Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Yes, Mrs. Wells.”
She nodded and then moved aside, allowing me to pass.
I buried my gloved hands into my well-worn gown, gripping my skirts tightly as I passed through the halls to the servants’ stairs. My stomach roiled with each step that took me closer to the drawing room.
What if the men who had assembled were still gathered round the table? What if the Marquess of Wheaton remained? How would I face them? More importantly, how would I face him?
I was spared from further worry when I reached the drawing room and found it empty, save my father. He was seated alone at a table strewn with cards and markers, his thinning gray hair mussed as if he had been passing a hand through it relentlessly. His gaze was lowered, pinned upon the cards in disbelief. Tobacco smoke and sour wine heavily tinged the air.
“Mrs. Wells said you had need of me, my lord,” I managed, trepidation making my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.
Mere hours before, I had been brought here roughly before an audience of strange men, presented as a sacrificial lamb. I feared I already knew the outcome of the game.
“You,” he said harshly, his lip curling in a sneer. “Why are you lingering at the threshold? Come in, curse you.”
I did his bidding, offering him a curtsy. “What may I do for you, your lordship?”
“Sit,” he commanded.
I folded myself into a chair at the opposite end of the table, intentionally keeping myself beyond his reach. Although he had spoken few words, I could hear the telltale slur in his words. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot. By now, I was more than familiar with the signs of dissipation. The deeper he fell into his cups, the angrier he became. And I had no wish to bear the brunt of his rage this night.
I settled my gloved hands in my lap and waited, offering up a silent prayer that I would be spared.
“Such a slovenly baggage,” he sneered. “You’ve been nothing but a burden to me all your life, girl.”
My father was a hateful, unhappy man. But I was numbed to his vitriol.
“Forgive me. It was never my intention to burden you.”
He slammed his fist down on the table with so much force that I winced. “Such unbridled cheek. Show some humility.”
I bowed my head, staring at my entwined hands, trying to keep them from trembling. “Yes, your lordship.”
“Mrs. Wells has warned me repeatedly that you are slothful.”
The housekeeper’s hatred of me was not new. I had learned that I could not change it. No matter how diligently I worked, she was never satisfied. Still, I knew better than to argue with my father.
I kept my head lowered. “Yes, my lord.”
“Mrs. Wells has also reported that your appearance is never that befitting a maid in a grand household such as Cliffwood. She says that you have invited sinful gazes from the footmen.”
I lifted my chin, daring to meet my father’s irate glare. “I have never behaved in an indecorous fashion, my lord.”
“Silence!” he bit out, rapping on the table again, sending the wine yet in his goblet sloshing violently. “Have I given you leave to speak?”
I bit my lip.
“Hold your tongue, girl. You have disgraced me, burdened me, and taken advantage of my generosity for long enough. As of this evening, you will no longer be a millstone around my neck.”
I inhaled sharply at his cutting revelation.
It was over, then. My father had lost me in a game of cards. I was to be sent away with the marquess.
“Father,” I entreated. “Please, you cannot mean to send me from Cliffwood.”
His nostrils flared. “I haven’t a choice in the matter. Wheaton defeated me. The bastard cheated, I’ve no doubt of it. But as a gentleman of honor, I have no recourse other than to acknowledge him as the victor.”
Panic seized me in its relentless hold. I wouldn’t miss my father. But I would mourn Lydia and Geraldine. I didn’t want to go with Lord Wheaton. I couldn’t. I had to find a way to remain.
“If he cheated,” I began, “then surely there is something that can be done.”
“Do you dare to gainsay me?” my father snarled. “Nothing can be done, and Cliffwood will be the better for your absence.”
“No,” I whispered. “I beg of you, please don’t send me from here.”
“It is done,” he said with cold finality. “You belong to the marquess. Now be gone from my sight. I never want to see you again.”
Trying to stifle a sob, I rose from the chair and curtsied again. As I retreated, a string of vile curses followed me. I had no doubt that my father would spend the rest of the evening getting thoroughly soused.
But there would be no such oblivion for me.
My life had just been forever altered, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.