She glanced at Trevor, whose jaw was set mutinously. He refused to meet her eyes. How long would he be able to hold out against the pressure of his parents?
How long would she? It was easy to say that in this enlightened age, she could no longer be wed against her will. They couldn’t sign her marriage lines for her; she had to give her consent.
But consent could be wrung from a friendless poor relation in any number of ways.
“Don’t play dim, girl. Your one saving quality is that you have two wits to rub together,” the Baron snarled. He directed a cutting gaze at his son. “You know our plans. Don’t make my son a booby by prancing about with other men beneath his nose.”
“Mr. Pevensey has made no declaration to me, sir.” Lucasta’s voice wobbled.
“Then it’s time we got it settled, don’t you think?”
Her ladyship gave a small cry, raising a hand to her mouth.
“I won’t have my hand forced by threats, sir.” Trevor was stony-faced, his back ramrod straight.
“It’s not threats forcing you, by God!” the Baron roared. “It’s a very simple equation. Do you want to continue with your fancy tailor and your horses and your shiny phaeton and your clubs? Or do you want to be a beggar with a hungry belly, cast out on the street? It’s she—” He flung a hand in Lucasta’s direction, stabbing at her through the air— “who will keep a roof over your head, if you want it!”
Her ladyship’s cry broke free. “Peter! Is it so bad? Have things come to this?”
The Baron’s face stiffened. “I will find a way for us to survive, Patience. The tradesmen’s bills can be put off. We can shift houses if we need to. But my daughter will need to marry, and this one—” He stabbed a finger in Trevor’s direction— “willneed to make something of his looks and my investment in his education, if he wants to hold his head up about town.”
“But Lucasta,” her ladyship moaned. “Does he have to sink to Lucasta?”
Lucasta held back her retort. Her aunt was working in her favor, though she didn’t appreciate the slight. “Indeed, sir,” she said instead, appealing to the Baron’s vanity. “There are any number of available heiresses this season who will make Trevor a better wife.”
“Are there? Heiresses with their income assured, and no family to meddle with the use of their assets?”
“Gale will fuss if I take Lucasta away from him,” Trevor said.
“Name another, then,” the Baron accused Lucasta. “Name three.”
Lucasta racked her brains. She could name one heiress of the season: Cici. Or at least, everyone assumed she came with a generous dowry.
Would Cici be able to marry where she wished if Lucasta refused Trevor?
She clenched her hand around Aunt Cornelia’s note. The ornate touches of the formal parlor pressed in on her: the hand-painted wallpaper, the expensive rugs, the porcelain and marble and silver pieces scattered about, all the pretty and expensive ornaments hiding a great emptiness.
“Where is Cici?”
“At Arendale House, calling on Rudyard’s cousin, that girl you introduced her to at Ranelagh,” her ladyship said sharply. “I told her to wait for you, but your friends came to collect her and bid you join them there when you were free.”
“Your friends. The ones they call the Gorgons. They are all rich, are they not?” The Baron’s voice turned calculating.
Trevor looked alarmed. “If I’m to put my head in the parson’s mousetrap, sir, I’ll decide who’s holding the shackle.”
“My credit is running out,” the Baron said. “And so are your purse strings.”
The look the Baron gave her made Lucasta feel an inch tall. She was nothing but a purse to him. She much preferred when she had been invisible.
She straightened her shoulders. It must be fury making her bold. She would never have dared oppose her uncle a few weeks ago.
“I find it curious that you are discussing my marriage, sir, when you have not yet procured my consent.” As the Baron’s eyes bulged in anger, she turned to Trevor. “Will you take me to Arendale House? It seems you and I have some matters to discuss, and fresh air will do us good.”
A muscle flicked in Trevor’s jaw. “Cici won’t want to walk home in this chill. I’ll order the carriage.”
Lucasta walked out of the parlor with milord and milady Pevensey gaping after her.
Trevor helped her into the carriage and arranged the fur throw over her lap, shielding her against the damp breeze. Lucasta studied his strong, fine profile as he navigated them out of Caroline Street. Trevor was an attractive man, an observation she made with an almost sisterly tenderness. From what she had seen of him since his return, he would make an unobjectionable husband.
