And thus it was Ellen’s scream that announced to all of Perusia that Cathy was not in her room dressing for her wedding. Papa came thundering up the stairs in alarm, until Bianca calmly handed him the letter her sister had written. The concern on her father’s face, however, did not last long.
“Eloped!” Papa thrust the page to arm’s length, then held it up to his face as if the words might change shape up close. “With Mayne!” He turned on her even before reading the second paragraph, let alone the next two pages. “You knew about this?”
“Yes.”
For a moment his face went so red, she feared it would give him an apoplexy. Her grandfather had died of one, after all, and Papa had such a temper—
“Bianca,” he said in a savage whisper, “come with me.” He took her arm roughly and marched her into Cathy’s room and slammed the door behind them. “What have you done?”
“Ididn’t do anything.”
He gripped his wig with both hands, but didn’t tear it off. “I know you,” he growled. “And I know Cathy. She would never do something like this on her own.”
“There’s where you’re wrong, Papa,” she replied. “It was entirely Cathy’s idea to elope with Mr. Mayne, because she loves him and he proposed to her. She tried to tell you! When you said you’d got the marriage contract from St. James, shetoldyou she cared for Mr. Mayne. You didn’t listen!”
“A country curate!” He stared incredulously. “She can’t want a country curate when she could have a gentleman from London, an eligible, elegant gentleman with connections to a—”
“A duke, yes,” Bianca finished scornfully. “I know. She knows.Everyoneknows, Papa. But there is far more to a husband than connections, and Cathy didn’t want St. James.”
“And you encouraged her to thwart me!”
“I supported her in following her own heart!”
“Keep your voice down!” he whispered harshly, even though his voice had grown as loud as hers. “Someone might hear you!”
Bianca’s brows went up. “Someone who didn’t hear Ellen shrieking?”
He cursed, which took her aback. She’d heard him bellow the same language at other people, workmen who broke a whole crate of dishes or a potter who showed up to the factory drunk, but never at her or Cathy.
For the first time it crossed her mind that Papa was not merely upset but truly angry. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the floor, one toe tapping angrily. Instead of his usual gray wool, today he wore his best suit of dark blue satin, with the silver buckles on his shoes. He had gone to great lengths to bring about this wedding, and now he would be humiliated when he had to tell St. James that the bride had fled rather than marry him...
And yet it was his own fault. He ought to have listened to Cathy.
“This is not some girlish prank, is it?” he asked after a moment, his voice more controlled. “Cathy’s not hiding somewhere—perhaps at Frances’s home—waiting to emerge when I promise her a new wardrobe or a carriage if she goes to the church?”
Bianca was shocked. “No! Cathy’s never done anything like that.”
“But you have.” He looked up, a glint in his eye. “You ran off and spent the night in the woods when I wouldn’t let you become an apprentice potter.”
“And see how wrong you were,” she returned, flushing angrily that he would bring that up again almost fifteen years after she’d done it. “I’m a good thrower and a better glazer.”
He conceded with a nod. “Aye. And you got your way. Just as you did when I refused to let you accompany me to Liverpool.”
She quailed inside, just a little, at that. It was true. Papa had been going to see a man about printing designs on his pottery. She had been eighteen and had questions about the process. It wasn’t a new technique, but a refined version that promised more flexibility and colors, subject only to the engraver’s talent. Bianca wanted to see it in person, and she’d waged a fierce campaign to persuade her father until he finally threw up his hands and took her.
“That was different,” she said, before pivoting back to, “even though it was very fortunate I went.”
She’d struck up a friendship with the printer’s wife, and because of it they had secured the printer’s exclusive services for two years. Even Papa had admitted it was better than he could have done.
Her father put his hands on his hips. “Was it? And how shall you turn this circumstance around to the better?” He swept out one arm. “I’ve agreed to a marriage contract. St. James can sue me for breach, because you helped your sister run off with the penniless, soft-mouthed curate.”
“I warned you not to do it.”
“But I did.” He leaned closer. “What’s more, I’d do it again. He’s got an eye for the business, Bianca. He’s also got connections among the highest society in London and knows how they think. He’s a clever gent, no matter what you think, and I gave him a share of Perusia.”
She reeled at this shocking news. “What? Why?”
“Because he was to be my son-in-law!” her father replied. Too late she realized his temper had not died down, it had only burned low, into a white-hot fury all the more dangerous for being smothered and contained.
