Her uncle stood, as did the other gentleman, anoldergentleman, perhaps a few years under her uncle’s forty-eight years. Instantly, she recoiled.
It wasn’t only Lord Carrington’s bleached wheat shade of hair, or his cutting icy blue eyes, nor was it the cruel, arrogant curve of his mouth that reminded her of a woodcut of a Greek Demogorgon.
His ink-black jacket and grey trousers were exquisitely tailored, and above his silver-grey waistcoat, his cravat held a perfect knot. He looked like a proper gentleman, but there was something… something serpentine about him.
She curtsied and angled her head low. “My lord.”
Carrington looked to her uncle, “She is as pretty as you said she was.”
Pardon?
The mysterious gentleman resumed his seat, but she didn’t miss the glance he sent her way or the smirk on his face.
What business does he have with our family?
Her uncle beamed, and he motioned for her to sit. She complied with a soft, nervous smile.
“Evelina, dear,” her uncle Patrick began, “I have arranged a marriage for you to Lord Carrington.” He paused, clearing his throat, almost as if expecting her to fall over and kiss his feet in thanks. “The arrangements have already been made, and the date is set for a week and a day from now. It is my hope that you will find happiness with this union.”
Evelina’s jaw fell slack. Her skin burned with humiliation.
“B-but Uncle.Marry? I—I have never met his lordship…” she tried for a smile. But behind her calm façade, Ellie’s breath came in short, shallow gasps, and her fingers gripped her skirts. Her gaze flitted to the gentleman before her, before returning to her uncle.
“Now, I am certain you have questions, dear, but it is already decided. I shall answer everything else in time. Your Aunt and I have already considered this matter significantly, and have decided a stable, arranged marriage is far more favorable to an ill-fated love match,” her uncle said matter-of-factly.
“But uncle—” her eyes flew to her aunt, who sat placidly beside the men. “I am going to have my birthday the very next day.”
“Your… aunt and I would rather you marry before you turn one-and-twenty,” Patrick said diffidently. “I know you admire your friend who is a self-proclaimedOriginal, and who is swanning to an inglorious life on the shelf, but we do not want that for you. It comes with an underlying sheen of shame that follows you everywhere.”
She could barely control her erratic breathing as she was hit with swift and piercing statements, one after the other.
How can you say it is ill-fated if you have never experienced a love match?
The words bubbled up her throat, but she could not utter a breath of them as years of ingrained propriety halted them from leaving her lips.
The thin strain of hope she had to somehow find love in the ton—or even outside of it—by attending balls, walking into a teahouse, or strolling through Hyde Park, shattered with finality.
“Mr. Langford,” Lord Carrington began, “Would you and your wife permit me to have a moment alone with Miss Evelina? Leave a maid here in your stead.”
Her uncle shared a look with his wife; the middle-aged, plump woman with braided gray hair pursed her lips before she nodded and pressed her hand to the large opal brooch pinned to her fichu. “I suppose we can allow that.”
While her uncle stayed put, her aunt left to find a maid, and soon enough, a maid, clad in her dark grey uniform, curtsied. “My lord, and Miss Evelina, my name is Tess. I am honored to sit in with you today.”
“Sit at the back and remain quiet,” Sterling ordered her.
With that, Ellie’s uncle and aunt walked out of the drawing room, leaving the two of them alone once more. A heavy silence hung in the air between them before Sterling eventually spoke.
“I know you must be stunned by this revelation, but dear, marriages of the ton are not for love, they are for upward mobility,” he began.
“My family isgentry,” she corrected him. “And you must know that I am an orphan. The only upward mobility here is you pulling my familyintothe ton by our marriage. Marrying into the gentry. Why?”
He crossed his legs, “My father fell in love with my mother before I was born, but that affection soon turned to hate. They fought daily, their arguments often turning violent. My mother was a young woman of rank and fortune, which made her too headstrong for her own good. I would prefer not to have a repeat of that.”
Evelina swallowed. “Why have you not married earlier? You seem to be a gentleman of wealth, in your… middle years, why haven’t you already taken a wife?”
“I was too busy building my fortune,” he waved a cavalier hand. “When I was younger, I was expected to marry a young lady of rank, fortune, with respectable connections, but I decided to focus on something more important. Now that I am older, it has become a necessity rather than a choice.”
He does not want a wife; he wants an ornament on his arm.
