Mama made a sound of disapproval. “And you know how I feel about binding yourself to a man whom you do not love.”
Elysande leaned across the carriage to pat her mother’s gloved hand in reassurance. “I have examined all the possibilities. The outcome of marrying the duke is the same. I am not the sort of lady who yearns for romantic love. My independence is of far greater import.”
As is Isolde’s ability to marry as she wishes, she added silently.
“How can you be certain the new duke will allow your independence?” her sister asked next. “You had an understanding with the old one, but you cannot assume the current Wycombe will be pleased to observe the same rules.”
She thought over her stilted interview. “He seems the sort who would be amenable, but I suppose we shall know for certain when he calls upon Papa.”
Mama’s spine went stiff. “When he calls upon your father? Do you mean to suggest the duke asked you to marry him on your walk in the gardens?”
“Not in those words. However, yes. I do believe he did.”
His intention had been undeniable. Cold and gruff and calculated and utterly devoid of emotion.
Precisely what Elysande wanted in a husband. Men who recited poetry and wore their hearts on their coat sleeves were not of interest to her. In truth, no man was.
New Wycombe was far more compelling than Old Wycombe, despite the forbidding cast to his expression and the stern set of his shoulders. There was something intriguing about him, some sort of magnetism he exuded which could not be denied. Fortunately, as long as her requirements were met, she would be seeing relatively little of him after they married. He would not distract her from her course.
“Ellie, please,” Isolde said, shock lacing her voice. “I beg you, do not sacrifice yourself on my behalf.”
“You always were prone to melodrama, Izzy.” Elysande patted her sister’s hand next. “I am hardly a lamb going to slaughter. I am a woman preparing to marry the man of her choosing.”
“But that is the problem,” Isolde countered. “You have not taken the time to leave Papa’s workshop to meet any eligible gentlemen. Why would you choose the first who asked for your hand?”
Because eligible gentlemen did not interest her, and they never had. New Wycombe’s proposal was dashed convenient. But she would not admit that aloud to Mama and Izzy. Their fanciful natures would rebel at the notion and cause her further argument.
She raised a brow at her sister. “To be precise, the new Wycombe is the second gentleman who has asked for my hand.”
Old Wycombe would have been the first. But never mind that dubious distinction. Elysande was not destined for romantic love the way Mama and Papa had been. Nor the way Isolde and Mr. Penhurst were.
“When we told you that you must marry, your father and I were only concerning ourselves with your best interests,” Mama interrupted, frowning as she only did on rare occasions.
Such as when Tristan had poured water into her inkwell.
Or when one of the twins had secreted a frog in her wardrobe.
“And so I am looking after my best interests as well,” she pointed out to her mother. “If I must wed, then I shall choose the gentleman.”
“The new Duke of Wycombe is cold,” Mama worried.
“He was a Chief Inspector in Scotland Yard,” Isolde added. “He is said to be a harsh man. He solvedmurdercases, Ellie. Only think of it.”
Yes, he was, and yes, he had. Did Mama and Izzy not think she would have done her research? The new Duke of Wycombe did not appear to be feeble-minded in any way, which was a pity. Old Wycombe had been the sort who was easily outwitted.
“He meets my criteria.” Elysande folded her hands in her lap, the matter settled as far as she was concerned.
Mama shook her head. “I knew it was a mistake bringing you here. I told your father, and he was adamant that you must have your own choice in all matters.”
Yes, except for whether or not she married at all. The fact was a bitter splinter in her relationship with her father, one which remained painful whenever it was poked or prodded. She could not seem to remove it, regardless of how many attempts or how deeply she dug the metaphorical needle.
“You have both decreed that I marry,” she reminded Mama. “I have made my choice of husband.”
One could only hope New Wycombe would not perish before the wedding as Old Wycombe had done.
“But that is the problem, Ellie.” Izzy crossed her arms over her bodice in a stubborn gesture. “You have not made sufficient effort in choosing. You have simply accepted every Duke of Wycombe who has asked for your hand.”
True, but Elysande failed to see the problem with that.
