by Eva Devon
"I understand how much you dislike me, Papa,” she managed to say as her throat tightened. “The feeling is mutual. But now, at least, I shan't be in your house to trouble you more."
With that, she gave a quick curtsy and headed out of the room. It was hard to keep her shoulders back and her chin up as she stood in the dark hall.
All her life, she had longed for some affection, some kindness, but she'd only ever received it from her sisters.
And then, as they'd gotten older, there had been some resentment on their part that Augusta was so determined that they should be protected from the nefariousness of the world. They'd seen Augusta’s determination to keep them safe, fed, and clothed as best as possible with diminishing funds as a sort of harsh punishment, not the love and care it was. And so her sisters had distanced themselves ever so slightly from her, not desiring the hugs and affection that she had wished for so often. But she'd come to accept that necessity as she tried to teach her sisters to be strong in a difficult world.
Now, she felt utterly alone, abandoned.
Except she wasn't alone now.
She was to be married and to a man like the Duke of Blacktower.
It was incredible the way that he made her feel, his strength, his power. She couldn't deny it had been intoxicating and infuriating at once.
An heir.
It was her duty to be the mother of his child and all that that entailed. She swallowed. She could hardly believe it, but that was what one was supposed to do when one was married, was it not? Had he truly meant it, that they would be married in name only? She would have to wait to find out.
And that, that was almost as terrifying as the fact that she was to be married at all.
Chapter 6
The Earl of Brookhaven could not stop laughing.
Adam narrowed his gaze. "If you don't stop that, man, I'm going to pop you one."
"I'd love to see you try," drawled the Earl of Brookhaven as they strode through the boxing club.
"I'd be delighted," said Adam as he yanked his starched cravat off and tossed it on the polished bench. He pulled off his black coat, matching waistcoat, and rolled up his sleeves. "I need to hit something."
"Do you, by God?" chortled Brookhaven, his broad shoulders shaking with his amusement. “Well, I'm happy to provide a moving target if that's what you require, but I'm not going to cease laughing at you."
"Won't you?" said Adam with a dramatic sigh.
Brookhaven’s eyes lit with amusement. “I shan’t."
Adam met the comment with a ball crushing stare, which apparently was not enough to stop his friend's amused commentary.
“The Earl of Harrowton’s daughter? Lady Augusta,” marveled Brookhaven. "How the devil did that happen?”
A muscle twitched in Adam’s jaw. “It would seem that she's not capable on her own of wearing a gown that stays together."
The earl's lips twitched. "Dear fellow, my deepest sympathies and apologies."
Sympathies indeed. It was going to be a hellish next few weeks. He did not know how he would survive them.
Well, that wasn’t true.
He'd survived far worse. He'd survive this too, but it certainly wasn't the direction in which he had anticipated his life to be going.
Marriage. Hell and damnation. And not just any marriage. Marriage to Lady Augusta and her dreadful family. How the devil was he going to...
No, he wouldn't give it countenance. He wouldn't let her or the fact that one miscalculated turn down a hall had completely destroyed a solemn vow.
She was not the sort of woman he ever would have desired to spend time with, and she certainly wasn't going to be someone he'd be spending much time with in the future. It was the beauty of aristocratic marriages, he supposed, and he was going to finally have the sort of marriage that his father no doubt would have preferred. Except for the lady, of course. She had very little standing and no fortune.
That, in a way, did provide a small relief. He'd be spiting his father in one way by not making another great connection.
The Earl of Brookhaven also pulled off his dark coat and laid it gently down on the bench. He moved towards the ring, climbing into it. "Come on then, old boy. I think you need a bit of a working."
Blacktower couldn't deny it.
He hadn't slept.
Only coffee was keeping him going at this moment, coffee and rage. Rage at society that something so simple as a torn gown could absolutely alter the lives of himself and a young woman, a young woman who clearly had no wish to marry him either. This realization was quite interesting because he never met a lady who didn't wish to marry a duke, but it seemed that Lady Augusta was one of them.
That? It was most unusual and had the unfortunate consequence of piquing his interest. He did not wish his interest to be piqued.
What was it about him that she disliked so much?
It seemed that it was his sense of good fun. He’d struggled to recall the one time they had met years ago, and after much racking of his brains. . . He’d remembered her pert lips, assessing gaze, and her parsimonious nature.
He had forgotten her almost as quickly as he had met her, except to wonder what had made her so tart and uneven footed upon the floor. She'd provided very little interest to him and he had known in that moment that he never wanted to dance with her again.
He did not like tart, lemony young women. He liked interesting people who gave interesting conversation and were excited about life. Lady Augusta did not seem excited about anything. Well, except perhaps the proper schooling of anyone who strayed from the path that she deemed worthwhile.
Besides, within weeks his reputation as a rake had been fixed and dancing with young ladies was out of the question.
Finally, as he flexed his hands, he admitted, “I don't know what the devil I'm going to do."
"You do,” Brookhaven replied without ribbing him now. “You’ll marry her. You will get an heir, and you'll put her in the country and all will be well."
“Bloody hell," he ground out.
Was that truly going to be his future?
He’d been determined to never marry. He’d made a vow to never replace Anna, but it seemed that fate had different ideas. The pain of it coursed through him and he forced himself to draw in several breaths to overcome the encroaching sense of betrayal.
It seemed such an empty future, the one that Brookhaven had just laid out, one that was identical to so many other people that he knew. He supposed he would just be keeping up with the status quo. He didn't wish Augusta to be unhappy. He didn't dislike her that much, but he didn't want her to be anywhere near him, so he would probably do exactly as Brookhaven said.
Adam winced. "I suppose I'll go see my solicitor when we're done."
"Your solicitor?" Brookhaven queried as he stretched his neck.
"Yes, she's going to need several things.” Distaste filled his mouth. “Her father is an absolute lout and lecher."
Brookhaven’s lip curled. “That man could spend money faster than water runs through the Bath Pump Room."
Adam rolled his shoulders, then bounced from foot to foot, warming his body. Rolling his hands into fists, he brought them up before his face. "Come on then."
Brookhaven mirrored his image. They began circling each other, looking for places to advance. He was going to have to take care of the whole damn Harrowton family. It was the only way that his future wife was going to have any sort of independence from them.
Brookhaven darted in and jabbed.
Bobbing, Adam moved away from the hammer-like fist and pivoted to his right. He came in strong and hard and landed a punch against Brookhaven's lower back. Brookhaven let out the smallest growl of a sound.
It was going to be a hell having to pay that damn man, the Earl of Harrowton, an allowance every year because it would be impossible just to give him a tidy sum and send him off. No, a man like that would come back every year asking for more.
Luckily, he had more than enoug
h money for all of them.
He supposed he could just send the man off to some other country and never have to see him again. That was likely what he'd do. He wondered if Lady Augusta loved her father or felt affection for him. He had a strong doubt about it given her seeming interest in a proper life. Her personality and her father's would not go hand in hand.
Brookhaven threw out a strong punch and the right cross hit Adam square on the jaw.
His head cracked back and he heard bells.
Arching a brow, Brookhaven queried jovially, "Not paying attention, are we?”
"I have a great deal on my mind, if you haven't noticed," countered Blacktower, opening his mouth and stretching the offended part of his face.
Brookhaven waggled his brows. “Does that something happen to be five foot two, dark-haired and gray-eyed?"
Adam smiled tightly. "No. As a matter of fact, it's her father that is plaguing my thoughts."
"And her sisters," Brookhaven pointed out with a wide grin. "Don't forget she has two young sisters. No doubt you shall be giving them large dowries."
He would. It was the right thing to do. He wanted to ensure that at least the two young ladies had a chance of successful marriages. If they married poorly, then that would also haunt him the rest of his life. And he already had ghosts aplenty to make his nights hell.
It wasn't exactly his good nature that would ensure Augusta’s sisters had peace and prosperity, but nor did he wish Lady Augusta's family to suffer.
The different ways in which women struggled never quite escaped him.
Lady Augusta and her sisters had no choice in the father that they had, and they also had no choice in this particular moment of ruination. Nor did he, truly. He supposed he could just ignore her and send her off packing, but that would make him an absolute devil and he'd never live that down with his own conscience. He couldn't be an absolute bastard. That would be a worse betrayal of Anna than anything else he could do.
He took up his stance again. "Come on at me then."
Brookhaven darted in, his amusement dimming as concentration overtook his strong features.
Adam turned quickly, lowering his center of gravity. He struck forward fast. His fisted hand punched Brookhaven straight in the stomach. Brookhaven’s breath hissed from him as he jumped back.
What would it be like to kiss Augusta’s tart lips?
The thought crashed in on him like an avalanche and just as he considered it, the earl circled around and landed a solid blow to Blacktower's kidney.
Blacktower grimaced and fell to one knee. "Damnation, man, your hands are like anvils."
"No different than yours, old boy. No different than yours."
Blacktower knew it to be true. It was only his distracted state which had allowed such a fierce blow to land.
After all, he'd knocked out several men in the ring over the last months.
Most wouldn't even come at him in the ring. It was one of the reasons why he and Brookhaven were such good friends. Few people could fight the way they could. They'd spend hours practicing or boxing in the ring. Fighting off tensions and worries for the blasted country were only possible in venues such as this.
Boxing and fencing were the few outlets that a man like him could have.
Adam forced himself up, lifted his hands again and wondered what the devil he was going to do to ensure that Lady Augusta didn't encroach further on the vow he’d made.
He'd send her what all ladies wanted. A great deal of money, a mountain of gowns, and perhaps a few connections. Then, well, she'd be so busy that she wouldn't give him a single thought.
Or if she refused to understand the nature of their marriage, he could simply, as Brookhaven suggested, send her to the country to manage one of his estates. Surely a lady who was so proper minded would enjoy such a thing?
No doubt she'd absolutely adore meeting with the vicar every week, ordering him about, suggesting the topics of his sermons, and helping all of the other young people of the community stay in line.
Yes, he imagined that was exactly the sort of thing that a woman like Augusta would enjoy.
Perhaps that was exactly what he would do. He would offer her the choice of his estates. She could even choose whoever was going to have the vicarage and then the two of them could merrily plot out the lives of many, ensuring that everyone remain on the moral high ground, far, far away from him where he could do exactly as he pleased.
It sounded like a splendid plan.
Brookhaven cocked his head to the side. "Are you even paying attention? You look as if you've gone completely daft."
“Daft?” Adam echoed, his voice slightly more strained than he would have preferred. “Of course I've gone daft, I'm getting married. What else could a man like me do?"
And with that, Brookhaven gave him a wicked smile, then landed a solid blow to his unsuspecting jaw. Again.
“Done! Done!” Adam called, having forgotten they were still boxing. Damnation, he was going daft. "Let us go and have a coffee and see what the devil we can decide to do about all this nonsense."
"Oh, I think you've already decided," Brookhaven said, lowering his fists. "And I'm going to be delighted to watch it all unfold."
"I'm sure you are," drawled Adam. Much to his dismay, he didn’t doubt that Brookhaven was going to get a great deal of delight from his future connubial misery.
Chapter 7
Lady Augusta gaped at the letter of credit in her shaking hands.
Twenty thousand pounds.
She let the letter fall to the worn but carefully polished oak table between herself and her dear friend, Lady Charlotte Manning.
“Twenty thousand pounds," Charlotte whispered, her light blue eyes twin saucers of amazement. "One could hardly imagine such a sum of money."
"I've imagined it," Lady Augusta managed to say, "but I never thought to have it in my hands."
It was remarkable to believe that one sheet of paper could change her life and her sisters’ lives so entirely, and yet she could not feel good about having it.
Not at all. If anything, the letter made her feel worse about the scandal.
Where was the horrible beast? This was not the act of a beast at all but of a good man.
The Duke of Blacktower was forced to marry her. A man who absolutely did not like her and whom she could not like either. And now? He was giving her a fortune and this was all before they were married.
She gaped at the letter again and read the perfectly penned words as if she had somehow been mistaken the first time in her perusal.
Dearest Lady Augusta,
Please do take this credit and use it to make certain you are prepared for our marriage. If you have any questions, approach my solicitor, Mr. Banks, and he will be delighted to explain the terms and conditions of your spending. If you have any questions about the arrangement of our wedding, which will take place at St. Paul's Cathedral, you may also inquire with him.
Yours respectively,
your future spouse, the Duke of Blacktower.
The letter was terse and factual. It was also remarkably generous. She wasn't entirely certain why he'd bestowed such a large sum upon her. She could only imagine it had to do with his general approach to life of spending and free living. The general knowledge of her pecuniary circumstances was also likely known to him.
To him, twenty thousand was nothing.
Heavens! To her soon to be husband, twenty thousand was a night of cards or dice at some wild night of wagering. She knew that there were aristocrats like the Devonshires and Melbournes, and politicians like the Foxes, who spent such sums as if they were nothing every night. She was not such a person.
Such a sum was a life's worth of money to most individuals, several someones, in fact.
She nibbled her lower lip, trying to decide what on earth to do next.
Perhaps, she should find a way to spread such manna about. She could give some toward her dear friend Charlotte, for instance.
She looked at Charlotte with her soft blonde hair, light blue eyes, and slightly worn spencer. Though she bore the hallmarks of English beauty, her face was rather ordinary as were her fortune and connections.
The two had bonded their first Season when it had become clear neither of them were diamonds of the first water and that neither of them then would make great marriages. Unlike Augusta's younger sisters who were indeed beautiful, she and Charlotte were, well, average in every way.
Well, not every way. To say such a thing was a disservice to her friend.
Charlotte was excellent upon the pianoforte and knew how to speak poetry beautifully. One of Augusta's favorite things was listening to Charlotte read aloud. They passed hours and hours drinking watered down tea and reading accounts of journeys to far off places. Charlotte did the best voices in the whole world.
Sadly, such qualities did not seem to be necessary in the gaining of a husband. Likely, Charlotte would face pecuniary disaster in the near future too, given her family’s own precarious position on the fringes of society. Her dear friend would have to marry anyone she could.
It was such a horrible fate for women, the necessity of marriage for financial stability.
Augusta did not know what to do about it. It seemed so ingrained in society and ladies had so little control over their futures. To her it felt medieval that marriage was really the only thing that they could do to ensure their future.
Often, ladies chose poorly, having such little chance to know their spouse before the marriage took place. But fate had chosen her a great husband, a husband of wealth.
Even so, Augusta had a horrible feeling that it was all going to go terribly wrong even if she was going to know financial security at last. She supposed that financial security was the only thing that would make up for the bleakness of her future in all other respects.
At least she would know that her sisters were secure.
That was something that she would be able to focus on and find joy in.
"Whatever are you going to buy first?" Charlotte asked, marveling at the letter still.
