by Darcy Burke
“He’s arranged a marriage for you,” Mother said, pulling her from her selfish thoughts. “There’s no need for you to remain in London.”
Aquilla’s head spun. Her anxiety returned tenfold. “What marriage? Who?”
“I believe you know him. Lord Lindsell. He wrote to your father a week ago and asked to court you. Your father granted his wish, and a few days later, Lindsell asked for your hand in marriage. As you can imagine, your father is quite thrilled to finally be rid of you.”
Aquilla bristled at her mother’s choice of words. They stung, but they were accurate. She could hear him saying just that. While he’d never struck Aquilla, his words had cut and burned as harshly as any physical pain.
“I’m sure he is,” Aquilla murmured. She pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin. “However, I refuse to marry Lindsell.”
Mother’s lips pursed even more severely than normal. “I’m afraid you’ve no choice in the matter. The banns will be read on Sunday.”
That was in three days!
“I can see you’re upset.” Mother’s brow furrowed, but the flash of concern in her eyes said it wasn’t due to frustration, which would have been typical. No, this seemed to be one of those rare moments when her mother felt empathy. “Let’s sit.” She didn’t move toward Aquilla or try to touch her. No, she wouldn’t do that. Aquilla didn’t even need all her fingers to count the number of hugs her mother had given her.
Aquilla forced herself to walk to the settee, where she sank onto the cushion. Immediately, she realized she ought to have taken a chair so that Mother couldn’t sit beside her, but just as quickly, she castigated herself for such a stupid thought. Mother would never choose to share a settee with anyone. She didn’t like people to be close to her, but then, after everything she’d endured, Aquilla couldn’t really blame her.
And therein lay Aquilla’s conflict. She didn’t like her mother very much, but she felt such sorrow for her that she couldn’t help but still love her. Even if her mother didn’t want her to.
They sat in silence for several minutes. Unable to bear the tension any longer, Aquilla looked at her stoic mother. “You supported my desire to remain unwed.”
“Yes, so long as your father never forced the issue. Now he is.” There was no regret in her tone. Gone was the shred of emotion she’d revealed earlier.
“He doesn’t need to. I’m going to seek employment as a companion. You needn’t worry about me any longer.” She looked her mother in the eye. “Not that you ever did,” she added.
“Of course I did. That’s why you’ve not married before now.” Her mother transferred her gaze to the windows. “I know you think I don’t care for you, but I always have.”
In her often strident and always aloof way, Aquilla supposed. “Then tell Father my plan. It won’t affect him one way or the other.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Lindsell owns a parcel of land that adjoins ours and has agreed to give it to your Father in exchange for marrying you. I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to avoid it.”
Anger and frustration and injustice swelled inside Aquilla until tears burned her eyes. She looked away from her mother and blinked them back. “Lindsell is terrible. He said I needed a ‘loving yoke.’” She darted a glance toward her mother, who looked at her with a pained, sympathetic expression.
“I’m sorry. If I could stop it, I would.”
Aquilla didn’t believe her. She might detest her husband, but she still supported him and demonstrated her allegiance, even if it meant treating her children poorly. Even so, Aquilla couldn’t blame her, not when she’d seen her father hit her three years ago. She’d since learned that he’d been doing that throughout their marriage, which was why Aquilla’s desire to wed had evaporated. Her father had employed a yoke—a yoke of violence—and it worked.
Determination to avoid such a fate surged in Aquilla. She was never one to give up easily. “Then I’ll have to think of a way.”
Lady Satterfield glided into the drawing room at that moment, her smile instantly brightening the room, if not Aquilla’s mood. “Good afternoon, Lady Knox. I didn’t know you were coming to Town. I would’ve invited you to stay with us.” Lady Satterfield sat down next to Aquilla on the settee.
“Good afternoon, Lady Satterfield. I am staying with my cousin, but thank you for thinking of me. And thank you again for hosting my daughter this Season.” She sent a look toward Aquilla. “You’ll be pleased to hear that your efforts have borne fruit. Aquilla has received a proposal of marriage from Lord Lindsell, and her father has accepted.”
Lady Satterfield’s eyes widened, and her gaze snapped to Aquilla’s. Her lips pressed together firmly before she said, “I see.”
Aquilla’s mother stood abruptly. “Well, I should be on my way. Aquilla, we’ll return to Henlow House tomorrow, if you can be ready.”
Lady Satterfield stood too, but Aquilla couldn’t manage to join them. Her body was quaking with anger and anxiety, and her mind was racing with ideas—including escape. Perhaps she could flee to America.
“Actually, that won’t be possible,” Lady Satterfield said with an edge to her tone that gave Aquilla a modicum of satisfaction. “We have several social engagements planned that I should hate for her to miss.”
“I see. If you think it would reflect poorly on her to miss them, then we shall have to accommodate that.”
Lady Satterfield’s stare could’ve turned the hearth to ice. “I do. If you’d care to join us in the park later this afternoon, I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” She smiled placidly, but Aquilla could see she was angry. And this made Aquilla happy—it felt so wonderful to have an ally.
Mother nodded. “I will meet you later.” She looked at Aquilla before she left, but said nothing.
As soon as she departed, Lady Satterfield returned to the settee. She pivoted toward Aquilla and took her hand. “I’m so sorry. Is there nothing we can do?”
Aquilla shook her head. “No, my father is committed. Lindsell has a parcel of land he plans to trade. That is my worth, apparently.”
Lady Satterfield squeezed her fingers before letting go and clasping her hands together in her lap. “There has to be someone better out there—someone we can bring up to scratch.”
There was no chance of that. “Before Sunday? The banns will be read.”
“That doesn’t give us much time, no.”
It was past time to tell Lady Satterfield the truth. Aquilla summoned her courage and stiffened her spine. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. There won’t be anyone who will want to marry me.” Sutton came to mind, but she still didn’t believe he actually wanted to marry. Regardless of what he’d said, his actions didn’t support that. “You see, I’ve done everything possible to dissuade everyone. I don’t wish to marry.”
Lady Satterfield’s brow gathered and her eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t understand. Why would you agree to a Season looking for a husband if you didn’t plan to accept one?”
“Because I didn’t want to return home.” There it was, a simple reason and yet not simple at all.
“I can see why—your mother isn’t particularly warm, but then you’ve told me that.”
Aquilla had shared the bare minimum—that she wasn’t close to her parents. Lady Satterfield had never understood why they’d given up on her. It wasn’t as though they couldn’t afford another Season; they just didn’t want to give her one.
“I’m glad I’ve been able to offer a respite for you.”
“Oh yes,” Aquilla rushed to say. “I can’t thank you enough for the past several weeks. I’ve been happier here than anywhere else in my life.”
Lady Satterfield smiled sadly. “My dear. I wish I could keep you here. But if your father has agreed to this marriage, there is nothing I can do.” Her mouth tightened with resolve. “Unless we find you a better husband.”
“I still don’t wish to marry.”
“Not even to avoid Lindsell? Why d
on’t you want to marry, dear?”
She could say what she’d told Ivy—that she just hadn’t met anyone that interested her, but Lady Satterfield would perhaps press that issue. She might take it as a challenge to find someone—posthaste—who would interest her. Again, Sutton rose in her mind. Did he interest her?
“I did—once.” Aquilla had worked very hard not to dwell on sadness and fear, two emotions that had permeated Henlow House. She’d been vaguely aware of it as a child, but her nurse had done a good job of protecting her and her younger brother from the rest of the family. Her older brother Paul hadn’t escaped because Father had taken his heir under his wing from a young age.
But now, sitting here with Lady Satterfield, whom she’d come to know and trust and even love in the past several weeks, she let it all flood over her. She didn’t look at the countess, but fixed her attention on the fireplace where coals burned low in the grate.
“I looked forward to the day when I would marry so that I could leave Henlow House. But I didn’t attract any suitors that first Season.” She smiled wryly, remembering how awkward it had been, and then her smile disappeared when she recalled how angry her father had been. She was beautiful and came from a good family—why did no one want to marry her? Gradually she’d begun to feel less and less until she wished she could disappear altogether. “My second Season was an even bigger disaster.” The invitations had all but dried up. That her mother had convinced him to let her have a third remained a shocking occurrence.
That was when everything had changed, however—that time between her second and third Seasons. When Aquilla had learned the sinister truth behind her parents’ marriage. Her mother had stopped shielding her from it—at least when her father wasn’t around. When he was, she played the part of a dutiful, compliant wife. But in private, she’d told Aquilla never to trust a man, that their true nature would always reveal itself.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lady Satterfield said of hearing about her Seasons. “I wish I’d known you then. I daresay they would not have been unsuccessful. You are a delightful young woman, and I still believe we could find a much better match for you than Lindsell. If you are willing.”
Aquilla shook her head. “I’d rather not. My parents’ marriage is difficult. I would not want that for myself.”
Lady Satterfield gazed at her with sympathy, her eyes warm and caring. “I understand. Not all marriages are like that, however. Just look at me and Satterfield. Or Nora and Titus. And now your friend Lucy. She’s quite happy.”
So far, yes. But they were only recently married. Aquilla was terrified things might change for her friend, though she’d never said so. Still, she couldn’t argue that both Lady Satterfield’s and Nora’s marriages had weathered quite well. They were content, and Aquilla knew their husbands were kind and loving.
Although, seeing it and believing it could happen to you were not the same thing, and Aquilla’s experience had always been that men were shallow and sometimes cruel. Lindsell exemplified the worst she’d encountered—he was self-centered, arrogant, and demeaning toward women. If that was how he behaved before marriage, what could she expect after?
“I know, and I’m so happy for all of you, but for me, I’d be more comfortable as a companion, I think. I talked to Ivy about it the other day, and she’s agreed to help me.”
Lady Satterfield frowned. “Forgive me for being forward, but I struggle with that image. Since I came to know you, I’ve always pictured you as a wife and mother. When I see you working with those children at the orphanage, I see a nurturing woman with so much love to give.”
Her words pierced Aquilla’s heart, for that was what she’d wanted most when she was young and naïve. Before her eyes had been opened. “I appreciate you saying that, but that is not my path. Or maybe it is. I suppose I won’t get to decide.” The reality of her situation was beginning to truly sink in. Her throat grew tight and she felt light-headed, as if all the air was being sucked from the room.
Harley came in then. “My lady, a missive was just delivered for you.” He handed it to the countess, and she murmured a thank-you.
Opening the parchment, Lady Satterfield scanned the letter, and her lips curved into a smile. “Do not admit defeat yet, dear.” She looked over at Aquilla, who was puzzled by her reaction.
“What is that?”
“It’s the list of necessities for the hospital from Lord Sutton. He’s invited us to visit Bethlehem with him on Saturday.”
Judging from the sparkle in Lady Satterfield’s eye, she had a plan, and it likely involved Sutton. Aquilla couldn’t keep from narrowing her eyes in apprehension. “What are you thinking?”
“Sutton seemed interested in you, and if we could bring an earl up to scratch, I daresay your father would have to approve.”
She wanted to somehow provoke Sutton to propose before Sunday? Aquilla blinked at her. “I don’t think he’s that interested. You’re aware of his reputation.”
“Of course, but I happen to believe he does want to marry—he just hasn’t found the right woman.” Her smile was calculating but warm, and for a moment, Aquilla almost believed in Lady Satterfield’s abilities to change the future. Until she remembered that she didn’t want what she was planning as much as she didn’t want to marry Lindsell.
Still, if her father thought an earl might be in the offing, it might buy Aquilla some time in which she could execute a plan to avoid her compulsory marriage. “I’m not at all certain I like what you’re planning, but I shall endeavor to keep an open mind.” She smiled at the countess, truly appreciating her concern. “You’ve been so kind. I’m so sorry I wasn’t honest with you from the start. I feel horrid about taking your hospitality.”
“Nonsense. You clearly needed it, and I’ve been delighted to welcome you. Having you here has given me great joy.” She gazed at Aquilla with determination—and love. “I promise we’ll work this out.”
Aquilla wanted to believe her but just couldn’t. And not because Lady Satterfield wouldn’t try her hardest. But because if Aquilla knew anything, it was that her father always won.
Chapter Six
A gray sky could still be exceedingly bright, Ned mused as he glanced up, squinting. It was the nicest afternoon they’d had in days, so he wouldn’t complain. Particularly when he hoped to see Miss Knox. Aunt Susannah hadn’t wanted to join him today, so he’d walked to the park from his town house on Upper Brook Street.
Searching for Miss Knox or Lady Satterfield, he scanned the coaches parked here and there and the groups of people milling about. The countess was taller than average, and he caught sight of her maybe thirty yards away, just off the path.
He made his way toward them, nodding at people he knew along the way, but not stopping. As he neared, he finally saw Miss Knox standing at her side. Eager to reach them, he moved more quickly—and promptly bumped into Mr. Forth-Hodges. Startled, Ned rushed to apologize but kept one eye trained on his quarry, lest they move away.
Mr. Forth-Hodges brushed at his shoulder where they’d connected with one another. “I say, careful there.”
“In my haste, I misstepped,” Ned said, straining to smile.
“No trouble, my lord,” Mr. Forth-Hodges said. “I imagine you’ll want to see Emmaline. She’s just taken a promenade with her mother.” He gestured down the path in the direction of Miss Knox.
Ned wouldn’t correct him. What would be the point? He merely nodded and took a step to leave.
But Mr. Forth-Hodges wasn’t finished, apparently. “She was a trifle disappointed you didn’t dance with her at the Overton ball.” There was no direct question, but his tone was a query on its own.
“I wasn’t there for a terribly long time,” Ned said. “Mostly, I wanted to escort my aunt, and then I took my leave. Please convey my best to your daughter.”
“You can do that yourself when you see her on the path,” he said gruffly. “Go on, then.”
Ned gave a single nod—and an irritated glance�
�before departing. Once he’d had to answer to an irate father who’d come to see him after he hadn’t proposed to his daughter. Ned had spent a good quarter hour explaining to the man that he and his daughter simply didn’t suit. The father had been angry, but Ned had promised to ensure everyone knew she was a lovely young woman and would make someone an excellent wife. Aunt Susannah had worked very hard to make sure that came to pass. By the end of that Season, the young woman had become betrothed to a viscount.
They could do the same for Miss Forth-Hodges. He’d make sure Society knew she was an extremely fine catch.
Lady Satterfield saw him first, her eyes instantly lighting up. “Lord Sutton, good afternoon!” she greeted warmly.
He took her hand and bowed over it. “It’s my pleasure to see you, Lady Satterfield.” He turned to the beautiful brunette at her side, whose lapis eyes were fixed on him, but with less enthusiasm than her sponsor’s. “Good afternoon, Miss Knox.” He bowed more deeply as he took her hand.
“Good afternoon, my lord. May I present my mother, Lady Knox.” She indicated the woman standing to her right. Lady Knox’s hair was a duller shade of her daughter’s, and silver glinted at her temples. Her eyes were a dull grayish-green, the color of lichen that perhaps never saw the sun.
She offered a tight smile, or so it seemed given the way her flesh stretched around her lips and the myriad lines that wrinkled it. “Good afternoon, Lord Sutton, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you. How delightful that you’re in Town.” Ned was more curious than ever about Miss Knox’s situation. She had two parents, one of whom was clearly able-bodied, and yet they refused to give her any more Seasons. From the looks of Lady Knox’s costume, they were not in want of funds. Her dress was of a recent fashion and of exceptionally fine quality and construction.
