Her father ignored that entirely. “You could not have chosen better.”
Hazel groaned into her teacup. “I did notchoosehim.”
“Semantics, dear,” her mother said brightly.
Hazel drew a breath, determined not to give up yet. “Very well. But there are other considerations. For example, compatibility. What if we do not get along?”
Her mother laughed as if Hazel were reciting a joke. “Oh, Hazel, getting along is not necessary for a good marriage. Respect is enough.”
“I’m not certain we have that either,” Hazel muttered.
Her father lifted a brow. “Nonsense. If the man has proposed, he clearly respects you.”
Hazel felt a hysterical sound climb her throat and forced it back down. “Papa, what if he is… difficult?”
“He’s a duke,” her father replied, as if this solved everything.
“It comes with the position,” her mother agreed.
Hazel tried another angle. “What ifIam difficult?”
Chastity and Patience exchanged glances, ones entirely too knowing.
Her father lifted his cup. “Then I pray for the man’s fortitude. But it changes nothing.”
Hazel felt her patience unravel thread by thread. “What if this match simply does not make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense,” her mother declared, patting Hazel’s cheek. “He needs a duchess, you need a husband, your sisters need the elevation. Everyone benefits.”
Hazel opened her mouth.
Her father cut her off. “Hazel, really. This is the most logical arrangement that has ever presented itself to this family. We are thrilled.Utterlythrilled.”
Her mother nodded emphatically. “A duke, Hazel! A duke!”
Hazel slumped back in her chair, feeling the crushing inevitability of her fate settle over her like a wool blanket.
“Hazel, dear…pleasetell us you are joking.”
Evelyn Firming, ever so elegant, composed and usually impossible to rattle, was staring at Hazel as though she had announced she planned to join the navy. Cordelia Abernathy’s teacup hung frozen halfway to her lips. Matilda Everleigh had not even attempted to pour her tea. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap, and her calm brown eyes wide with disbelief.
Hazel was seated on the settee surrounded by her friends, but she felt terribly, painfully alone.
“It is no joke,” Hazel confessed. “The Duke of Callbury has proposed. My parents have already accepted.”
The drawing room was so silent that Hazel could hear the mantel clock ticking.
Cordelia set down her teacup very slowly, as if afraid a sudden motion might trigger an explosion.
“Hazel Thorne,” she whispered, “you were seen leaving the Duke of Callbury’s bedchamber. And now you are engaged to him. And your parents are… pleased?”
“Thrilled,” Hazel corrected bitterly.
Matilda blinked. “Thrilled.”
“Yes.”
Evelyn leaned forward. “And you?”
