A Duke to Remarry (The Oddities of Marriage #1)
Chapter 1
“Father, did you hear what I said?” Thalia Carter asked, standing on the periphery of the drawing room while guests played their games and chattered amiably.
A small party of a dozen or so, invited to dine by her father, Gibbs Carter, the Viscount Farhampton. Small by his usual standards, anyway.
“Hmm?” Her father raised his head, dislodging a stringy piece of the thinning hair he tried so hard to comb into a false fullness.
“Well, that rather answers my question,” Thalia mumbled, her gaze traveling back toward the small figure at the pianoforte. “I was just remarking upon how well Dorothy is playing. Is she not quite the talent?”
Her father sniffed as if he had smelled something unpleasant. “What do I care for all that? Indeed, I have been thinking of selling the wretched thing. I cannot stand the sound of it.”
“Selling it?” Thalia’s head whipped toward him, staring at him in disbelief. “But Dorothy adores that pianoforte.”
“Yes, well, when she is married one day, I am sure her husband can furnish her with another and then it shall be him who has to endure the relentless hours of the same song played over and over,” her father muttered in reply, even more short-tempered than usual.
In truth, he had not been himself throughout the entirety of the dinner party, picking at what was placed before him, saying very little when, ordinarily, he liked to be the very center of attention.
Several times, some guests had discreetly asked Thalia if he was quite all right, and she had been forced to make up a white lie about a headache.
If only it were something so simple.
“Goodness, what is the matter with you this evening?” she remarked to her father, bracing herself for a sharp rebuke.
Still, it had to be mentioned. He had been in a foul mood for days, to the point where Thalia did not know why he had insisted on going ahead with the dinner party at all. It would have been better for him to postpone it instead of behaving in such a sullen, rude manner.
Better yet, not to host the party at all. For there were things that Thalia knew that she had not yet had the courage to discuss with him, things that would put anyone in a dire mood.
“Nothing is the matter with me,” he shot back. “It is that wretched music; I cannot bear it another moment. Excuse me.”
Turning on his tail, her father marched out of the drawing room, though none of the guests seemed to notice his departure. Only Dorothy, Thalia’s younger sister, clocked the abrupt exit and, with a disappointed frown, slowed her playing to bring the song to a close.
Passing the mantle of entertainer to one of the other ladies present, Dorothy came hurrying over to where Thalia stood.
“Did I displease him so?” Dorothy asked, chewing her lip nervously.
At thirteen-years-old, the poor thing still desperately sought their father’s admiration and attention. And at nineteen-years-old, Thalia could not deny that there was still a part of her that did, too.
But Gibbs Carter did not bother himself with something as useless as daughters, and probably never would, unless Thalia suddenly came to him with news of a proposal from some exceedingly wealthy prince or lord.
Alas, her first Season had not gone particularly well in terms of anyone of extreme fortune showing the slightest bit of interest in her.
I have not solved all of his problems, so what use am I?
The same, however, could not be said of their brother, Kenneth. He could never lose their father’s admiration, having become a shining example of a young gentleman: stern, dutiful, capable, and fortunately lacking most of his father’s traits.
“You did nothing wrong, my dearest,” Thalia assured her sister. “He is just in one of his moods.”
Dorothy dropped her chin to her chest, but not fast enough to hide the tear that leaked from her left eye. “He hates everything I do.”
“Oh, my darling, that is not true,” Thalia urged, putting an arm around her sister. “No, no, you must not think that way.”
“I heard him say he means to sell the pianoforte,” Dorothy murmured, her shoulders shaking with the effort of trying not to cause a scene.
Thalia frowned. “Just now?”
“This morning,” Dorothy replied. “I do not think he knew I was there, but I heard him discussing it with Mr. Healy. Oh, Sister, if I do not have my music, I do not know how I shall survive. I thought… I could change his mind if I played so very well tonight, but it seems I have just vexed him all the more.”
Anger bristled in Thalia’s veins, wishing she were just a little bit taller, a little bit stronger, a little bit more imposing, so she could slap some sense into her father.
Some decency, at the very least. Selling off the pianoforte would barely make a dent in Gibbs’ troubles, but that instrument meant everything to Dorothy: to her, it was priceless.
No, he shall not get away with this tonight, Thalia vowed. Tonight, I shall make him listen. I shall not let him make my sister cry again.
Thalia straightened up. “You run on to bed now, my dearest Dottie. I will speak to Father. I will see to it that no harm befalls your beloved pianoforte.”
Dorothy raised her head, her honey-blonde hair gleaming in the low light, while her green eyes widened in admiration. “Do you mean it?”
“I would not say it if I did not,” Thalia replied gently, as she proceeded to usher her sister out of the drawing room, across the entrance hall, and up the first couple of steps of the main staircase. “Go on, off to bed with you. I will come and speak with you once I have talked to Father.”
Dorothy hesitated, her hand on the banister. “But I shall not sleep; I will be too nervous.”
“Then, begin to reread our latest book and, by the time you reach the chapter we are up to, I will most likely have joined you,” Thalia said with a smile, for there was nothing she loved more than their nightly ritual of reading a chapter or two of a good book together.
At that, Dorothy nodded eagerly, and took off up the stairs at a run, hitching her skirts up in a most unladylike fashion.
The sight brought a chuckle to Thalia’s lips as she turned away from the staircase, took a deep breath for courage, and set off in search of her grumpy, stubborn, unfeeling father.
“Indeed, what sort of gentleman abandons his guests before the party is over?” she grumbled to herself as she headed through darkened hallways and dusty passages to reach her father’s study: the most likely location of his grouchy retreat.
Upon reaching the door, she heard him humming to himself within, and the telltale clink of the stopper being removed from a decanter of something strong.
Thalia took a deep breath and, with a light knock on the door, entered without waiting for permission.
“You cannot sell that pianoforte,” she began abruptly. “I know that you are in some manner of debt, but sell everything but that instrument. Dorothy needs it. It is her sole joy in this house, and—”
“What did you just say?” her father’s voice sliced through her courage.
She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up, in the hopes that she at least looked undeterred. “I overheard you the other morning, when those two men were here. It was not my intention to eavesdrop, but I was passing, and the door was open, and I could not help but hear.”
And I have carried that secret like the greatest weight ever since.
“I am not aware of the extent of the debt but, considering your temperament since that meeting with those men, I imagine it is not good,” she added, rather pleased that she could get any words at all past the tightness in her throat.
Her father leaned against his desk and sipped from the freshly poured drink, not quite as angry as she had expected him to be at the intrusion.
Instead, there was a smug sort of smile upon his lips.
“If you did know the extent of the debt, you would be begging me to sell that wretched pianoforte.” He paused.
“Those men were debt collectors. The extent of my debt is vast, Thalia. Enough to ruin our family. Enough that all four of us would be tossed into poverty. Perhaps, your mother’s sister would take the two of you, and Kenneth would survive with friends, but your station in society would be the lowest of the low.
My darling boy’s inheritance would cease to exist.”
A gasp slipped from Thalia’s lips, her eyes widening until they ached, unable to blink. She had assumed it was not good news from what she had overheard, but she had not thought it was this awful.
Yet, her father did not seem perturbed. He spoke in an almost casual tone, and that smug smile remained on his face, as if this was all some strange little joke. A joke that did not seem the least bit funny to her.
“Why are you smiling?” she had no choice but to ask the baffling question. “If we are about to be ruined, why on earth are you grinning like that? Indeed, why on earth are you hosting a dinner party? That is the last thing you should be doing. My goodness, the expense! Are you quite mad?”
Her own temper flared, so appalled by her father that she could not restrain her anger any longer.
It had been difficult enough to bear him when he was just dismissive and indifferent, but to discover that he had brought them all to the brink of destitution and did not seem to care a jot was another level of frustration and fury entirely.
If she had been more ferocious, Thalia was certain she would have punched him. Slapped him, at least.
“Because I no longer have anything to worry over,” her father replied, raising his glass. “All will be well.”
“How? Have you discovered a pot of gold you did not know you had? Has a distant relative died and left you an immense fortune?” she snapped, breathing hard through her rage.
“A pot of gold could be a way to describe you, I suppose,” he said, smirking as he sipped his drink.
“What?” she hissed, completely at a loss as to what he was talking about.