Page 24

On the eve of her wedding, Vangie lingered before the closed door to Uncle Gideon’s study. She had a plan. Sucking in a calming breath, she rapped sharply upon the heavy panel.

“Enter.”

Her shoulders squared, she marched into the room prepared to do battle. Halting before his desk, she scanned her uncle’s face. A lone lamp sitting atop his desk lit the room. In the muted light, his expression appeared guarded, though warmth shown in his eyes. Encouraged, she relaxed her shoulders.

“You’ve need of something, Vangie?” He put the quill aside.

Wasting no time, she came directly to the point. “Uncle Gideon, please reconsider this union.” She couldn’t bring herself to say, my marriage. Searching his compassionate eyes, she played her trump card. “I want love in my marriage, Uncle. Love like my father and mother shared. Love like you and Aunt Adélaid feel for each other.”

He sighed, his mouth thinning the merest bit.

Filling her lungs, she challenged him. “Would you deny me that happiness?”

His lips curved in a poignant smile. “My dear, I’d like nothing better than for you to marry for love, but after the affair at the Armstrongs’, if you don’t marry Lord Warrick, it’s unlikely you’ll wed at all.” He looked away and straightened a short stack of papers. The shadows obscured his face, but he seemed tense. “The ton has a long arm, and a far longer reaching memory.”

“I don’t care about the haut ton. I can stay in the country. I’ll never venture to London again.” She gestured wildly. “I’ll…I’ll go away, perhaps live with the Roma. Or…or perhaps I’ll go to the colonies.”

He set the papers aside before meeting her gaze. Torment darkened his eyes and etched deep grooves into his forehead. He extended a hand, palm upward. “Vangie—”

“I’ve no desire to marry someone of a high station.” She heard the desperation in her voice, but she must make him understand. His next words doused the remnant of hope in her heart.

“Dear, the scandal combined with your heritage—”

Vangie’s jaw sagged. If he’d slapped her, she’d wouldn’t have been more hurt or taken aback. An icy blanket of shock engulfed her, and she grasped the edge of the desk to steady herself. “My heritage?” she whispered hoarsely.

Uncle Gideon closed his eyes, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He inhaled a deep breath as if struggling for control. “Forgive me. I oughtn’t to have said that.”

“But that’s the real issue isn’t it, Uncle Gideon?” She clung to the desk as the truth of his words hit home. “Because of my Romani blood, I’ve been labeled a lóoverni, a…a loose woman.” She searched his remorseful gaze with her own, reading the truth mirrored in their depths. Lord Warrick was right.

Uncle Gideon came around the desk and grasped one of her cold hands in his. “As your guardian, I must protect you. And while an arranged marriage isn’t ideal, many couples who enter into such unions have been happy.”

And many miserable their entire lives.

“Lord Warrick is a decent man, though at present, he’s angry at having his hand forced. Give him time, dear. He’ll come around.”

“Please. I…” Vangie swallowed the lump of anguish clogging her throat. “I don’t want to marry him,” she whispered.

“Vangie,” Uncle Gideon sighed, compassion and exasperation warring in his eyes. “It’s not only your honor at stake.”

Her breath caught as she stared at him, aghast. Even in the dim light the lines of strain on his face stood out starkly.

Faith, that was the true crux of the matter.

Who else’s then? His? Aunt Adélaid’s? Would her disgrace adversely affect his and Aunt Adélaid’s position in society as well as his business dealings?

Undoubtedly.

Yvette’s? Could the gossip destroy her chances of a brilliant match? Any match at all?

Possibly.

She couldn’t let that happen. Not after everything Yvette, Aunt Adélaid, and Uncle Gideon had done for her. Then there was Lord Warrick. What would her refusal do to his honor? Was he the type of man who valued honor above all else? She lowered her trembling chin to her chest, struggling for control. Dash it all, he was, of course.

Uncle Gideon squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly. “It’s a most suitable match for you, my dear.”

Scalding tears burned her eyes, but she nodded. “It’s a better match than I dared hope for,” she managed through the tightness constricting her throat. Yet, she’d settle for a haberdasher if he held some degree of affection for her. Instead, she was to wed a man whose only sentiment for her was scornful contempt. How could she bear it?

Her last encounter with Lord Warrick still stung. He hadn’t even bothered with the proposal Uncle Gideon expected. Without a proposal and acceptance, could there even be a betrothal? She’d not spoken of his rudeness to her uncle. The humiliation was crushing enough. If others were aware—well, she had endured all the pitying looks and tsking a body could tolerate.