“Debts rule out more than half the gentlemen of theton. You hold most of them.” She was impressed with the steady cadence of her argument, with no hint of warble.
“He is a notorious rake.”
“Papa, I am under no illusions that he is innocent. Nor were you when you met Mama, if I recall.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Aunt Cee,” she retorted with a raised brow.
The thumb and forefinger of his unoccupied hand found the bridge of his nose as he briefly closed his eyes. “Damn it all to hell and back, Celine,” he muttered, then returned his attention to her. “Regardless, whatever arrangements I may ormay nothave had with Cee are hardly the same. And certainly not what I wish for you.”
“That is not for you to decide!”
“You are my daughter. It is for me to decide. That decision is the single greatest responsibility I have ever taken on, and I’ll not leave your happiness, your very life, to the whims of a handsome wastrel.”
“But I—”love him. The words hung in her mind, echoing with every aching beat of her heart, thrumming along to her palm where her father still kept pressure—pounding there.
She ripped her hand from his grasp. His betrayal pooled in her gut to solidify like a wretched boulder.
“Eliza, my decision is final. I do not expect you to appreciate it. You may be as furious with me as you wish. But I expect you to abide by it.”
This was not the doting father she loved. This man was a cold, cruel stranger—a stranger intent on destroying all her future happiness.
“You truly intend to do this? Forbid me?”
He swallowed, throat bobbing with the effort. “My decision is final. And one day you will thank me for it.”
“Never,” she vowed, venom dripping from the word. “I’llneverforgive you for it.”
A distant, detached part of her recognized the agony that swept across her father’s face as though she’d struck him, but she could not bring herself to feel empathy. Not for him. Not in the face of everything she’d lost with this decision.
“As is your right,” he offered after a moment, his voice hoarse. He rose then, abandoning her to the righteous fury simmering in her veins.
Dimly, she was aware of light footsteps approaching even as her father’s heavy boots departed.
“See to her,please,” he croaked, a few feet away.
“Why? Is he truly so unsuitable?” Mama’s soft whisper washed over her.
“Later. She needs someone—someone else. I’ll be at the club.”
“You’ve not slept,” she protested.
His answering chuckle held a self-deprecating note.
Then Eliza felt the familiar weight of her mother’s hand on her shoulder.
“Lizzie.”
Words, furious and hateful, caught in Eliza’s throat, trapped there by the wave of grief that swept over her as Mama enveloped her. She hadn’t even noticed the burning tears running down her cheeks until the soft cotton of her mother’s robe dampened beneath her. Cool, elegant fingers tangled in her curls, brushing along the back of her neck, soothing.
It was a shamefully long time before Eliza dared venture from the comfort of her mother’s arms, tears dried in tacky trails along her cheeks.
“Mama, please,” she croaked.
Her mother was conflicted. Eliza read it in the way her lips pressed together. Not once in her life could she recall a moment when her parents had appeared before her as anything other than united.
Mama and Papa disagreed at times, of course. She and Sophie listened through the door during more than one impassioned discussion late at night. In front of their daughters, though—never.
