Page 7 of Her Bear of a Duke
"I do not care whether or not anything happened. I care about your reputation, and how it reflects on ours. I will not be known as a man with two willful daughters, Dorothy."
"And you are not. I was outside for merely a few minutes, and then I returned to the ballroom to see my friends."
"Those friends of yours do not bring me comfort. I am pleased that within the month you will no longer see them."
"Perhaps my husband will be pleased to see me with friends?"
He sighed at her, then ate a mouthful of toast. He motioned to her mother, who cleared her throat. This meant, to Dorothy, that her father was angry and was trying to give her grace. Her mother would be far calmer than him. In a way, she was almost grateful to him.
"You are to be a married lady soon," her mother explained. "The expectations that are placed upon you will change. You must be the very picture of propriety, and disappearing at social events is anything but that."
"I understand, Mother, and I apologize. I suppose I was simply disappointed that I was unable to meet my fiancé. Though this marriage is not what I had in mind, it would have been nice to meet him."
"And you will. He made it quite clear to your father that he will not be your husband without meeting you first. We do not know,however, when that will be. We had thought it would have been the ball, but he seemed to have other ideas."
"I do not blame him for that," her father grumbled. "A man like him will have higher expectations than a young lady that has extended absences from events."
Dorothy was no longer listening. She had tried to pay attention, but her mind continued to drift back to the night before, to the kiss that she never should have wanted. The man she had met was everything that she could have wanted; handsome, charismatic, devilish. He was precisely the sort of danger that she had craved, and thankfully it appeared that nothing bad would come from her recklessness.
After breakfast, she left for the garden. There, at least Dorothy could think about the night's events in peace. She tried to think about what was happening around them, and if there might have been anyone that had seen her unmasked and alone with a man, but she could not remember anything but the man. There had never been anyone that she had met that had captivated her so effortlessly, and part of her was saddened that she would never see him again. She would me married to another, and their one clandestine moment would have to be forgotten.
Unless, of course, she refused to forget about it. If the gentleman chose to forget about her, and she was quite certain that he had already done so, then that was his decision. She, on the other hand, would choose to remember. It was the one time she had deliberately disobeyed the rules, and she could not bring herselfto regret it. She felt willful and wicked, and she only felt more and more pride the more she thought about it.
"Dorothy?" her mother called. "Dorothy, are you out here?"
"Yes Mother," she replied. "Is everything all right?"
She returned to her mother, who was looking at her with uncertainty. All at once, her nerves came back to her and she returned to her usual state.
"Your betrothed will be visiting you this afternoon. He has sent a letter to your father explaining his absence, though I have been forbidden from reading it. He will be taking tea with us, and your father wishes to speak with you before his arrival."
She could have fallen to the ground then and there.
She did not want to speak with her father. She did not want to stand in his study and listen to him tell her about all of the ways she had failed him and how she must do better. It was a cruel reminder that she could do anything she pleased, but the day after would always come and she would always be back where she had started.
Marriage would not change that.
She nodded to her mother and made her way to the study. She hesitated before knocking, as she truly did not wish to hear what he had to say, but she knew that the sooner it began the soonerit could end. She knocked, and a gruff voice on the other side of the door instructed her to enter.
Her father was not physically the most frightening man. He was short and of average build, but from the years of torment he had given Dorothy, she had grown afraid of him. He had complete control over her and always had done, and now he was handing that control to a man he deemed able to represent their family. She did not dare imagine the sort of man that had to be.
"Mother said you wished to see me."
"Indeed," he nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat. "I want to discuss your soon to be husband with you."
"I would like that very much."
"I was wondering. Are you concerned about meeting him today?"
"A little. I shall not pretend that I am not nervous. After all, I do not know a thing about the man, and though I am certain that you have chosen well, I am hesitant to marry someone that I do not know, and who does not know me."
"I can understand that. After all, your mother and I were not a love match."
Dorothy's eyes widened. She had always assumed that her parents had a marriage born of love, though not the sort oflove she would ever wanted for herself. They saw each other as equals, and as above others in society. It had made sense to Dorothy, therefore, that as they were the only people they could stand that they simply had to have been in love.
"You mustn't look so surprised," he continued. "It truly is not that strange. I needed a wife and so I spoke to your grandfather. He arranged the match and we were married. Your mother has always been grateful for that, as she did not want to be a debutante and do all of those social things."
"But how did you choose her?" she found herself asking. "Did you not know one another at all?"
