It is just and reasonable for women to enjoy the same rights as men.
—FromLady’s Suffrage Society Times
“Iwish toGod Lady Northampton had conceived a son instead of a disappointing, scandalous, amoral daughter. I have never been more ashamed of you than I am in this moment, facing you, knowing you have squandered all the careful plans I made to ensure your future contentedness.”
Helena flinched at her father’s rancor-laden pronouncement, issued with such vehemence that spittle flew from his mouth along with its utterance. She had long been aware she was a disappointment to her father. As a female, her worth to him had only been in the marriage he could arrange for her. A marriage with a man of his choosing. A man in his image. She would not have been content. She would have been wretched.
Ruining herself meant that she was no longer of any worth to him at all.
She had told herself she must prepare for his outrage, for his disgust. But his words still found their way into the small corner of her heart where hope he would change dwelled.
“I am sorry for my actions, my lord,” she said solemnly.
Her apology was partially sincere and partially not. Her conscience still pricked her, hours later, over what she had done. Not because she regretted her father’s reaction or the wrath she had incurred. But rather, because of what she had done to Huntingdon. He was a man who prized his reputation, and she had just dashed it to bits in the name of her own preservation.
What she had done was selfish and wrong.
“I do not believe you are sorry at all, you conniving jade!” her father shouted. “You have been cunning and wild. I ought to have taken harsher measures with you, as I wanted. But Lady Northampton advised against it, as did Shelbourne. Look at where all our good intentions have landed us. Smack in the midst of ruin!”
Where she had landed herself was where she wanted to be.
But she bowed her head and feigned humility and contrition just the same. “I hope that in time you might forgive me.”
“You are deuced fortunate the man with whom you have sinned is the Earl of Huntingdon. Lord Hamish would not have you as his wife now, nor would I pass on soiled goods to him. If Huntingdon had not agreed to marry you in haste, you would not be beneath this roof, my lady.” Father slammed his fist on his desk to punctuate his rage.
This time, she did not jump, for she was expecting it and more. She was almost inured to anger now. She had been facing hours of it. Huntingdon’s words came back to haunt her then.
You have what you wanted. And now we must both pay the price.
His icy fury filled her with trepidation. She was in love with a man and she was marrying him. But none of it was happening in the way it ought to have done. And she had stolen from him his right to wed a bride of his choosing. She had escaped one miserable situation for another. At least she would not have to suffer Lord Hamish’s supercilious soliloquies and ridiculously frustrating misconceptions of women at large.
Her victory seemed rather hollow from where she stood.
Escaping her marriage with him had been vindication. The aftereffects of her decisions, however, were decidedly not.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself, Lady Helena?” Father demanded, his voice hoarse from all his exclamatory outrage. “I had never thought you slow-witted, but now I cannot help but to wonder. Lord Hamish would have made you an excellent husband. You could not have done better. Instead, you have squandered your chances for an earl who hails from one of the most sordid, disreputable families in the kingdom. If not for the former Lord Huntingdon, this one would not even be worth a farthing.”
Yes, she did have rather a lot to say for herself.
Suddenly, Helena found she could no longer hold her tongue. Mayhap it was the final verbal jabs he had offered. Perhaps it was the manner in which he had attacked Huntingdon himself.
Her chin went up. “Idohave something to say, Father. Lord Hamish is a pompous, small-minded prig. The only reason you wanted me to marry him was to further your own political alliances. I begged you to keep from offering me to him as if I were a sacrificial lamb, and you refused to see reason. Therefore, I had no choice but to take matters and my own destiny into my hands.”
“And naturally, Huntingdon, a man of tainted stock, would accept what you offered,” her father sneered. “I cannot say I am surprised at his actions. His father was a rakehell and his mother bedded half of London.”
“Huntingdon is a man of honor,” she felt the need to defend him, for he was. He had kissed her on two separate occasions. And his hand had slipped beneath her skirts in the lady’s withdrawing room. But his inner torment over his actions had proven he was not a conscienceless rogue.
“You are fortunate I have accepted his offer for your hand instead of sending you off,” her father said then. “But fair warning, my lady. This marriage must happen with as much expeditiousness as possible. Else I will be forced to reconsider my leniency.”
She took her father’s warning to heart.
It meant she would have to wed Huntingdon with as much haste as she could manage. Supposing he was still willing to make her his wife after everything she had done, that was.
Huntingdon faced LadyBeatrice with the bitter weight of shame lodged in his gut. She had just inquired, in concerned tones, about the nature of the bruising on his face. And he had blurted the truth. The full, sordid truth. Or at least most of it.
His hopes for the same serene understanding she had exhibited when she had informed him she would support his taking of a mistress had fled. In its place was a stark, abject pain that ate away at his soul.
“You cannot marry me,” she repeated.
