1
Till Death
If only she’dbeen born a man.
Lady Lila Breton, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Quimbly, would have rather been almost anyone else on that sunny but cold December morning.
Oranywhereelse, for that matter. She scrunched her nose in frustration.
She’d long ago given up on running away from her father’s home, from his outbursts, his unreasonable expectations, and his outrageous demands. Although the idea presented itself from time to time, she just as quickly dismissed it, having no money, no skills, and nowhere to go.
And besides, running away would require that she abandon her mother and her younger sister, Arianna.
She could not leave them alone to cope with Father’s madness.
“You should wear something pretty today, my lady.” Fran, her ladies’ maid for the past ten years, held up a silk rose-colored gown for Lila’s inspection. “It’s your wedding, after all. You ought to look pretty for your groom.”
“A groom I’ve never met and who cares nothing about me as a person, how much do you think my father is paying him?” This was her second betrothal, the first one having lasted for most of her life, only to come to an abrupt end when her betrothed ended up marrying another woman. From what she understood, the lady had been a homely bluestocking. Miss Emily Goodnight had married the Earl of Blakely, thwarting the betrothal that had been in place for as long as Lila could remember.
When the betrothal had ended, her father had moved them away from the home they’d always known, away from the few friends she’d managed to make, and up to a distant estate near the Irish Sea that she’d barely known existed. Nearly as far north as one could go and not end up in Scotland. In fact, Gretna Green was not far off.
Her father had forbidden them from making the short journey into the nearby village of Burnbridge even once, keeping her and her sister from having any sort of social life whatsoever. They could not take part in any church gatherings, town assemblies, or ladies’ socials.
Nothing.
It was difficult not to think of herself as a prisoner.
Lila stared in the mirror, feeling none of the emotions a bride ought to be feeling. Her only excitement came from the fact that she would soon be free of her father.
Which presented her with a new set of worries.
She exhaled loudly.
Her prospective groom was the Duke of Pemberth. She would be a duchess, no less. She’d never heard of the dukedom until the night before when her father had informed her of their appointment today.
Not an appointment for the man to pay his addresses.
An appointment with a clergyman and two witnesses.
She’d been given no choice in the matter.
“Not the rose,” Lila answered, feeling frustrated and powerless. “The brown muslin.”
“Oh, my lady, not that one. I’ve mended it more times than I can count. It’s the most atrocious gown you own.”
“Precisely.”
Lila reached up and began pulling her hair into a tight and unimaginative chignon. It would emphasize the dark circles beneath her eyes. And yes, if she pinched her lips just so, she could appear even older than her six and twenty years.
Any man who transacted business with her father could not be much better himself. Honor was for the weak in her father’s mind. Money and status were all that mattered.
And beauty.
Fran made some disapproving noises but returned the rose gown to Lila’s wardrobe and then withdrew the brown one from an old trunk.
“Leave the wrinkles,” Lila ordered. “And I’ll wear the green shawl Mama made for me last Christmas.”
Utterly appropriate, with the holidays less than a month away. Her mother had used two colors of green: moss and bright parakeet.
