Chapter 3 #3
He rose too and began to pull on his gloves. “I will send Arden down and you can become acquainted. He will, for common knowledge, fall madly in love and sweep you off to his family. After a suitable but short period you will be married.”
Beth had felt herself no longer capable of shock but that did stun her. “I am to live in your house? What will your wife think?”
“She will be delighted,” he replied. “She misses her daughters. We are all civilized people, and if we are careful this can be managed without hurt to any party.”
Beth raised her chin. “Balderdash,” she said and marched out to find Aunt Emma.
During the next weeks the whole school was aware of the change in Miss Armitage.
Where once she had been noted for her patience and composure, now her nerves were constantly on end, her attention inclined to wander.
Beth was not helped by the fact that Aunt Emma saw her swift agreement to the duke’s outrageous plan as a sign that she had abandoned the principles they had shared through the years.
If it hadn’t been for the daily deterioration in the situation in France, Beth knew she would have been subjected to even more questions and dissuasions.
Wryly, she acknowledged she had something for which to thank the Corsican Monster.
But even that could not make her feel anything but horror at the news that Napoleon was once more in Paris.
He had the audacity to seek peace treaties with the other European nations, to try to have them acknowledge him again as ruler of France.
That time was past, however, and for once the nations were holding together in a Grand Alliance.
Beth’s satisfaction at that was drowned, however, when she was once again summoned to the parlor. She could have no illusion that the cause was anything except her own private disaster.
It was again Clarissa who came with a message that Miss Armitage was wanted in the yellow parlor. As Beth wiped suddenly damp palms on her apron the girl said, “Miss Armitage, could I speak to you—”
“Not now, Clarissa,” said Beth as she hurried off.
Once more she stopped before the large mirror.
Her decorous green-stripe muslin was covered by a voluminous plain white apron, for she had been teaching calligraphy, which always resulted in inky fingers and splatters from poorly mended pens.
She decided to leave it on. Her neat fitted cap covered all her hair except a few chestnut curls.
Roughly, she attempted to push them out of sight.
The cap was decorated with a pretty bow over her left ear, and she pulled her scissors from the case in her pocket and snipped it off.
She was, after all, no beauty, and there was always the chance that if she made herself sufficiently ugly the Marquess of Arden would rebel. He was a man and a rich aristocrat and could not be as far under the duke’s control as she.
When she was sure she had done her worst, she walked boldly into the room.
There was no sign of Miss Mallory, just a man. The Marquess of Arden.
Beth felt her confidence seep out through the soles of her slippers.
He was not a debauched fop. Instead he was everything she feared in men—tall, strong, and arrogant.
She saw the flash of disgust at her appearance before it was hidden under ice-cool manners, and even though she had hoped for it, that further depleted her confidence.
He made a slight bow. “Miss Armitage.”
She did her best to compete. She made a slight curtsy, “My Lord Marquess.”
They stared at one another for a moment then Beth said, “Please be seated, my lord.” She chose a chair for herself, one as far away from him as possible.
How ridiculous it was to imagine herself married to such a man. He was a being from another world.
His features reminded her of pictures of the Greek gods, an impression augmented by the style of his bright curls.
His eyes were the clear blue of the summer sky and ridiculously fine for a man.
He was head and shoulders taller than she and twice as broad.
Growing up tall in a society of women, Beth was always made uneasy by height.
Lucien wondered how anyone would believe he had fallen in love with such a plain Jane. She was not exactly ugly—her features were regular and her figure appeared average under an unbecoming gown and a concealing apron—but there was nothing remarkable about her at all. He sighed. He had no choice.
Beth heard the sigh and tightened her lips. She was not about to attempt polite conversation.
The marquess suddenly stood up again. “Come here.”
Beth looked up in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“Come here. I want to look at you in the light.”
“Go to the devil,” said Beth clearly and was pleased to see him blink with surprise. After a moment a smile softened his beautiful mouth.
“We are in a mess, aren’t we?”
Beth relaxed a little but hoped it didn’t show. “Our predicament is of your family’s contrivance, my lord, and the solution is to your family’s benefit.”
He was studying her cynically. “You see no gain for yourself in this, Miss Armitage?”
“None at all.”
He sat again, his mouth retaining a trace of humor. “Is there nothing in life you want which you do not now have?” he asked indulgently in the manner of one used to purchasing anything, including people.
“My freedom,” Beth replied. It wiped all humor from his face.
“None of us are ever entirely free,” he said quietly. “We must marry, Miss Armitage. There is no avoiding it. But I will be as considerate of you as I can. You have my word on it.”
It was, she supposed, an admirable expression of intent, but she saw it as a declaration of dominance. He, the ruler, was promising not to mistreat his vassal.
“I will have more than that,” she said, having thought on the subject a great deal since the duke’s visit. “I want a handsome settlement of independent income. I will not be dependent on your good will.”
He stiffened. “It has already been arranged by my father, Miss Armitage. But, I’m sorry, it only comes into effect after you have borne me two sons.”
Beth lowered her head. For all the boldness of her demands she had no leverage, and they both knew it. Moreover, this frank talk of children frightened her. Beth had not been raised in ignorance of the mechanics of procreation. At this moment, she wished she had been.
He stood again and walked over to stare into the fire. “There’s no point in this, is there?” he asked bitterly. She hoped for a moment that he was rejecting the whole idea, but he simply turned and said, “Miss Armitage, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Beth stood, too, and swallowed. She considered a further appeal but knew it would do no good. If the de Vaux family wanted her chopped in pieces and served for dinner there was nothing she could do about it.
“I suppose I must,” she said.
He produced a ring from his pocket. He would have put it on her finger, but Beth held out her right hand, palm up and after a moment he dropped the ring into it.
It was a large diamond surrounded by emeralds and not new.
Probably a family heirloom. She placed it on her ring finger herself. It looked utterly ridiculous there.
“What happens now?” she asked, trying to ignore the shackle. She suddenly realized he might expect a symbolic kiss and looked at him in alarm.
Such a thought had obviously not crossed his mind. “I see no point in delaying matters. Come with me now and I will take you to Belcraven.”
“Tomorrow. I must gather my belongings.”
“There’s no need to bring much,” he said with a dismissive glance at her attire. “We will buy you a new wardrobe.”
Beth drew herself up. “I prefer my own clothes, thank you, Lord Arden. Your father said I need only marry you, live in your house, and bear your children. He said nothing of allowing you to dress me to suit your fancy.”
“As you wish, Miss Armitage,” said the marquess through tight lips.
Beth dropped him a straight-backed curtsy.
Insolently, he gave her a full court bow, then walked out of the room.