Chapter 4 #2
"The nerve!" her mother gasped. "To come into our home and speak to us that way– it is deplorable!"
"Well, you hardly helped, Louisa," her father sighed. "He seems to want to hear what she has to say. You should have remained quiet."
"But why does he care what she thinks? He is not going to bargain with the next mare he wishes to buy, is he?"
Dorothy pretended that her mother had not just called her a horse.
"Do you want this match to work or not?" her father continued. "If we want to see her married, we must do as the Duke says whether we agree with it or not. We do not have the luxury of dictating what a man such as himself can and cannot do."
Her mother sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead.
She had never liked being told what to do, and it was fortunate that her parents rarely disagreed.
She did not do well when she was told that she had done something wrong.
She felt offended, slighted, and she did not know how to respond to such feelings beyond expressing anger.
"Very well," she sighed before turning to Dorothy.
"You should consider yourself lucky that this man seems to care about how you feel, but mark my words.
You will promenade with him, you will express gratitude for it, and you will marry him.
I do not care how many times he asks you, nor how sincere he seems to be, you will not tell him that you do not want this match. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes, Mother, of course. I would never do anything to ruin this match."
At last, her mother seemed to calm herself. She composed herself and left the room. Dorothy was going to follow her, but then her father called her back. Bristling slightly, she turned back and sat with him.
"That was perhaps not the ideal first meeting between the two of you."
"No. I know, I should have been more willing. It is my fault."
"No, for once it is your mother's. I do hope, though, that you can see just how much this means to her. She wants what is best for our family, and whether you think it is perfect or not, this is what is best. You will not receive a better offer than this."
Somehow, her father being kind to her unsettled her more than when his voice was raised. She did not know what to do with his kindness, nor whether or not she could trust it. She wanted to, but after so many years it had become impossible.
"Now," he continued, "would you like to tell me any requests you have for your wedding? You shall be seeing the modiste this week for your gown, but I am afraid your mother has already designed that. She believes that you will like it, though."
It was only a gown, but Dorothy wished that she could have had a say in it.
The modiste had a lace that was floral, and it was precisely what she wanted, but her mother would not have chosen that for her.
Her parents hated her passions for plants, as it was not ladylike and would only turn men away.
Except, the Duke had liked it about her. It was something they shared, even if he had been able to do more with his interest than she had. It gave her hope for her marriage, if they had so easily found something in common.
"I would like flowers," she said suddenly. "If not at the ceremony, then at least at the wedding breakfast."
"Dorothy, you know how I feel about your little obsession with plants. Your mother feels the same way."
"I know, but it is the one thing that I shall ever ask of you. You can choose the flowers, I am only saying that I want them."
"I suppose it would not hurt, especially given how amenable you have been about everything else."
"Thank you, Father. The Duke will also be most pleased."
It had been the wrong thing to say. As far as her father knew, that had been their very first meeting, and she could not tell him that it was not the case.
"The Duke?" he asked. "Why is that?"
"He likes plants. He studied botany at university."
He raised an eyebrow at her. She should have lied, but she was not any good at it and it would only have made things worse. Her father was being kind to her, and she so wanted that to continue.
"Is that so? And how, pray tell, did you come to know that?"
"I… I learned of his name at the ball. Cecilia had already heard that the Duke of Ulverston had found a bride, and when they saw my ring, my friends knew that it had to be me. Cecilia knew quite a lot about him."
"Yes, well, you are to be careful around that girl. I do not like her."
"I know, but she has been nothing but a good friend to me. Besides, Father, do you have any idea how wonderful that is? We both like the same thing!"
"A marriage requires more than that, but it is a start. Tomorrow, you must charm him. Wear one of those gowns your sister had made for you."
Dorothy stifled a groan.
"Can I not wear pink? You know it is my favorite. I do not understand why you listen to Eleanor's advice when you do not otherwise speak to her."
"I listen to her because she was always the fashionable one in the family."
"Yes, and when did you ever see her wearing yellow?"
Her father was silent for a moment, and then at last he chuckled.
"Now that you mention it, I do not believe that I ever did. Very well, you may choose your gown, but I want no mishaps tomorrow. He will be your husband, and you will be grateful about that."
"Of course, Father."
She left the drawing room to prepare for tea with the friends she knew her father could not stand.
Since her engagement, her father had been nicer to her about seeing them, with the exception of Cecilia.
She was a bad influence, he said, one that would turn all of them into bluestockings like her if she could.
Dorothy had never believed him, especially when Cecilia had been the one to be so confident that Emma wanted to marry her husband.
There had been no attempts on her part to stop the union, only efforts made to ensure it was what her friend had wanted.
Dorothy knew that to be true, for it was all she had received since her own betrothal was announced.
She simply wished that she was a better liar whenever Cecilia asked her.