Page 7

It was a good question. From anyone else, she would have deemed it a fair one. It was something she tried not to think about. Diantha’s wages were adequate but not terribly generous, since they came with room and board. As a result, she had a little nest egg accumulated. Not enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her days, but by her calculations, with six more years’ worth of wages, she could get there. In her more optimistic moments, she imagined the dowager lasting that many more years. Her mind was in decline, but she was strong in body. Hale. Diantha therefore had time enough to grow the nest egg, to make it big enough for her purposes. She hoped.

Diantha was well aware that a hope was not a plan, but what choice did she have?

Still, she didn’t want to get into it with him, so she settled for a vague answer. “You needn’t worry about me, Mr. Hill.”

“I don’t worry about you, my girl.”

Diantha bristled at the phrase my girl coming from this man’s lips.

“I never worried about you. You were always the smart one, if a little high in the instep. Therefore, I assume it has not escaped your attention that I haven’t made a proposal, to use your term. I am not here to ask you to marry me.” He paused for an uncomfortably long moment. “I am here to tell.”

Oh, this was bad.

No. She ordered herself to reframe the situation. This was unfortunate, but, again, she had the legal, if not societal, advantage.

She huffed a fortifying breath and bore up to the task at hand. “Mr. Hill, I don’t wish to be rude, but I have long since attained the age of majority. It was within your power to send me here, but it is not within your power to remove me. Therefore, I must—”

“My only criterion is that my third wife be respectable. Chaste. What better candidate than a gel such as yourself who has never married?”

He was speaking over her, something that made her discomfort with the confrontational nature of this interaction edge toward anger. Again, she made an effort to swallow her spleen.

“I did consider that perhaps a widow who already had children might be advisable. That way I would be assured that—”

“Mr. Hill.” If he could speak over her, she could speak over him. “Allow me to remind you again that I—”

“I shall require two children, at minimum.”

Oh, for Heaven’s sake. The very thought was revolting.

“Since Thea eventually did get with child, I can safely assume you will, too. And you are younger still than she was that time.”

Diantha wanted to cast up her accounts.

“We shall, of course, have to allow a suitable period of mourning for my wife to elapse. Six months, say.”

He was maddening. In general, but also, six months? To mourn a wife of so many years? What a pig.

Of course, that was exactly how long he’d waited between wives number one and two.

“That should give you enough time to get your affairs in order here,” he went on. “I did consider the question of whether to give Lord Harcourt your notice now but determined that such haste isn’t wise. What if he wants to replace you sooner than later? Where would you go then?”

“I … can’t imagine.”

Certainly not to the retirement cottage of her dreams, to the life where she was in charge of her own money and her own fate. She needed several more years for that. Still, she wasn’t going anywhere with Enoch Hill, ever.

“I could put you up, of course, but where? It cannot be with me. That would not be proper.”

That would not be proper? That was where this man drew the line?

Enough. She had to stop this. “Enoch, forgive me.” She hated the shape of his Christian name in her mouth, but it might help him hear her. “You’ve taken me by surprise, so perhaps I haven’t made myself clear: I won’t marry you.”

That stopped his stream of nonsense. He leered at her, taking his time and letting his gaze fall to her feet and travel back up. She was wearing an unremarkable day dress, but something about his regard made her feel tawdry. She stood straighter and lifted her chin, both actions contrary to what she felt like doing, which was curling up in a ball out of his sight.

“As I said, it isn’t a discussion,” he said.

“There we are in agreement. You haven’t the power to compel me, therefore no discussion is necessary.”

“Don’t I?” His ruddy face twisted into something resembling a smile, and she felt again as if she might be ill.