“She does not need me to tell her what she does or does not want,” Isadora argued.
“And yet, somehow, it is only when you are present that she remembers how to disagree with me,” George scoffed. “You have always had far too much of an influence on your younger sister.”
“And you have always made decisions that do not consider anyone but yourself.” Isadora held her ground.
“I will not tolerate your interference.” George’s nostrils flared, his patience thinning. “You do not get to meddle in your sister’s future.”
“You are making it sound as thoughIam the problem here,” Isadora said. “Not the awful match you have chosen.”
“No,youare the problem. You have made her weak, Isadora. You have spoiled her with your meddling. Look at her—shecannot even speak for herself without you at her side,” George huffed.
Isadora did not correct him that Penelope was perfectly capable of speaking up for herself and making her own decisions. He just did not know because Isadora kept all of her sister’s trouble-making stories hidden from their father.
“That is not true!” Penelope blurted. “I do not wish to marry him, Father. Not because of Isadora—but because I simply do not want to.”
George’s expression remained unreadable for a moment before he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “What an inconvenience,” he muttered. “I had expected better from you, Penelope.”
“The best thing you should hope for is for your daughters to have a backbone,” Isadora insisted. “You should want your daughters to have a choice.”
George’s expression did not change. “Youwilldo as I say.”
Penelope’s lips trembled, and Isadora noticed tears forming in her eyes. That was the last straw.
“You cannot force her into this.” Isadora squared her shoulders.
“I can, and I will.” George’s voice was cold now. “This is not up for debate. You are both daughters of an earl. Your duty is to make good matches, not prattle on about feelings.”
“Agoodmatch does not include a man who gambles away his fortune and drinks himself into oblivion. You cannot possibly send Penelope to such a fate.” Isadora balled her fists.
“I will say this again for one final time,” George’s expression hardened. “Do not presume to question the decisions of the man of the house.”
Isadora inhaled deeply, trying to keep herself calm. Penelope was trembling beside her, her hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
Arguing—it seemed—was not proving to be fruitful. If she wanted to get her father to change his mind, she had to find another way.
“Give me some time,” she said, her voice quieter now. More measured. “Let me find her a more suitable match.”
“Don’t bother with that nonsense,” George exhaled, shaking his head. “There is no better match. The Marquess wants her. He approached me himself.”
Of course, he did.
That vile man had probably run through his entire fortune and now sought an innocent, wealthy young bride to save him.
“Then I shall find another,” Isadora insisted. “One who is titled, respectable, and not a man with a scandal in every drawing room.”
“The Marquess is one of the most eligible bachelors of the Season. It is in your best interest to accept the proposal, for there is no other choice.” George’s mouth curled in irritation.
George turned on his heel and strode away, whistling, as if he hadn’t just sentenced his youngest daughter to a life of misery.
As soon as he was out of sight, Penelope let out a broken sob.
“Is he really going to make me do this, Isadora?”
Isadora turned to her, gathering her into her arms. “Shh,” she murmured, smoothing her hand over Penelope’s dark curls. “I will fix this.”
Penelope clung to her like a child would to a mother.
Mother of the house,indeed. In that moment, Penelope was no longer the trouble-causing young girl. She was a scared one who needed reassurance.
