Nevertheless, this kind of delicate questioning required a woman’s touch, the Reverend decided. Beggars could not be choosers, and as a man of the cloth, his wife was the only femalehe was on any kind of intimate terms with. Therefore, she would have to suffice.
∞∞∞
“Fustian nonsense.” Agnes Shackleford’s response to her husband’s concerns was unusually loud, given the fact that most of the time she affected an air of fragility, speaking in breathless whispers. “Grace is no more a fallen woman than I am.” The Reverend truly had no ready response to either statement, so for once, he elected to remain silent.
“If you were to accuse her of spending too much time with her nose in a book, or climbing a deuced tree, then that would be more to the point, Augustus. No, our biggest problem should the Duke of Blackmore go through with his hare-brained plan to make her a duchess will be how much she is likely to embarrass us in polite society. And I am not concerned it might be due to any premarital indulgence in sins of the flesh.” The Reverend winced as his wife’s voice rose an octave, showing a side to her he’d hitherto not suspected. The effort was clearly too much, and she collapsed dramatically back against her cushions before continuing.
“Should she drag our name through the mud, then surely dear Anthony will not ever be able to mix with the fashionable elite again.” She finished the end of the sentence on a tremulous whisper, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief as she did so.
“To be fair Agnes, the boy is only five.”
“Thetonhave long memories,” his wife responded with a sniff.
The Reverend sighed irritably. The whole thing was becoming devilishly complicated, and his head was beginning to ache. “So what are you suggesting?” he asked with a frown. “After all, Agnes, this is a golden opportunity we cannot expect to see the like of again. “Do you propose I choose Temperance in Grace’sstead, or perhaps Hope?”
“Definitely not.” Agnes Shackleford shuddered.
“Then, that’s settled. Grace it will have to be. As long as you are of the mind that she’s not surrendered her maidenhead to some devious scoundrel, I’m content she will understand her duty and make his grace a pious and biddable wife.” The Reverend felt as if a lead weight had been removed from his shoulders. “I’ll call for her to attend us right this minute to deliver the happy news.”
Agnes Shackleford’s only response was a long-suffering sigh. Plumping her cushions, she lay back and closed her eyes. “Could you ask her to bring my salts while she’s about it?”
∞∞∞
“He’s what?” Grace jumped to her feet, her expression a mixture of horror and disbelief.
“I said his grace has done you the very great honour of asking for your hand in marriage.” The Reverend stifled his irritation and repeated his statement slowly in the mistaken belief that his eldest daughter had misunderstood the first time.
“Why on earth has he done that? He doesn’t even like me.”
“What has liking got to do with it?” the Reverend asked, genuinely nonplussed. “As long as you do your duty and provide the Duke with an heir, I’ll wager you’ll not have to see the man from one month to the next.”
Grace stared at her father’s baffled face and suddenly felt the need to laugh bubbling up inside her. It was all so ridiculous. The Duke of Blackmore could have any highborn lady he wanted, but for some reason had set his sights on a woman of low birth - one he clearly disliked, after only five minutes of conversation. Why on earth would he do such a thing?
She became aware that her father was speakingagain, this time in the earnest voice he usually reserved for parishioners who remained unconvinced that a lifetime in poverty on earth would secure them a better hereafter and were subsequently refusing to contribute to the collection box.
“You have no cause to worry Grace. It’s my belief that when he gets to see you, he’ll be more than content.”
Grace opened her mouth to ask what in the world he was talking about when it suddenly struck her. The Duke of Blackmore had no idea who she was.
Oh God, that was even worse. How the devil was he going to react when he saw her face for the first time as they said their vows? He may not even complete the ceremony. Grace couldn’t decide which would be worse – if he cried off, or if he actually went through with it.
“You know quite well Father that we don’t mix in the same social circles,” she countered desperately. “I’ll be a laughingstock.”
The Reverend couldn’t help observing that his daughter was now wringing her hands, and alarmed, he looked over at his wife who actually appeared to be asleep. Grace’s response had been the last thing he’d expected.
“Agnes?”
His wife’s only answer was a gentle snore. Hastily, the Reverend pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time before tucking it back into his waistcoat. “Now there will be none of that,” he finally said gruffly. “You are my eldest and far past marrying age. The Duke has agreed to a more than generous offer, and youwillwed him.” He finished on a suitably decisive note which he hoped would put any ideas of rebellion out of her head once and for all.
Grace’s thoughts conjured up the man who’d haunted her every waking moment since their meeting, his cold, piercing eyes and deep frown sending shivers down her spine. What would it be like to be married to such a man? He would most likely lock herin her room and throw away the key.
“I cannot,” Grace said once more, her voice this time trembling in a fashion most unlike her. “I cannot Father. Do not make me.”
The Reverend was at a loss. Not for one second had he imagined Grace would be against the match. Faith, it was far, far better than the chit could have hoped for. And to top it all, the Duke was hardly in his dotage, but a man in his prime and handsome to boot. A war hero no less.
“Grace,” he said finally in exasperation. “What exactly is it you wish me to do? Do you wish me to refuse the man who has our livelihoods in his hands? We would likely end up in the workhouse. Is that what you want for your sisters?”
Grace stared wordlessly at him, stricken. The Reverend knew he’d struck a chord and shamelessly pressed his advantage. “Should you refuse to wed him, I will be forced to choose another of your sisters to take your place,” he stated matter-of-factly. “The decision is yours.” With that, he climbed laboriously out of his chair and pompously exited the parlour in the manner of a man accustomed to having his commands obeyed by his offspring.At the door, he paused and turned back. Grace hadn’t moved. “I will expect your decision before dinner,” he said, ensuring his tone was firm, and brooking no argument. “The wedding will take place the day after tomorrow.” Grace frowned and opened her mouth to speak, at which point the Reverend decided that stateliness be damned and beat a hasty retreat.
