His uncle grumbled something about “damn fools and upstarts” before saying, “I can cut you off from my money. I will remove my support of your mother. I’ll have your half brother tossed out of school. Then I will take anything of mine that isn’t entailed and, upon my death, have it doled out to orphans. Of course, that would please you, wouldn’t it? Then again, you would be eatingnothingbut bread crusts.”
He eyed Michael as if expecting him to be trembling in his boots over the loss of an allowance, however generous. “You can still earn your way back into my good graces by marrying LadyHenrietta. Otherwise—” The earl snapped his fingers for emphasis.
Just like that.
For this man, Michael had left his home, his country, his mother, his brother. He had done all Holsworthy had asked of him and performed admirably.
But in that moment, he couldn’t imagine marrying anyone other than Dara Lanscarr. Was it stubbornness? Most certainly... However, he wanted to marry her. His every instinct said she was “the one.”
The one.He’d always wondered about marriage. His parents had enjoyed a short but happy one. After his father’s death, his mother had remarried to another good man. Once, when Michael was thirteen and heartbroken over a village girl, he’d written home. His mother’s letter had consoled him with the information that someone who could be so callous with his heart could not be “the one.” She’d gone on to write that “the one” would make him happy but also feel grounded and whole. “The one” would return his affections. She’d speak to something deep within him. “It won’t be all feverish passion,” his mother had written. “Even your soul will want her.”
There was very little Michael didn’t like about Dara. His attraction for her had grown over the weeks.
She fit him—physically and intellectually.
Unfortunately, marriage was a gamble. He had friends who were unhappy in their marriages and had expected the opposite. He didn’t want to be like them. Yet her kisses had set his imagination afire, and other parts of him as well. She was worth any risk.
And that brought him to the matter of the moment.
He faced his great-uncle. “I am marrying Dara Lanscarr.”
Holsworthy’s grip on his glass tightened. His face took on a dull red flush. “You will vacate your apartments.” The earl spoke as if he was the voice of Doom. “Do not expect your allowance from me. Or the allowance I give your mother. I will not pay your half brother’s tuition for the next year.”
Michael pretended to consider the matter. The truth was, his uncle didn’t pay for the rooms he rented. He’d never drawn on the money Holsworthy had insisted he take since he hadn’t needed it. His uncle did provide support to Michael’s family, but Michael had the resources to support them.
He stood. “You may cut me off,” he said to the earl. “My life is not for you to order.”
“If you leave without agreeing to do as I say, I will not allow you back here. I will have you ejected if you attempt to come through Brooks’s door.”
“You may do as you wish,” Michael said, his easy manner masking a growing anger. He bowed. “Thank you, my lord, for all the support you have given me over the years.” With that, Michael turned on his heel and started for the door.
“This isn’t over,” Holsworthy said, his voice rising and bouncing off Brooks’s wood floors and paneled walls. “You will not marry Miss Lanscarr. Do you hear me?You will not.”
Michael headed for the stairs, conscious of the curious looks of the gentlemen in the main room and lingering in the hall. Several nodded greetings to him, even as Holsworthy’s threats echoed around them.
He hated dragging Dara’s name into such a public forum. However, once she was his wife, he’d challenge anyone who dared to defame her.
Chapter Fourteen
A lady may cry off. A gentleman cannot.
The Rules (according to Dara)
If people would thinkbeforethey marry, the world would be a more pleasant place.
Tweedie’s theory
Elise moved out of the tidy house on Willow Street for Lady Whitby’s that night.
Dara and Tweedie were in the sitting room when she came down the stairs with her portmanteau. They had both pretended to be reading. Perhaps Tweedie was. She was wearing her spectacles.
However, Dara was hiding. She felt both mystified and stunned by the turn of the day’s events. She was marrying, but she hadn’t agreed to marry, not actually. She’d never given her assent. Not verbally. And she didn’t feel good about any of it, especially since Elise was so distraught over the matter.
Dara had attempted to talk to her, to explain—but Elise had shut herself in their room and had refused all entreaties to come out.
Finally, Gwendolyn had suggested Dara should wait downstairs. She would talk to Elise. That had been two hours ago.
Since then, Gwendolyn had descended with a letter from Elise to Lady Whitby. Elise had insisted Herald personally deliver it. Dara was sure it was full of bitter renunciations of herself as a sister. Although if it helped Elise to work through this anger, then Dara would bravely shoulder whatever burden was heaped upon her.
