“That is true,” Persephone admitted. “But I rather dislike the idea of being sold.”
“And I despise the idea of selling you,” Papa replied. “I would not view this in that way at all, though I admit it rather feels a touch like a negotiation at market, does it not?”
Persephone nodded wearily.
Papa was wandering again, so Persephone allowed her own thoughts to churn. £100,000! It was a breathtaking sum, especially when offered as the marriage settlement between two perfect strangers.
She had long ago decided on the type of gentleman she wished to marry, should she be fortunate enough to be wed. Papa was a scholar, to be sure, or had been at one time—witness the names of his children: Persephone, Athena, Evander, Linus, Daphne, and Artemis. Papa had a particular penchant for Greek mythology. While Persephone admired her father’s intellect, and certainly required a husband with more than cotton between his ears, she found his frequent mental distance tiring. Papa could spend hours, days sometimes, engrossed in his studies, oblivious to his surroundings and the daughter who was standing in as mother for his other five children, Mrs. Lancaster having not survived the birth of her youngest child, now eight years old.
No, Persephone desired a husband who was attentive and companionable. Someone with whom she could talk without fighting for precedence with myths and philosophy and the haunting ghosts of the past.
After eight years of making all major decisions entirely on her own, Persephone wished for a husband who was strong and firm enough to see to his own affairs, to order his life and his home without placing the burden entirely on her shoulders.
“What is the Duke of Kielder like?” Persephone asked as her papa paced.
“Like?” Papa repeated. “Couldn’t say. I’ve never met the boy.”
“Boy?” Somehow Persephone doubted that was an accurate description. Papa likely remembered the duke from years earlier, and, at least in the moment, his mind hadn’t acknowledged the passing of time. At least she could be assured that His Grace was younger than her own father. “What was his father like?” Persephone knew for a fact that a child could be remarkably different from his or her parent, but she could see no other means of learning about her would-be fiancé.
“Dull as dishwater,” Papa answered. “But his mother is an active sort.”
She would have asked more questions, but Papa’s eyes grew distant, and she knew he’d be lost again in his own world for hours, if not days.
Persephone spent the remainder of the day pondering the strange turn of events. Her opinion shifted repeatedly. One moment, she couldn’t help but be persuaded by the obvious benefit such an alliance would bring her family. They would have the funds to live comfortably, something she’d had to strive personally to achieve the past eight years and, at times, hadn’t managed to succeed in. Her sisters could have a Season in Town. They would have entry into the highest circles—would have the opportunity tochoosetheir life’s partner.
And that recollection would inevitably remind her that she had experienced no such luxury. In fact, were she to accept the Duke of Kielder’s offer, she would be selecting her husband without knowing a thing about him beyond the basics of his financial situation and his name. Suppose he were a dolt or, worse yet, a madman. The nature of his proposal made the last possibility all the more conceivable. He might prove to be every bit as inattentive as her papa could be at times.
But Papa was a kind man, Persephone would then remind herself. She could do far worse.
Then she’d wonder if the Duke of Kielder was, in fact, a kind man. He might be prone to violence or fits of temper. A married woman was completely at the mercy of her husband. Suppose the Duke of Kielder was one to wield that power? He could, and most likely would, make her miserable.
Absolutely no hope existed of receiving any other offer—Persephone knew that much. Without the £100,000 the Duke of Kielder offered, her sisters had no hope of marrying, either. Nor would her brothers be likely to find a future outside the difficult and often perilous life of a seaman.
By dawn the morning after she’d been informed of the strange proposal, Persephone was still debating with herself. If this proposed wedding were to take place the first of October, the banns would need to be posted soon. Persephone had an enormous decision to make and not a lot of time in which to decide. And she had no idea which path to take.
Chapter Three
Falstone Chapel, Northumberland
October 1, 1805
Every family of any consequence in the northern half of England had come to Falstone Chapel for the wedding, Adam was absolutely certain. And he wasn’t at all happy about it.
“Who invited all these people?” Adam had grumbled, piercing Lord Hettersham with a freezing look when the baron had the effrontery to stare openmouthed at him. Hettersham had quickly lowered his eyes, trembling a bit as he stepped away.
“I did,” Mother had explained with her unvarying calmness. “It is not every day my poor boy takes a bride.”
Adam had clenched his jaw at the loathed epithet. “I assured my bride—” The word still felt awkward on Adam’s lips “—that ours would be a quiet ceremony. I do not believe Miss Lancaster has invited anyone beyond her own immediate family.”
“I hadn’t intended to cause awkwardness, Adam,” Mother answered. “I only wish to celebrate.”
Adam did not feel much like celebrating. He was standing at the front of the chapel awaiting the arrival of his bride. He had yet to meet the woman who would become the next Duchess of Kielder. He’d specified that she not be at Falstone until that morning. Barton, the Falstone butler, had assured Adam that Miss Lancaster had arrived that morning as expected.
Any young lady who would willingly marry him had to have been desperate. She was most likely older than he—a lady was considered firmly on the shelf at thirty; he was twenty-seven. And, while he knew her financial situation didn’t bear scrutiny, Miss Lancaster must also have been rather plain, for a pretty face could often induce a gentleman to overlook a lack of dowry.
So he was about to marry a poor, plain spinster. He could handle that.
“Wonder if the chit’ll actually show up.” That was Mr. Adcock. Adam would know his snivel anywhere.
