“But how? You heard her. She seems set on the marriage.”
“I’ll talk to Papa in the morning.” August wondered if she would get anywhere with him. He was well-known for his pragmatism. If Mother had already convinced him that this would help their business, then there might be no changing his mind. But there was no sense in sharing her concern now, when her sister needed reassurances.
Violet nodded. “I’ll send Maxwell a telegram tomorrow. I have no idea if this duke will actually offer, or when this damned wedding is meant to take place. Max won’t let them do this.”
While August knew that their brother would take Violet’s side in this, she just didn’t think there would be time. There was little hope that a telegram from their brother would sway her parents. He’d have to come here, and before he could leave, he’d have to arrange things with Crenshaw Iron. It could take weeks. No, they would have to take care of this themselves.
As if reading her thoughts, Violet said, “Dear God, will he have time to get here? How soon do you think they want this marriage to take place?”
“I have no idea. That’s why we cannot wait for Max.”
“And what if Papa doesn’t relent?”
August stared down into her sister’s dark eyes, wide now with genuine terror. “If Papa doesn’t help, then I’ll talk to the duke myself. I am certain he can be persuaded to see reason. After all, who would want to marry an unwilling bride?”
It was hardly a reassurance. Violet’s brow crinkled as they both remembered the sight of Camille walking down the aisle. She hadn’t wanted Hereford, but no one had cared.
“I won’t do it, August. I won’t give up Teddy.”
August pulled her sister in for another hug and did her best to soothe her.
“He’s said he loves me.” Violet sobbed.
“Shh . . . You won’t be forced to marry anyone. I promise.” As she made the vow, that vision of Camille refused to leave. She would go through hell to make certain that did not happen to Violet.
* * *
* * *
Very early the next morning, August made her way to the library, where her father would be drinking coffee and catching up on the news he had missed the day before. London hours had not changed Griswold Crenshaw or his habits. He still awoke at dawn to prepare for the day ahead. The only minor concession he had given to staying up until all hours of the night to imbibe in social events was the addition of an afternoon nap.
A pang of affection made her smile when she saw him. He sat in a large wingback chair with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he flipped through the pages of the Times. A pot of coffee sat on the spindly table at his side, and a fire danced merrily in the hearth. Something about the way the morning light splashed warm color over the otherwise darkened room reminded her of the times she would invade his morning routine as a child. He never spoke harshly to her. He would simply smile and ask her how she thought the market would perform that day.
“Good morning, Papa.” She walked over and dutifully gave him a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek before taking the chair opposite the table. He had never approved of facial hair on men, so his well-groomed mustache was his compromise to the fashion of his generation.
“Morning, darling.” He gave her the charming smile that had gained him many business deals and set his newspaper aside to pour her a cup of coffee. “How do you feel about the market today?”
She smiled at his continued loyalty to their routine. “New York will be fine. In recovery and getting stronger every day.” Stirring in the cream, she grimaced when she realized the tray did not contain sugar. Her father never took his coffee sweet, so it hadn’t been included. She had a weakness for sweets.
Taking up his paper, he held it in front of him so that she was treated to a view of an article detailing the declining market for pigs in Nottingham.
“Lord save us from another Jay Cooke and Company fiasco shutting down the exchange again,” he said.
“I do believe we all learned a valuable lesson about the dangers of speculation.”
He gave a mirthless chuckle of agreement and grumbled something unintelligible into the newspaper.
Staring at his hands—the very hands that had held hers many times as they danced at various functions and only weeks ago had patted her shoulder to congratulate her when the investment in a factory she had recommended had paid a tidy dividend—she found herself suddenly very nervous. To cover her anxiety, she took a sip of the bitter coffee, letting it roll around her tongue before swallowing.
What if Mother turned out to be right and Papa was in complete agreement with her? What then? It would be a rarity, but not completely unheard-of. Hadn’t he sided with their mother when Maxwell had wanted to move into his brownstone? They had both decided that bachelors should live at home until they were married. Not that their displeasure had stopped him. He had moved out and life had gone on. Surely, this could be resolved as simply. Only this was marriage and so much more permanent.
“Papa?” Her stomach churned, so she set the cup and its saucer on the table, afraid the smell would make her more nauseated. “I have come to discuss something very important with you.”
He glanced at her from behind the paper and must have noted the seriousness of her expression, because he opted to set it aside again. Before his frown could become a question, she said, “Mother spoke with us last night. She mentioned the idea that Violet might marry the Duke of Rothschild.”
To her horror, he smiled and took up his cup and saucer as if the idea were something to be mulled over and entertained with intelligent conversation. “I sometimes believe that I don’t give Millie the credit she deserves. She’s hopeless when it comes to business, but she has proven very shrewd in other areas.”
A chill started in her face and made its way down her entire body. “Are you saying that you agree with Mother? That Violet should wed this man we know nothing about?”
“It’s a fine idea, August, and he isn’t some stranger. True, we do not know him personally, but he’s a duke.” He shrugged as if the title alone should be enough. When that didn’t get a response from her, he added, “He and his family are well-known. Several gentlemen I know, including Hereford, have vouched for him.”
“Do you mean men you have only met since we arrived?”
She could hardly keep her voice from trembling with her fury.
His infuriating smile stayed in place as he inclined his head. “I concede your point. However, I have known Hereford for nearly a year, and most of them are his friends and acquaintances. Rothschild counts the Prince of Wales among his friends. What more of a recommendation do you need? I have it on good authority that the Prince of Wales himself will approve the match.”
“How on earth could you know that? How long have you been planning this?”
“Only recently, darling. The prince speaks highly of Americans, as you know. It stands to reason that he will welcome more of our girls. He approved Camille, didn’t he?”
August could hardly believe what she was hearing. While it was true that the Prince of Wales had sent Camille and Hereford a wedding gift, and his love of Americans had been written up in various papers, she could not fathom that extending to Violet. Not because her sister didn’t deserve his esteem, but because it all seemed so unbelievable.
“The prince doesn’t concern me. I am more concerned with losing Violet and having her married to a man she doesn’t love or even know.”
“You’ve always had a soft heart for her. Violet is not like you or me. She doesn’t know her own mind. She needs a husband who will take care of her, nurture her as her own family has. She needs an environment where she will be protected from some of the harsher realities of the world.”
How was this man she knew to be perfectly rational willing to marry his daughter to an aristocrat he barely knew? Did Violet mean
so little to him? “But she does know her own mind. She knows that she doesn’t want to marry this duke. She knows that she wants to be a writer.”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “I am certain her husband, whoever he may be, will indulge her penchant for writing.” He took a sip of his coffee and stared into the fire as if Violet’s future was of no consequence.
He said it as if her writing was a mere hobby and not something to be considered a serious pursuit. But then far more insidious thoughts crossed her mind. Was this because Violet had been born a daughter? Did she have no other worth to him than something with which he could barter? If he was willing to part with Violet so easily, did that also extend to August?
August had always believed that he found her advice to be genuinely helpful. He had always taken the time to include her in his work, marveling at her ability with numbers. Had she . . . Had she been little more than an oddity to him? A female who could add a column of numbers faster than his best clerk? No. She gave a shake of her head, refusing to believe it.
“But how do we know this man will nurture her—”
He raised his hand in an effort to quiet her. “August, please. We do not know him yet, but we will. There has been no announcement. We are still very much in the preliminary stages of discussing a possible union. From all appearances, he will be a suitable husband for her, but if we meet him and do not like him, we can certainly reevaluate. Give me a little bit of your confidence. I do not plan to marry my youngest child off to an ogre.” He grinned at his jest.
As long as she had known him, her father had never raised his voice. He was stern when it was called for, and he had a way of speaking that was very quiet while still managing to resonate. It was how he addressed a crowded room of stakeholders at Crenshaw Iron Works. It was how he spoke at important functions. His voice could sneak inside her head and calm her even when she wanted to be angry. He just sounded so completely reasonable about it all.
Willing to push her earlier fears aside, she asked, “But what of Teddy?”
“Who?”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Not quite sure if he was being deliberately obtuse, she said, “Theodore Sutherland. He and Violet have been practically inseparable the last two summers at the cottage.”
It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that he didn’t remember, because he did not spend the entire summers with them in Newport. He tended to spend long weekends and travel back for work during the week. Even her own attendance at the cottage was sporadic, unlike Violet and their mother, who lived there for the summer months.
“Ah yes, I remember now,” said Papa. “You must admit the Sutherlands are not so well established as the duke.”
“Of course I admit that, Papa. That isn’t the point. I mention Teddy because Violet fancies that he is in love with her, and they will marry after his graduation.”
“I have never indicated that I will give permission for that particular union. In fact, I believe he is a poor choice. Is he even twenty years old yet? He’s too young. Besides, his father mentioned that he has an interest in studying the law. If he attends law school, that could be another several years before they marry. She’ll be too old by then. No. Absolutely not.”
“She’ll barely be twenty-five. I’ll be twenty-five in two years. That is hardly too old for marriage.”
He gave her a look that was filled with more compassion than she was comfortable with. His mustache drooped further at the corners as he quickly gave his attention to his coffee.
A mild sort of fright clawed its way up her throat, and the words were out before she could stop them. “Do you think I’m old?” Or at least too old to marry. Did they view her as a spinster to be humored and placated?
Without looking at her, he placed his cup and saucer on the table and retreated to the safety of his newspaper. “Of course not. One day you will find a fine man to marry. We were discussing your sister. Violet will have wasted her youth waiting for Theodore, and he might very well decide he wants another after law school. Let us entertain the notion of the duke for a bit and see what happens.”
“Papa, must we even—”
The paper crinkled as he glanced at her. “Enough with this, darling. Nothing has been carved in stone.”
When he hid behind the newspaper again, she knew this was as far as she would get with him today. Still, she couldn’t help but sit and stare at the typeface as she took in shallow breaths. She wanted to ask him about her own future. Would they consider a marriage for her if it would further the family name? Would he be so willing to give her up, and all that she had brought to Crenshaw Iron Works, if it would give them social standing? She opened her mouth to ask, but a moment of cowardice kept her silent. Part of her didn’t want to know. What would she do with the information anyway?
As always, reason would have to prevail here. While she disliked the idea that he was almost as excited about the plan as Mother, she was gratified that he was at least willing to discuss the situation rationally. Perhaps the Duke of Rothschild would turn out to be the very ogre he would not want Violet to marry and all of this would prove moot.
Or, if her parents couldn’t be made to see reason, perhaps the duke himself could be dissuaded. Camille had been an unwilling bride, but no one had ever discussed it, preferring to keep that fact hidden in niceties. Perhaps if she confronted Rothschild with Violet’s unwillingness, he would back down.
Really, who would want an unwilling bride? This wasn’t the Middle Ages.
Chapter 4
But the cloud never comes in that quarter of the horizon from which we watch for it.
Elizabeth Gaskell
Evan and his mother were the last to arrive for dinner at the Ashcrofts’. As they followed a footman from the mahogany-paneled entryway, Evan glimpsed gilt-framed paintings on the walls of the rooms that they passed. He recognized at least one Rembrandt and two Titians. A twinge of guilt drew his mouth tight as he thought of the paintings he’d had Clark sell only last month. A minor concession to the creditors clamoring for his throat. Not enough to cure their bloodlust, but enough to assuage them for a time. His mother had not returned home to Charrington Manor yet to notice, and if his sisters had written to her about them, she had not mentioned it.
“Please try to smile,” she whispered. A glance at his expression had her amending her request. “Or at least stop scowling. You will frighten the dear girl.”
To her credit, she had her graceful half smile in place. It was the one she pulled out for formal events such as this. It said that she was appropriately interested but elegantly benign about what was happening around her, and that everything was absolutely satisfactory in her world.
“How can you sound so cheerful?” he asked.
“I have faith that it will all work out well. She is a lovely girl who will make you a lovely bride.”
It hardly signified that he did not want a bride, lovely or otherwise. He wanted the basic dignity of being able to provide for his family like any man. Unfortunately, his father had robbed him of that. Now this woman, barely more than a girl, would be responsible for saving them. Perhaps bankrupting the dukedom to see Evan flounder had been part of Father’s plan all along.
“You’ll make it through this. I promise.” His mother patted his cheek and moved ahead to the door a footman was opening. The music of a quartet of stringed instruments wafted out of the drawing room.
A flicker of excitement sparked to life in his belly, only partially dampened by the gloom of the forced marriage ahead of them. Miss Crenshaw was in that room. She had been brave to attend the fight. Braver still for taking what she wanted and kissing him. The fact that she was his intended bride was the only thing that made this situation tolerable for him.
When they approached the door, Lord and Lady Ashcroft crossed to greet them. The room was filled with several people, and his gaze
flicked from one to the next trying to find her. Hereford was present, as was an older couple he recognized as his mother’s friends, Viscount Ware, and a middle-aged couple he vaguely recognized as the Crenshaws. They were elegantly dressed, even if Mrs. Crenshaw did appear a bit too ostentatious in her jewelry choices. The large diamonds at her neck and ears were a bit overwhelming taken altogether. An attractive young woman stood beside them, but there was no sign of the woman from the fight.
“How wonderful to see you, Rothschild. Margaret, you are glowing with health.” Lady Ashcroft fawned over his mother, while Evan swallowed his dismay and greeted Lord Ashcroft. The man had been a friend of his father’s but lacked the elder Rothschild’s austerity.
After pleasantries were exchanged, Evan found himself again searching for her. She had to be present. He refused to accept the niggling doubt that said he might be mistaken. A door to the garden had been left ajar, and gaslights flickered beyond the windows to encourage guests to explore it. Perhaps she was out there.
Impatient to see her again to discover if that same spark would be lit between them, he made a move in that direction, but, as if she suspected his intent to leave, his mother took his arm and guided him toward the others.
“Rothschild. Good of you to join us.” The Duke of Hereford had also been a friend of his father’s, though unlike Ashcroft, he tended to view Evan with the same disappointment as Evan’s father. The man inclined his head in the barest echo of a bow.
Evan returned the gesture, hating that he was now Rothschild. In his mind it was his father’s name and not one he had ever planned to associate with himself. “Hereford.”
“Have you met our American friends yet?” asked Ashcroft.
And here it was, the reason they were all gathered. His chest tightened as he looked past Hereford to the couple who were watching him with interest. “I have yet to have the pleasure.”
The Heiress Gets a Duke Page 5