“Lady Demeroven, you don’t think young ladies should be going to the courts for matters they could resolve at home,” Lord Ashmond prompts when Mother has done nothing but stare.
Beth swallows, unease settling into her stomach. Silence doesn’t bode well when it comes to her mother.
“Of course she doesn’t,” Beth says softly, forcing a smile for the Ashmonds. “You—you know our position on the MCA.”
“The right one,” Lord Montson says quickly.
Beth presses her nails into her palms.
“Lady Demeroven?” Lord Ashmond prompts. “I know your late husband agreed. Stand-up man, he was.”
And that, somehow, seems to be the last straw.
“My husband was a lout who spouted the same abhorrent drivel and used to backhand me for every slight. If I could have taken him to court and gotten half of his estate, I would have, and I would tell Beth to do the same should your son ever, ever,” Mother says, turning a hard look on Lord Montson, “raise a hand to her. And I would support her use of the new law immediately.”
Beth gapes, as does Lady Ashmond, while Lord Montson just stares, wide-eyed. What—
“Think very carefully about your next words,” Lord Ashmond says, his voice deathly even and low.
“Or what?” Mother asks, leaning back in her chair.
Something has broken within her, Beth can see it. Stretched taut and snapped.
“And you?” Lord Ashmond asks, turning his glare on Beth, who fights to stay sitting straight. If her mother can do it, so can she. “Do you feel the same?”
Beth glances at Mother, who doesn’t acknowledge her, glaring right back at Lord Ashmond. Beth takes a breath and meets Lord Montson’s wide eyes.
“I would give my husband warning, that if he ever struck me again, that would be it. I won’t—I won’t stand to be beaten,” she says slowly. “Arguments don’t warrant divorce, but I won’t stand to be abused. I have value and deserve to be treated well. I believe your son agrees.”
Lord Montson stares at her and then nods quickly. But his face goes flat when his father turns his glower on him. Beth watches as he withstands the scrutiny, and suddenly that quick little nod isn’t as comforting. “He’ll be kind to Beth when his father isn’t around” isn’t quite the assurance she wants.
“Harry knows his place,” Lord Ashmond decides. “And I suggest you learn yours,” he adds, turning back to Mother. “Whatever you thought of your late husband, you will only speak of him kindly in this house. He was a good, strong man, who fought for his ideals. I imagine he’s rolling in his grave to hear you even contemplate using the act, or Beth.”
Mother clenches her jaw and stays silent.
“And you,” he adds, turning back to Beth. “You will be patient, and positive, and obey my son in all ways, and if you do, you should never have need to speak such progressive, hurtful things again. You will do as he says and defer to him in all ways.”
Beth stares at her father-in-law-to-be. “I—” She looks to Lord Montson, but he won’t meet her eyes. “I—” she starts again, her chest tight.
She won’t be beaten. She won’t be yelled at. She will not repeat what her mother endured.
“No, she won’t,” Mother says, and Beth feels her heart plummet. But then Mother stands up. “If those are your conditions, Lord Ashmond, that my daughter submit to anything your son wants, without question, be it verbal or physical, or simply his abhorrent taste in unseasoned food, then we will have a problem.”
“Lady Demeroven, you misunderstand,” Lady Ashmond says softly, before yelping as her husband’s grip on her hand tightens.
“You will sit down this instant, we will have another round of drinks, and we will speak of this no more, or there will be serious consequences,” Lord Ashmond says darkly, his voice ice-cold.
Mother and Lord Ashmond glare at each other for what feels like an eternal, awful minute. Their whole future teeters on this moment, and Beth can’t dare to believe—
“Then we have a problem,” Mother says, her voice even and devoid of emotion. “Beth, gather your things. We’ll be leaving now.”
Lord Ashmond stands abruptly, rocking the table. “Be very careful, Lady Demeroven.”
“Or what, you’ll hit me?”
Lady Ashmond squeaks. Lord Montson gapes. And Beth hastily folds her skirts, hope pounding violently against her chest.
“I will end this engagement and your name and your daughter’s will be dragged through the mud,” Lord Ashmond threatens.
