Something in his voice made Caroline wary. After the scandal over George, her father had made it very clear she was always to practice protocol in order to put rumors of her lost virtue to rest. Not that they had beenrumorsexactly. She had allowed George to take her virginity after she thought he’d offer to make her his wife. Not that her father had an inkling aboutthat. He thought her refusal to allow other suitors had been part of reestablishing her respectability and not her loss of trust in the male species. So why was her father suddenly willing to allow such a liberty? Unless…
Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. This past spring her father had made several comments that it was time she should marry. That two years was long enough to mourn—she wasn’tmourning, for the love of heaven!—and that she was about to be put on the shelf at her age. Caroline had managed to make excuses, the strongest one being that she preferred simply to run their household since her mother had died. She thought he’d accepted her decision not to marry.
The earl reached for her hand. Lost in her jumbled thoughts, she wasn’t quick enough to thwart him. The next thing Caroline knew, he’d bowed and planted a sloppy kiss over her knuckles. She tried to extract her hand, but his grip was too tight. She cringed inwardly as the wetness soaked through her glove. She looked to her father for help, but he was nodding in approval. Whatever little blood had remained in her head left, and she stared wordlessly at her father. He’d said he’d had important business to discuss at White’s the night her carriage was stopped by the Midnight Marauder…
Obviously mistaking her silence for complacency, her father beamed. “Lord Tisdale and I have talked. He thinks the two of you would suit very well.”
Caroline managed to find her voice. “But I—”
“No need to say anything,” her father said before she could finish. “Lord Tisdale has made an offer for you, and I have accepted.”
The earl straightened and leered at her. “Meet your betrothed, my dear.”
Chapter Two
If the butler had announced the arrival of Napoleon at the soiree just now, Caroline could not have been more surprised at the proposal. Or shocked. Or upset. What in the world was her father thinking?
How dare her father not consult her? She wasn’t some silly young girl who needed decisions made for her.Especiallymarriage decisions. Had her father not listened to a thing she had said? She had no intention of marrying anyone. Particularly not a man practically old enough to be her father, and a snooty one at that.
She glared at her father. The look in his eyes was almost pleading. She managed to curb her rising temper, but just barely. Sir Reginald was going to get a piece of her mind as soon as they got home, but there was no point in starting a quarrel at the soiree. Already, too many ladies standing nearby had stopped talking and were pretending to study the wallpaper. Caroline sighed in frustration. If the gossips caught even a breath of what the conversation had been about, the news would fly faster than musket fire. She plastered a smile on her face and hoped it wouldn’t crack as she focused on the earl.
“Your…suggestion…is somewhat sudden. I will have to give it some thought.”
“I did not make a suggestion.” The earl’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I made a decision.”
A decision in which she had not been consulted. When would men ever think women had enough intelligence to make decisions for themselves? Except for her two rakish, but completely platonic, friends, Alexander Ashley—who’d been betrothed to Amelia before his brother George had betrayed him, too—and Alex’s friend, Brice Barclay, she didn’t know of any who did so.
Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw two of theton’sleading gossips, Lady Compton and Lady Linford, edge closer. Between the two of them, the news of a betrothal would reach half of London before morning. Caroline tamped down her flaring temper. “I have reached my majority—”
“I am well aware of that,” the earl interrupted rudely. “You should be grateful I have offered for you.”
Caroline cringed inwardly and looked around the room, wishing Alex and Brice were here. She could have signaled one of them to join her and put an end to this discussion. But Alex had sailed to America with his new bride, and Brice was probably spending the night in one of the gaming hells he favored. Not far away, she spotted the Marquis of Kendrick. Not that he was easy to miss. His longish black hair shown nearly blue from the chandelier, and his eyes were almost as dark. The black frockcoat molded to his broad shoulders as though it were a second skin. He moved with the grace of a panther, but maybe that was because he spent much of his time on boats, according to Brice. Right now, Kendrick’s brows were drawn together in a frown. He was a friend of Alex’s and Brice’s, but she could hardly expect him to interfere since they’d barely spoken on just a few occasions. She was going to have to handle this herself.
“As I said, my lord, I should like time to think.”
“Think all you want,” he replied and raised his voice, “but unless you plan to disobey the prince regent, it will do you naught.”
“The prince regent?” Caroline blurted out the question before she could stop herself. Conversation around them suddenly ceased, and people were openly eyeing her with interest. She could have bitten her tongue off.
“The prince regent,” Lord Tisdale said smugly, “honoured your father’s request for a suitable husband. My wife passed away a year ago, and I find that I miss…the intimacy of marriage. The prince agreed to the match.”
Caroline suddenly felt nauseous and hoped she wasn’t going to cast up her accounts on the spot. “I do not think—”
“That is an excellent idea,” the earl said. “Do not think. Let men do the thinking. Prinny is hosting a house party at Brighton in two weeks.” He gave her a lurid smile. “There we will have time to get to know each other much better.” The earl turned and walked away, leaving her to stare after him. Fans started rustling as whispered conversation began to fill the room.
Caroline was ready to spit, an action that would have given her pleasure, but her target had already turned his back. She glared again at her father, hardly able to contain her tongue, but she refused to give the gossips even more fodder. He probably sensed how close she was to an outburst.
“You look quite exhausted. Are you ready to leave, daughter?”
She wasn’t a bit exhausted, and her father knew it. “I am more than ready, Father. More than ready.”
…
Caroline was still out of sorts the next morning when she went down to breakfast. The room was empty save for the footman whose job it was to keep candles burning under the chafing dishes on the sideboard of the small, informal dining room.
“The usual?” he asked, starting to remove the cover on the coddled eggs.
“Just toast and tea today,” Caroline replied and deliberately ignored the servant’s surprised look. The feeling of nausea returned every time she recalled the earl’s words last night.
