The drawing room had never felt so small.
Vanessa sat on the settee beside her mother, her hands folded in her lap, her spine rigid with tension. Across the room, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked with maddening slowness, each second stretching into an eternity.
Martin had been in her father's study for nearly half an hour.
"Do stop fidgeting, dear," Lady Wayworth said, not looking up from her embroidery. "You will wear a hole in your gloves."
"I am not fidgeting."
"You are. You have been twisting your fingers together for the past ten minutes. It is most unbecoming."
Vanessa forced her hands to still. Her mother was right, she was fidgeting, and badly. But how could she be expected to sit calmly while her entire future was being decided in another room?
"I still do not understand why you did not tell me sooner," Lady Wayworth continued, her needle flashing in and out of the fabric. "All those years of pushing Lord Hartington's daughter at the Duke, and Lady Catherine Price, and that dreadful Beaumont girl and all along, he was interested in you."
"He was not…that is, we were not…"
"Oh, spare me the protestations." Lady Wayworth finally looked up, and there was a knowing glint in her eye. "I am your mother, Vanessa. I have watched you pine for that man since you were seventeen years old. Did you think I did not notice?"
Vanessa's cheeks flamed. "You knew?"
"Of course I knew. A mother always knows." Lady Wayworth returned to her embroidery with an air of supreme satisfaction. "I simply could not understand why he did not act on his obvious regard for you. The man has been watching you like a hawk atevery social function for years. I was beginning to think he was simply too stubborn to admit his feelings."
"He was protecting his friendship with Edward."
"Foolishness. Edward would have been delighted. He adores you both." Lady Wayworth shook her head. "Men are such fools about these things. They convince themselves they are being noble and self-sacrificing, when really they are simply being cowardly."
"Mama!"
"What? It is true. Your father was the same way. Spent two entire Seasons dancing around me before he finally worked up the courage to speak to my father. I was beginning to believe I would have to propose to him myself."
The image of her proper, dignified mother proposing matrimony to anyone was so incongruous that Vanessa almost laughed. Almost but the knot of anxiety in her stomach was too tight to permit actual mirth.
"What if Father says no?"
"Why on earth would he say no? Lord Montehood is a duke. He is wealthy, well-connected, and despite his reputation, fundamentally decent. Your father has always liked him." Lady Wayworth's lips curved. "Besides, I suspect your father has been expecting this conversation for some time. He is not as oblivious as he pretends."
Before Vanessa could respond, the drawing room door opened.
Her father appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Behind him, Martin stood with an air of barely contained tension, his hands clasped behind his back.
Vanessa rose to her feet, her heart pounding.
"Well?" Lady Wayworth set aside her embroidery, her casual demeanour abandoned. "Do not keep us in suspense, Harold. What have you decided?"
Lord Wayworth's gaze moved from his wife to his daughter. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his weathered face.
“I have resolved,” he declared, “to consider my family strengthened by the addition of a son.”
The breath rushed out of Vanessa's lungs as relief crashed over her like a wave, so intense that her knees nearly buckled.
"Oh, thank heavens." Lady Wayworth pressed a hand to her chest. "I was beginning to think you intended to torture us with dramatic pauses all afternoon."
"I thought a bit of suspense was appropriate. It is not every day one's daughter becomes betrothed to a duke." Lord Wayworth crossed the room and took Vanessa's hands in his. His eyes, so like her own, were soft with emotion. "You are happy, my dear? Truly happy?"
"Yes, Papa. Truly."
"Then that is all I need to know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then released her and turned to Martin. "Take care of her, Montehood. She is my greatest treasure."
