Chapter 3
D orothy wondered, when she awoke the following morning, if she had dreamed the entire thing.
It had been such a wonderful night once she escaped into the garden, and though she feared what was to come she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.
She had rebelled, and done something for herself and herself alone.
No matter what came of her marriage, she would always have that moment. It was hers.
Her mother and father, however, were not as impressed.
"What were you doing last night?" her father demanded at breakfast. "I left you with your mother, and she came to me alone."
"I needed air," she explained. "Nothing bad happened, Father, I assure you."
"I do not care whether or not anything happened. I care about your reputation, and how it reflects on ours. I will not be known as a man with two willful daughters, Dorothy."
"And you are not. I was outside for merely a few minutes, and then I returned to the ballroom to see my friends."
"Those friends of yours do not bring me comfort. I am pleased that within the month you will no longer see them."
"Perhaps my husband will be pleased to see me with friends?"
He sighed at her, then ate a mouthful of toast. He motioned to her mother, who cleared her throat. This meant, to Dorothy, that her father was angry and was trying to give her grace. Her mother would be far calmer than him. In a way, she was almost grateful to him.
"You are to be a married lady soon," her mother explained. "The expectations that are placed upon you will change. You must be the very picture of propriety, and disappearing at social events is anything but that."
"I understand, Mother, and I apologize. I suppose I was simply disappointed that I was unable to meet my fiancé. Though this marriage is not what I had in mind, it would have been nice to meet him."
"And you will. He made it quite clear to your father that he will not be your husband without meeting you first. We do not know, however, when that will be. We had thought it would have been the ball, but he seemed to have other ideas."
"I do not blame him for that," her father grumbled. "A man like him will have higher expectations than a young lady that has extended absences from events."
Dorothy was no longer listening. She had tried to pay attention, but her mind continued to drift back to the night before, to the kiss that she never should have wanted.
The man she had met was everything that she could have wanted; handsome, charismatic, devilish.
He was precisely the sort of danger that she had craved, and thankfully it appeared that nothing bad would come from her recklessness.
After breakfast, she left for the garden.
There, at least Dorothy could think about the night's events in peace.
She tried to think about what was happening around them, and if there might have been anyone that had seen her unmasked and alone with a man, but she could not remember anything but the man.
There had never been anyone that she had met that had captivated her so effortlessly, and part of her was saddened that she would never see him again.
She would me married to another, and their one clandestine moment would have to be forgotten.
Unless, of course, she refused to forget about it.
If the gentleman chose to forget about her, and she was quite certain that he had already done so, then that was his decision.
She, on the other hand, would choose to remember.
It was the one time she had deliberately disobeyed the rules, and she could not bring herself to regret it.
She felt willful and wicked, and she only felt more and more pride the more she thought about it.
"Dorothy?" her mother called. "Dorothy, are you out here?"
"Yes Mother," she replied. "Is everything all right?"
She returned to her mother, who was looking at her with uncertainty. All at once, her nerves came back to her and she returned to her usual state.
"Your betrothed will be visiting you this afternoon. He has sent a letter to your father explaining his absence, though I have been forbidden from reading it. He will be taking tea with us, and your father wishes to speak with you before his arrival."
She could have fallen to the ground then and there.
She did not want to speak with her father.
She did not want to stand in his study and listen to him tell her about all of the ways she had failed him and how she must do better.
It was a cruel reminder that she could do anything she pleased, but the day after would always come and she would always be back where she had started.
Marriage would not change that.
She nodded to her mother and made her way to the study. She hesitated before knocking, as she truly did not wish to hear what he had to say, but she knew that the sooner it began the sooner it could end. She knocked, and a gruff voice on the other side of the door instructed her to enter.
Her father was not physically the most frightening man.
He was short and of average build, but from the years of torment he had given Dorothy, she had grown afraid of him.
He had complete control over her and always had done, and now he was handing that control to a man he deemed able to represent their family.
She did not dare imagine the sort of man that had to be.
"Mother said you wished to see me."
"Indeed," he nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat. "I want to discuss your soon to be husband with you."
"I would like that very much."
"I was wondering. Are you concerned about meeting him today?"
"A little. I shall not pretend that I am not nervous. After all, I do not know a thing about the man, and though I am certain that you have chosen well, I am hesitant to marry someone that I do not know, and who does not know me."
"I can understand that. After all, your mother and I were not a love match."
Dorothy's eyes widened. She had always assumed that her parents had a marriage born of love, though not the sort of love she would ever wanted for herself.
They saw each other as equals, and as above others in society.
It had made sense to Dorothy, therefore, that as they were the only people they could stand that they simply had to have been in love.
"You mustn't look so surprised," he continued. "It truly is not that strange. I needed a wife and so I spoke to your grandfather. He arranged the match and we were married. Your mother has always been grateful for that, as she did not want to be a debutante and do all of those social things."
"But how did you choose her?" she found herself asking. "Did you not know one another at all?"
"I knew what was necessary. People talk, and from what I had heard your mother was one for social climbing. Such a thing should have been detrimental to her fortunes, but not to me. I thought that it was a trait I shared."
Dorothy agreed with that.
"What I am trying to say," he continued, as if he was struggling, "is that we men can overlook certain aspects of a lady, but not everything."
There it was, the beginning of his lecture.
"We are fortunate that your absence last night was not made known to him, given his absence, but you must try harder now. You will be a duchess, I remind you. It is imperative that you do right by this family, especially after all that has happened."
She blinked.
"A duchess? Is that to say that I shall marry a duke?"
"That is what that title would suggest, would it not? I do wish that you would try harder to understand, Dorothy."
"I do know what it suggests, but… Well, I had not expected you to find a duke that would be willing to marry me."
"Believe me, I do not know why he has decided he has agreed to it, but that is not something that we are going to question. He wishes to marry you, and so you shall."
Dorothy hardly ever had a conversation with her father that did not devolve into him telling her of her own supposed failings, but he seemed to be in high spirits after the news that her future husband would be paying a visit.
She wished that he could have told her what had made the Duke want to marry her, but if he could not tell her that, then perhaps…
"I understand. Father, if I may, might you tell me what happened with Eleanor?"
His face darkened in an instant.
"I only ask because I do not wish to follow in her footsteps. Not only that, but it is possible that she might wish to see me when she learns that I am to marry a duke. It is best that I know whether or not I can see her, and if not, I should at least know why."
Her father seemed reluctant, but her reasoning was sound. Perhaps, she considered, she had a quicker wit than she gave herself credit for.
"Your sister," he began, raking a hand through his hair, "was not willing to follow my instructions.
I tried, truly I did, but she never had any interest in doing what was best for our family.
I had allowed her three seasons, as I did with you, and then I found her a match.
She was unhappy with it, and one night she disappeared. "
"To Gretna Green?"
"Precisely."
"But if she had done that, that must have meant she had found a match of her own. Did you not know?"
"Of course I knew, but that baron was not good enough for Eleanor and I will never believe otherwise.
In spite of what the two of you might think, I want what is best for you.
That man had little money and a small house in Scotland.
Your sister could have been so much more.
I did everything I could for her, and what did I get in return? She risked ruining our family."
Dorothy tried not to pity her father, knowing how he had treated her all her life, but she could not help herself.
He had tried to replicate his own marriage for them, which, while misguided, was a very honorable thing for him to have done.
There was no doubt that the match he planned for Eleanor would have led to scandal when it fell through, but was it enough to never want to see one's own daughter again?
"Is that to say that you do not want me to speak to her?"
"You are no longer a child, Dorothy. You were but five-and-ten years of age when it happened, and so you will hardly remember it now, but you know what is expected of a Bolton. We act with pride. Can you truly be proud of someone that could behave so recklessly?"
Dorothy was willing to wager that her sister had not done anything much worse than she had herself, but she was never going to tell her father that.
"No, I suppose not."
"Good," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Is there anything else you might like to know?"
"Yes. When she writes to you, telling you what the fashionable colors and fabrics are, do you ever write back?"
He did not seem too happy with that question.
"No, and I think that is for the best. I do not even know where she lives now. I assume it is in Scotland, but who is to say? In any case, she knows where we are. Should she ever want to speak to us, I would consider it."
It had been six years since Dorothy had seen her sister, and given that Eleanor had left of her own accord and had seemingly chosen to disappear in the same way, Dorothy envied her greatly.
She had not made her own decisions; she had been told what was to happen to her and she had accepted it in every way that mattered.
"Thank you, Father," she said politely, rising to her feet. "For explaining all of this to me, but also of course for making the arrangements that you have."
"It is for the best, Dorothy, even if you do not believe me yet."
She hoped he was right.
She waited in her bedchambers until her betrothed arrived.
She tried not to think about what he would look like and how he would act, but it was impossible.
She invented a hundred different men, and each time they changed in her mind's eye until they had black hair and green eyes.
It brought her shame to think about the man again, but she wondered if seeing her future husband would help her move past her encounter.
Not forget, as she did not want to do that, but at least be able to find happiness elsewhere.
When he arrived, she took a deep breath and checked herself in the mirror a final time. She approached the drawing room slowly, trying to steady herself before entering.
She took a breath, resigning herself to whatever fate awaited her, and entered the drawing room.
Her mother and father sat on one of the blue settees, sitting perfectly upright and perhaps a little too tightly wound. She could hear the hum of polite conversation, and though she could hear a very deep voice she did not take too much notice of it.
"Ah, here she is now," her mother said brightly. "Dorothy, dear, this is Morgan Lockheart, the Duke of Ulverston."
The Duke, her husband.
He rose from his seat, and she was taken aback by his stature, and how similar it was to the one she had seen before. Tall and muscular but not one that threatened her. Large arms that she wished would be used to protect her.
Then he turned to her, and all at once she realized just how great of a predicament she was in. His eyes were that same startlingly pale green, and his grin was mischievous.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you," he bowed. "And do not call me by my formal name. In light of the circumstances it would be best if we drop such formalities."
Her parents would think that was because they were to be married, but Dorothy knew better than that.
This was the man that she had kissed, and the man she had thought about incessantly since then, and he was clearly not going to let her forget it.