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“Lyndwood.” Geoffrey crossed his arms. “You would allow your daughter to be so disgraced? If she does not marry de Sowlis, and quickly, you know what people will say.”

They didn’t understand! Gillian tried to plead with Sara, but her friend avoided eye contact. So she looked at her would-be husband instead, but she’d get no quarter there. His mind had been made up as well.

Of course she’d chosen to dally with the most honorable man in two countries. ’Twas just her luck.

“If so many hadn’t seen it with their own eyes . . .” her mother said, trailing off. Could it be true? Would Covington no longer have her?

Oh God, Father. Mother. Allie. I am so sorry. She pleaded with her eyes for him to understand. To forgive her. But instead, he looked to the man who’d just ruined their lives, however unintentionally, and said the words that sealed her fate.

“I accept your proposal,” he said. And then much too quickly, “But I will demand a bride price.”

Graeme did not hesitate. “Of course.”

“And you will wed her immediately. She will not return to your country in shame.”

Gillian didn’t know what to think. Could her father get enough money from the chief to pay off his debts? Is that why he’d agreed? It hardly seemed possible.

She could refuse.

Aye, they could not force her to say the words that would bind her together with this man forever. And yet . . .

Gillian, do you really wish to be with the crusty Earl of Covington rather than in the arms of this man who made you feel those things? What is wrong with you?

Wrong with me? Our family will be ruined.

“I will speak to her,” Sara declared boldly.

Gillian’s mother looked as if she wanted to say something, but instead she closed her mouth and nodded, allowing Sara to take Gillian by the arm and pull her deeper into the garden.

Gillian followed, unsure of what else to do, baffled by the speed with which her life had changed.

Sara finally turned to face her, the grin on her face as wide as the chapel doors on a Sunday morning. “Gill, you don’t have to marry him. That horrid old man.” She shuddered. “To think of you with him. This worked out splendidly, don’t you think? Better than any of my plans to free you.”

“Splendidly?” she repeated. “This is the worst—”

She stopped.

The thought of pretending she wanted to marry Covington over Graeme de Sowlis was absurd, even to her. The Scots chief was gorgeous. And he’d defend her even though he didn’t know her. If her only concern had been to avoid a match with Covington, she’d be thrilled as well.

But she still did not wish to tell Sara the fullness of her family’s problems . . . and now there’d be little point. So she snapped her mouth shut.

“The worst?”

She sighed. “The worst night of my life. I’ve never been more mortified. And I am so, so sorry. To have ruined your—”

“Stop. Don’t you dare utter another word.” Sara took her hands and squeezed them, her eyes lively and delighted. “’Tis anything but ruined. In fact, this is the best May Day Kenshire has ever seen!”

“The best?” She’d embarrassed herself, her family, and her friend. How it could be called the best of anything, she wasn’t sure.

“Of course, silly. This will be the very first time we’ve ever had a wedding. If only you didn’t have to wait until tomorrow. Your gown is simply perfect for it. And you do seem most anxious for a wedding night. But alas—”

“Sara!”

Her friend turned serious. “I am sorry it happened like this. But I cannot lie and say I’m sorry it happened.”

Gillian couldn’t blame her for that, not when she didn’t know the whole truth, but she couldn’t rejoice that she’d ruined her family because of her cursed curiosity. And she certainly couldn’t be proud of the teeny, tiny part of her that was happy—no, overjoyed—that she would not have to marry Covington. She was a terrible daughter. When one wedding could ensure they would keep Lyndwood, ensure her sister would be free to marry whomever she liked.

What had she done?