I ran my fingers under the hem and over the protruding collarbone many of my other dresses hid.
The drawing room of the Sharpes’ home was ornate and extravagant as their own reputation claimed them to be. The walls painted an evergreen color stood as the backdrop to the gold trimmings and paintings dotted along the walls. The artwork was of an unusual design, most of which I’d never seen before in any of the art galleries I’d had the luxury of going to from time to time when Mama wasn’t keeping me on a tight leash. A couple portraits of previous Sharpe men hung alongside each other, looking old and dusty, while managing a stern pose.
Not many of the housekeepers snooped through here to see the young woman being fed to the man who was supposed to be the end of me. Instead, they left me to the dull, silent echo chamber and the ticking of the clock.
I focused on the mighty oak doors that stood between my only bid for freedom and who I was supposed to be happy to see.
I jumped to my feet to pace the room as the heaviness pressed into my chest again. I retrieved my handkerchief from my corset, coughed blood into it, and hurriedly stowed it away.
At the center of the room stood a large fireplace made of cool white stones and rugged red bricks. Photographs lined the stone ledge, out of place for such grandeur quarters. The photographs were old stills of black and white, depicting a husband and wife withtheir young child. The young boy’s eyes spoke of the underlying rage spilled from their plicated smiles.
Loud and swiftly, the doors swung open, shoes clicking and echoing on the wooden floors.
I stood with my back to the photographs, the rage of the child burning into my back as I faced the man with the same violent expression hidden behind a false smile.
Smartly dressed, the man wore a suit coat of what should be expected of someone of an illustrious name. Soft blond hair swept back off his forehead, and his suit was a matte gray. He stood out flatly against the room. The finer image of a man of society presented himself immaculately and of what those around wanted me to dream of.
“I do apologize for being late. Something came up, so I must unfortunately take off, but I thought I’d drop in—” His narrow blue pools bore down at mine. “You must be Valeria.”
“William Sharpe, I presume,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and airy.
Practice pleasing others even if I felt like dying.
William crossed the floor, then took my hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. “You are simply to die for. My mother was right when she said you were a thing of beauty in addition to being the daughter of such a fine man. Although you are looking a bit pale, here, take a seat.” William guided me to a chair.
I suppressed the urge to gag, forcing a smile to my lips.
Despite his attentive tone, his eyes continued to rake me for any hidden imperfection.
“Thank you. You are too kind.” I glanced over at the door, desperate to take off down the hall and to be rid of such a ridgid choice.
“I know this is all so sudden, but we need to discuss some rules.”
“Rules?”
“With my business connections, it’s important that we set some boundaries in place. I suppose it’s been sometime since there has been a man in the house, and there is a need to take over your father’s company as well. It’s incredibly important that you play the part of the demure wife.”
His words became more muffled the longer he spoke.
It all felt suffocating. Heat bloomed in my chest, the walls closing in on me as the next several months played out for me, beating as a drum against my vision. My stomach clenched at the thought of what my duty was to be before I would expire.
William took a seat next to me. “Our engagement ball is in a month, but I suppose we need to begin our courtship immediately if we are to act like we are in love. Presentation is important, especially given the circumstances. You understand that, don’t you?”
I managed a nod, my head spinning.
William went on explaining the “rules” of our upcoming marriage, yet I hardly registered it as his hand slowly encroached onto my thigh.
I dropped my gaze to my leg, to the gaudy signet ring on his pinky tapping away at my lap. Blood bubbled in my lungs, and bile rose, stinging the back of my throat.
I couldn’t breathe, my body going rigid, stomach churning as my thoughts raced.
William’s words bleated onwards, his touch repulsing me, and all I wanted to do was run. The gilded cage slowly closed in around me as I desperately wanted to scream out.
Instead, I plastered the fake smile I’d been trained to use and nodded.
“How did it go?”
I slammed the carriage door behind me, the traces of William’s hand still fresh upon my skin.
