She was, at the end of the day, only the eldest daughter, bound to the rule of the man of the house.
“It would have been good if you had consulted with me beforehand,” she swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Who… is the match that you have chosen?”
“Why would I waste my time doing that?” George bit back.
Lovely.Isadora could never really expect her father to be polite to her. Perhaps this was whyshe insisted on being so proper—so that she would not be like her father.
“You did not answer my question,” she pointed out.
“Ah, well, yes,” George clasped his hands behind his back, a smug look on his face. “You will be happyto hear that I have managed to secure one of the best matches. The Marquess of Hartenshire.”
“The… what?” Isadora let out a gasp. Suddenly, the room around her seemed to shrink.
Of all people, he has chosen the Marquess of Hartenshire?
She stepped forward before she could stop herself. “You cannot be serious, Father. Is this some cruel jest you are making at Penelope’s expense?”
“Mind your tone, Isadora. I did not raise you to be so crass.” All traces of politeness left her father’s voice.
Yes, because you did not raise me at all. You left me to figure that out for myself.
She decided not to say that part out loud, but she did not lower her voice either.
“Father, need I remind you of his reputation? The Marquess of Hartenshire is a known rake. A man with a scandal for every Season. You cannot possibly think?—”
“You seem to be privy to all the gossip.” George taunted. “Don’t you have work around the house to keep your occupied? Why are you even paying attention to this nonsense?”
Isadora gritted her teeth. It was exactly like her father to turn a perfectly reasonable complaint into something else entirely, just to avoid the topic.
“Father, he really does not have the best of?—”
George held up a hand, cutting her off. “Enough. You are talking far too much for your own good. Besides, this does not even concern you.”
“If it concerns my sister, then it concernsme.” Isadora wasn’t done arguing back. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
Penelope could not be married to that horrid man.
“She has not expressed a disagreement,” George argued. “Your sister is perfectly happy with her father’s decisions. You should learn to be as well.”
All attention turned to Penelope, who seemed to have gone blue in the face. Isadora rushed to her, worried that she might faint.
“Oh, no need to be so dramatic,” George chided at the gesture, his lips curling into a snarl. “That is why she is so troublesome. You do not let her grow up.”
That stung more than Isadora expected it to. She had heard similar things from him before—all ways to channel the guilt that he shouldbe feeling about being an absent father to both of them.
“Father, please,” Penelope whispered, stepping forward into the conversation at last. “Isadora makes a valid point. I—I do not wish to marry him.”
George’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at Penelope.
“Influenced by your sister,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Of course. I should have expected as much.”
“Father—” Penelope started, but George held up a hand again.
“This isyourdoing,” he said, his eyes snapping back to Isadora. “I should have known the moment you started speaking out of turn that you had already filled her head with nonsense.”
“That’s not—” Penelope tried to argue.
“Oh, do not insult my intelligence,” George cut her off. “A moment ago, you had no objections. And now, suddenly, after she speaks, you have found your courage?”
