Elizabeth stared. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are nearly twenty-seven! We care for you but it will not do. We even tried to suggest arranging you with that one gentleman from House Augustus—”
“Lady Lorine’s brother? He’s a bore and was incapable of holding a stimulating conversation. And he’s younger than me!”
Her father gestured impatiently. “See! You are not being practical.”
“Why must I marry someone who doesn’t interest me whatsoever?” she pleaded.
“Because you are an Ashcroft! And you will act like one. You will be wed before you are thirty, or mark my words.”
“Why, Father? He is awful.”
“Elizabeth Beatrice Ashcroft,” her father gritted out. “You must wed. And soon. He is wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. You would be happy with him.”
“Wealth means nothing if I cannot stomach the idea of even talking to him, Father.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Find me someone else.”
Her father sighed heavily, put his hand on his daughter's shoulder, and looked at her with a frustratingly kind expression. “Dearest child, I want to see you happily married and see my grandchildren before I leave this world.”
“But Father, I…” she trailed off as the man in question ambled over to them, and she recoiled. Duke Howard smiled at her with thin, aged lips, his face lined with time. Thin strands of hair draped over his head, doing little to hide the fact that he was balding.
To her embarrassment, Duke Howard’s eyes raked over her figure, his eyes resting momentarily on her cleavage. There was not a doubt in Elizabeth’s mind that he heard her father’s ludicrous suggestion.
Duke Howard said in an oily voice, “Lady Ashcroft, may I have this dance?”
He offered her a hand.
Her father nudged her encouragingly towards Duke Howard.
“I—I suppose so…” she stammered, unable to think of a polite way to decline. Reluctantly, she placed her smooth, youthful hand in his gnarled one. She grudgingly followed the duke onto the dance floor.
He dragged her about the floor amidst swirling ballgowns and laughing partygoers. Elizabeth tried to think of anything besides Duke Howard’s hand that was now possessively gripping her waist. If we married—she repressed a shudder at the thought.
He brought his face far too close to hers just as the song ended.
Not a moment too soon.
Duke Howard placed a hand on her lower back, leading her back to her father with an elegant bow. Elizabeth fidgeted with the sleeves of her gown, itching to wash her hands.
“I accept our arrangement, Lord Ashcroft. Nothing would please me more,” Duke Howard said before turning and drifting off into the crowd, oblivious to Elizabeth’s look of horror.
“Father! You’ve already accepted?” Elizabeth demanded, aghast. She whispered venomously, “Do I not get any say? Would you really be so cruel?” Upon seeing her father’s dismissive expression, she hissed, “I am yourdaughter. If you care for me at all, you will release me from this at once.”
Her father looked affronted. Before he could open his mouth to retort, however, a clink sounded around the room. The other partygoers followed suit, filling the hall with knives tapping on crystal goblets. Elizabeth and her father turned towards the noise, wondering who was about to make a speech.
It was Duke Howard.
No.
“I am pleased to announce my engagement to Lady Elizabeth Ashcroft. To many happy years together!” Duke Howard cried, taking a large swig of wine. Around him, his friends whooped and clapped him on the shoulder, offering their congratulations.
Elizabeth’s chest constricted.
“No,” she whispered.
Her corset was suddenly too tight, the room suddenly too small.
She glimpsed Charlotte’s shocked expression across the room before people started flocking over to congratulate her. Duchess Prescott, trailed by her two children, approached and smiled warmly. “Oh! A strong match. And such a tie to House Howard. Marvellous. Your parents must be so pleased.”
