“Not at all. I am marrying you to the most eligible, the most handsome,the most charming rogue in England.”
Beth hid her face in her hands. The man seemed to think she should bepleasedby what he offered. A debauched fop! “If you have anyfeeling for me at all,” she whispered, “be it fondness or guilt, I beg younot to do this. I am happy here.”
“I am truly sorry, my dear,” said the duke gently. “I have no choice.Happiness is a transportable quality, you know.”
“Not into the debauch you describe,” protested Beth, raising her head.She knew there were tears on her face and was willing for once in her lifeto use this feminine weakness to gain her end.
If the duke was touched by them he did not show it. “If the marquessconducts debauches it will be outside his home, I can assure you of that.I can control him, and I promise you will suffer no insult. You may wantto consider that one advantage of being very rich and of the highestestate is to be able to arrange your life to suit yourself. If you set upseparate apartments and fill yours with poets, philosophers, and artists,no one will be surprised. Once you are with child you may live apart ifyou wish. No one will object.”
“Not even my husband?”
“Least of all him.”
Beth found that the most chilling statement of all. Where in this wasMary Wollstonecraft’s ideal of marriage, one based on the highest moralstandards, mutual respect, and friendship?
“But I will have to submit to this man,” she said faintly, “and bearhis children.”
The duke nodded. “That is unfortunately true. There is no moreimpersonal way of achieving the purpose. I have to say, however, thoughyou may find it indelicate, that his expertise in that matter should makeit possible to achieve the purpose with as little distress to you aspossible.”
Expertise? Beth shuddered. Was that to be put in the scale againstpurity and respect? Beth knew her cheeks were red, but she would not hidethem again. “I really have no choice, do I? Are you not ashamed of whatyou are doing?”
He made no reply, though she thought her words had reached him. Sheadded rather helplessly, “What will Aunt Emma think?”
“I suggest you pretend to be willing. If you tell her of the coercioninvolved she will be obliged to refuse to accept the sacrifice. I willonly find other more formidable weapons.”
Feeling bruised, Beth rose unsteadily to her feet. “What do I have todo?”
He rose too and began to pull on his gloves. “I will send Arden downand you can become acquainted. He will, for common knowledge, fall madlyin love and sweep you off to his family. After a suitable but short periodyou will be married.”
Beth had felt herself no longer capable of shock but that did stun her.“I am to live in your house? What will your wife think?”
“She will be delighted,” he replied. “She misses her daughters. We areall civilized people, and if we are careful this can be managed withouthurt to any party.”
Beth raised her chin. “Balderdash,” she said and marched out to findAunt Emma.
During the next weeks the whole school was aware of the change in MissArmitage. Where once she had been noted for her patience and composure,now her nerves were constantly on end, her attention inclined to wander.Beth was not helped by the fact that Aunt Emma saw her swift agreement tothe duke’s outrageous plan as a sign that she had abandoned the principlesthey had shared through the years.
If it hadn’t been for the daily deterioration in the situation inFrance, Beth knew she would have been subjected to even more questions anddissuasions. Wryly, she acknowledged she had something for which to thankthe Corsican Monster. But even that could not make her feel anything buthorror at the news that Napoleon was once more in Paris. He had theaudacity to seek peace treaties with the other European nations, to try tohave them acknowledge him again as ruler of France. That time was past,however, and for once the nations were holding together in a GrandAlliance.
Beth’s satisfaction at that was drowned, however, when she was onceagain summoned to the parlor. She could have no illusion that the causewas anything except her own private disaster.
It was again Clarissa who came with a message that Miss Armitage waswanted in the yellow parlor. As Beth wiped suddenly damp palms on herapron the girl said, “Miss Armitage, could I speak to you ?”
“Not now, Clarissa,” said Beth as she hurried off.
Once more she stopped before the large mirror. Her decorousgreen-stripe muslin was covered by a voluminous plain white apron, for shehad been teaching calligraphy, which always resulted in inky fingers andsplatters from poorly mended pens. She decided to leave it on. Her neatfitted cap covered all her hair except a few chestnut curls. Roughly, sheattempted to push them out of sight. The cap was decorated with a prettybow over her left ear, and she pulled her scissors from the case in herpocket and snipped it off.
She was, after all, no beauty, and there was always the chance that ifshe made herself sufficiently ugly the Marquess of Arden would rebel. Hewas a man and a rich aristocrat and could not be as far under the duke’scontrol as she.
When she was sure she had done her worst, she walked boldly into theroom.
There was no sign of Miss Mallory, just a man. The Marquess ofArden.
Beth felt her confidence seep out through the soles of her slippers. Hewas not a debauched fop. Instead he was everything she feared in men ?tall, strong, and arrogant. She saw the flash of disgust at her appearancebefore it was hidden under ice-cool manners, and even though she had hopedfor it, that further depleted her confidence.
He made a slight bow. “Miss Armitage.”
She did her best to compete. She made a slight curtsy, “My LordMarquess.”
