Chapter 1 #2
Cian shook his head, the action causing a lock of auburn hair to fall over his brow.
“I don’t give a rap how you sit, Mia. But you know Father does.
You’d better get used to rakings if you insist on sitting that way.
” He shifted a stack of books to one side to see her better.
“But enough of that. Tell me, are you excited about tonight?”
“No.”
Cian laughed.
“I am not jesting. Tonight is just another opportunity for me to do or say something mortifying and draw Father’s censure.”
“Oh come, Mia. I’ve read nothing about you in the betting book at my club.” He grinned. “Not in the past week, at any rate.”
“Ha. Very amusing. I should think my behavior at the Charrings’ ball provided enough to fill several books.” Mia propped an elbow on the back of the settee and dropped her chin into her palm.
Cian’s smile faded. “You must forget about that, er, incident, Mia. I’ve not heard it mentioned in ages.”
That incident was Mia’s disastrous first ball. Mia thought her brother’s reassurance was na?ve and optimistic. Just because men were no longer putting wagers in betting books did not mean the matter had been forgotten.
“In any event,” he continued. “I understand there will be numerous swains in attendance this evening.”
Her brother appeared determined to put the best face on an event that was no better than a public auction.
Mia shrugged. “Yes, there will be no undesirables at tonight’s dinner, only the finest pedigrees.
After Father caught me talking to the scion of a coal magnate at the Powells’ soiree, I now understand that wealth derived from coal or textiles is considered detrimental to the bloodline.
Imbecility, decrepitude, and foppery are, however, quite acceptable. ”
Cian glanced at the door, as if somebody—the duke?—might be listening at the keyhole.
“My dear sister, you must curb your tongue if you are to catch even such men as fit those descriptions.”
“So I’ve been told. Father also made it plain he would sequester me with Aunt Philippa for the remainder of my days if I did not marry by the end of the Season.”
Cian opened his mouth, and then closed it again.
Something about her brother’s forlorn expression pricked Mia’s conscience. “Don’t mind me, Cian, I’m still smarting from the scolding Father gave me.”
“Do you know whom he has assembled for your perusal tonight?”
“Oh yes. I have seen the guest list.” Mia struggled to keep her voice light, even though her blood hummed with fury at the men her father was offering for her consideration.
“There will be placards on the table before each one: Lord Cranston—octogenarian, drools, mistakes me for one of his seven daughters and is in dire need of an heir and a new roof on his country house in Devon. There is also Viscount Maugham, who is two and twenty—a mere decade younger than me—but is as handsome as a young girl’s dream, and has a decided partiality for young boys. ”
“Mia!”
Cian started so violently he dislodged a stack of books and fumbled to catch them before they slid to the floor. “Who told you such a thing?”
“I am two and thirty, Cian.” She raised her brows.
“Tell me, Brother, do I not speak the truth?” Cian remained mute but his bright red face made her smile.
“Your countenance is most articulate.” Indeed, Mia could not recall the last time she’d worn such roses on her cheeks.
The sultan had used up her blushes years ago.
“You may know such a thing, Mia, but you cannot speak of it in company, and never around Father.”
“I am not in company, Cian, I am with you. If I cannot speak openly with you, who else is there? Cousin Rebecca?”
“Good Lord, no!”
Mia heaved a sigh. “Oh, Cian, as if I would do such a foolish thing.”
“No, no, I don’t suppose you would.” His green eyes were dazed and he stared at the cluttered surface of his desk before looking up.
“If you must speak of such matters, you might as well do so with me—provided we are alone. I want you to give me your word you will never do so if anyone else might hear.”
Mia gave him a look of disbelief, instead.
“I am serious, Mia—your word.” Cian’s stern mouth and piercing stare made his resemblance to their father more than a little marked, a comparison she doubted he would appreciate.
“Very well, Cian, I give you my word. Shall we spit on our palms and shake, as we used to do when we were young?”
Cian groaned and lowered his head into both hands.
“I was jesting,” she said, laughing. “I vow I will not speak of such matters unless we are very much alone. Will that serve?”
Rather than a look of relief, two lines of worry grew between his eyes. “Surely not all your suitors are terrible?”
Mia wanted to comfort her brother almost as much as she wanted it for herself.
It wasn’t as if her marital requirements were stringent.
She didn’t expect love or companionship—far from it.
All she wanted was indifference. The less interest her husband showed in her, the easier it would be for her to make plans to escape back to Oran.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the kind of thing she could share with Cian.
Especially given the public embarrassment he’d suffer when she deserted whatever man she did marry.
If only she could just disappear without all the bother and fuss of marriages and husbands.
But her father had made that impossible by refusing to release anything but pin money until she was wedded.
And even if she had enough money to purchase passage back to Oran, the strict watch the duke kept on her made organizing such an escape impossible. The sad truth was she had to marry.
“Mia?”
Mia looked up and gave Cian a reassuring smile, the best she could offer under the circumstances.
“In spite of all my complaining, I’m looking forward to tonight’s ball.
” The relieved expression that spread across his face at her small lie was gratifying.
She slipped her feet into her shoes, tied the ribbons, and stood.
“I will leave you to your studies.” She braved the mountain of books and papers to kiss him on the cheek before turning to leave.
“Save a dance for your little brother,” he called after her.
Mia closed the door and leaned against it. Should she tell Cian her plans? Was it possible she’d misjudged him? After all, he was not happy here, either. He spent most of his days buried in books to avoid the crushing expectations the duke laid upon him. Would he help her?
Mia pushed away from the door, shaking her head at such wishful thoughts.
Cian might sympathize with her on matrimonial matters, but he would never understand her desire to return to Oran.
Nor would he be happy to learn about the existence of her son.
To any member of the Upper Ten Thousand—her own family included—her precious Jibril would be nothing but the half-caste bastard of a heathen savage.
No, finding her way back to her son was a task she must face alone. She could trust no one, not even her brother. The sooner she did as her father ordered and selected a husband, the sooner she could escape this horrible country and return to Jibril.
Mia would make her choice tonight, no matter how poor the options.