6
“Aletter just arrived for ye, Me Lady.”
Francesca looked up from where she sat reading in the morning room the following day. She had not managed to speak with her betrothed anymore last night, and she had given up trying.
She’d retired early and thought of him until the sun had risen. Then she’d spent the morning getting to know more of the castle and the people working here, so she was not surprised to see one of the younger maids holding a silver tray with a single piece of correspondence.
The elegant script and familiar seal made her stomach clench with dread.
“Thank you, Mary.” She forced a smile as she took the letter, though her hands trembled slightly as she broke the wax seal bearing her father’s coat of arms.
The letter was brief, written in Earl Holton’s typically businesslike tone:
Francesca,
Lady Watson and I will be hosting our annual anniversary ball on the fifteenth of next month. Your presence is required, along with your husband, to demonstrate to London society that you have made a respectable marriage despite your previous… difficulties.
This appearance is not optional. The family’s reputation depends upon showing that the Watson name has not been permanently tainted by your indiscretions. You will attend, you will smile, and you will play the part of a happily married Highland lady.
Arrangements will be made for your accommodation. The girl may remain in Scotland.
Your dutiful father,
Earl Holton
Francesca’s hands shook with rage as she read the letter a second time, each word stoking her fury higher. The sheeraudacity of the man was breathtaking. After forcing her into exile, after arranging her marriage to a stranger without proper disclosure, he now expected her to return like a trained dog to perform for his guests.
“Play the part of a happily married Highland lady,” she muttered, crumpling the letter in her fist. “Demonstrate to society that I have made a respectable marriage.”
The hypocrisy was staggering. Her father cared nothing for her happiness or well-being, only for salvaging the family reputation that had been damaged by his own machinations. He wanted to parade her before the ton like a prize mare, showing off how cleverly he had disposed of his scandalous daughter while maintaining the Watson family’s standing.
She rose from her chair and began pacing the small room, her fury building with each step. There was no way she would set foot in London again, not to smile and curtsy and pretend that her arranged marriage was anything more than a business transaction. She would not stand in her father’s ballroom and lie to the very people who had whispered about her downfall.
“Never,” she said aloud, her voice fierce with conviction. “I will not be his performing puppet.”
The marriage to Declan might be a matter of convenience, but she would not cheapen it further by turning it into a public spectacle for her father’s benefit. Whatever fragile foundation she and Declan were building, however tentativetheir interactions, she would not risk destroying it all for the sake of London society’s approval.
Let her father explain her absence, however he chose. Let him make excuses to his grand friends about why his Highland-married daughter could not attend. She was done with his games, done with being moved about like a chess piece for his political advantage. London society would have to find someone else to gossip about.
The sound of rapid footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, followed by a burst of Eloise’s laughter, and the familiar sounds of her new life washed over her like soothing balm.
“Eloise Watson, look at the state of those boots!” Betsy’s voice carried through the door, warm with mock severity. “Ye’ve tracked half the Highland mud through the castle!”
“But Betsy, I was only chasing Bluebell through the garden,” came Eloise’s breathless reply, still giggling. “He found the most wonderful hiding spot behind the rose bushes, and I had to crawl under to reach him.”
“Crawlin’ through rose bushes, is it? Well, that explains the tears in yer dress as well. Come along then; we’ll need to get ye cleaned up before the afternoon meal.”
“Can Bluebell come to dinner with us? He’s been very good today.”
“Rabbits daenae belong at the dinner table, wee one, nay matter how well-behaved they are.”
“But he could sit very quietly beside my chair. I promise he wouldn’t make any noise.”
“And what would the Laird say about a rabbit at his table? Can ye imagine his face?”
Eloise dissolved into giggles again. “He might smile! Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Aye, that would be somethin’ indeed. Now come, let’s see about those muddy boots before Krista has my head for the state of the floors.”
