked between them with polite curiosity. “Is she unwell?”
Again, that look.
Victor’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice even. “Explain.”
Arabella swallowed. “We received a letter from her last week, Your Grace. She said that she had returned home safely, but she could not come see us.”
“Why not?” Victor pressed.
Eleanor answered this time. “Her stepfather has forbidden her from leaving the house.”
Victor went still.
Arabella’s voice lowered. “She said he is… displeased with her. He has grown stricter. She cannot go out at all.”
A dull roar began somewhere behind Victor’s ears.
Dorothea frowned. “Such strictness seems excessive. Is she in trouble?”
Arabella wrung her hands. “She said that he has found her a suitor. Someone he means to push forward quite soon.”
