Her mother sipped from her spoon, her hand visibly shaking.
“But…” Elle couldn’t cut ties with the theater. Her future depended on it. “I can’t do it, Mother. They are producing my play! Do you know how much of a miracle that is? But it’s not only about my play. I have a job. I’m earning a living.”
If anything, her mother’s complexion turned a shade whiter.
“I never thought a daughter of mine would do something so common.” Her mother straightened her shoulders as one of the footmen removed her bowl of soup and replaced it with a plate of buttered carrots. “You will marry, Elle. This discussion is over.”
Any man her father would have selected would expect a proper wife—not one who spent all her time writing plays, let alone one who worked daily at a theater.
Her only other option would be to strike out on her own, something she had considered—fantasized about, mostly—but was in no way actually prepared for.
Would she be forced to choose? So soon?
She was not ready.
Elle shook her head, panic encroaching.
“It’s not common—Mother, it’s art,” she protested softly. “You enjoy the theater. Father enjoys the theater. Why can’t you accept this about me?”
But her mother’s frown only deepened.
Whereas Elle could usually find a way around her father, her mother was far more difficult to sway.
It was as if she had not spoken at all as her mother continued, “If you aren’t married, Giselle, and God forbid something were to happen to your father, I will have the dower house and my stipend for a living, but you will be dependent upon Cousin Elmer. You know as well as I that Lord Elmer will not provide for you unless you are his wife. And since you insist on refusing him, your father has betrothed you to the marquess’s son.”
Elle sat frozen, terrified at this turn of events.
“Is Father sleeping?” Elle asked.
Her mother sent Elle a dark glance. “Don’t you dare think about going around me on this. Especially not while your father is resting. I’ll convey to him that you’re amenable to meeting your future husband. Because you are. Do you understand?”
Elle blinked. How had this happened?
“Elle?” Her mother prodded.
“But—” She didn’t. She couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Ending Already?
Following a restless night, Elle rose at her usual time, but was only allowed to go to the theater so she could formally resign and return home immediately afterward. As she sat in the comfortable carriage, her mood matched that of the cold drizzle outside.
But as angry as she was with her parents, she hated the possibility of not having them in her life. If she defied her father and left home, she doubted they’d ever forgive her.
And yet she loved the theater. How could she give it up? Furthermore, her parents were her past. Writing was her future. The theater was her future. Mr. Dodd was her…
She blinked, startled that she would imagine something so… impossible.
Something so wonderful.
It wasn’t just the almost-kiss, but the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking, the way he listened to her ideas.
And yes. It was also about the almost-kiss.
Elle hadn’t realized how powerful proximity could be—how for the first time in her life, she was willing to surrender herself to another person—to a man.
Lying awake, she’d find herself going over conversations they’d had. He’d told her his father thought he’d made an evil choice, and she sensed he believed that to be true.
