“Good afternoon, Milly,” Izzy said tersely. “I suppose you have a good reason for bursting in on us like this?”
Milly didn’t answer. She just stared at each one of them in turn. Zoë watched her, a slight frown on her face.
After a few moments, in which Milly had neither moved nor spoken, Clarissa said gently, “Is everything all right, Milly?”
“I’m betrothed.” The words burst from her.
“Finally,” Izzy muttered. She and Clarissa offered routine congratulations, but Zoë wasn’t sure congratulations were in order. “Who to, Milly?” she asked.
Milly swallowed. “To a m-m-marquess.” Which was the kind of grand title her mother had been aiming for all along. So why did Milly look so…appalled? Overwhelmed? And not in a good way.
“Which marquess, Milly?” Zoë asked.
“The M-Marquess of Blenkinsop.”
Izzy and Clarissa exchanged horrified glances. “Blenkinsop?” Clarissa said carefully. “You mean—?”
“That ghastly old man who looks like a desiccated spider and talks to everyone’s bosoms!” Izzy said, and Milly nodded.
“But he must be eighty, at least,” Clarissa said.
“No. Only seventy-eight,” Milly said, and burst into tears.
They pulled out handkerchiefs and let her cry it out. When finally the sobs slowed and she was encouraged to wipe her eyes, blow her nose and have some still-warm hot chocolate, they tried to talk to her.
“Nobody can make you marry him,” Izzy said briskly. “So just say no.”
Milly shook her head. “Mama will make me. You don’t know her.”
Izzy said firmly, “You just need to explain to her how you feel. She can tell the marquess, you wouldn’t even have to speak to him.”
Milly’s tears started again. “She won’t. She’s completely thrilled by this.”
“She can’t be, not to a man who’s nearly four times your age,” Zoë said.
But Milly was completely fatalistic. “Mama is delighted. She said his age is an advantage.”
“Why, because he’ll die soon and you’ll be a rich widow?” Zoë said bluntly.
Milly started to nod, then shook her head, but the others were not deceived.
“Is he hoping for an heir?” Clarissa asked. “Didn’t his wife die last year after years of being married?”
Milly nodded. “Yes, and he’s going to try again…with me.” She shuddered. Tears rolled down her cheek.
“He could live to a hundred,” Zoë said with brutal honesty, “and that’s twenty years of having a spidery old man groping and slobbering over you in his bed.”
Milly shuddered. “Oh, please don’t. I can’t bear to think of it.”
“If you can’t even bear to think of it, you can’t possibly want to marry this appalling marquess,” Zoë said firmly. “So tell your mama you refuse.”
“I t-t-tried,” Milly wailed. “But she took no notice. She’s thrilled to bits. He is everything she’s ever wanted for me. He’s obscenely rich—”
“He’s obscene,” Zoë muttered.
“—with several huge properties scattered around the country. And he’s a marquess, which is almost as good as a duke.”
There was a short silence, broken only by Milly’s snuffles.
