Lord Brunel, it was whispered, had been seen with Miss Elizabeth, in a far worse situation than that which Adel had planned, and they were still widely admired and respected.
They also have much to recommend them.
She ignored her flutter of doubt and scanned the ballroom for the young man she was intending to secure. A man who had professed his admiration several times and desperately desired to wed her, despite her shortcomings. Adel stiffened when she espied Mr. Atwood bowing over Lady Daphne’s hand, one of the season’s reigning darlings. She was pursued in earnest because she had everything to recommend her. Her father, the Earl of Leicester, was well known in parliament and lauded for his reform speeches. Her dowry was rumored to be thirty thousand pounds, and added to the pot was Lady Daphne’s fashionably blond beauty.
Mr. Atwood ran his fingers through his curly brown hair, a sheepish smile blooming at his lips. What was Lady Daphne saying to him? Adel frowned at his besotted mien. Had she been mistaken in his affections? Surely not. It was only last week he’d approached her by the lake bordering her father’s property and informed her he would again ask for her hand. Not surprisingly, Papa had refused. He had a higher prospect in mind for her, than Mr. Atwood. Papa did not care this was Adel’s fourth season and no titled gentleman thought to make her an offer.
Mr. Atwood was mild mannered and affable. He had never been the sort to ruffle feathers nor would he even dare stand toe to toe with her father and plead his case. The only time he seemed passionate was when he’d declared his love. A smile tugged at her mouth, and she willed him to glance in her direction.
His gaze was firmly stuck on Lady Daphne’s pouting lips.
“Lord Vale!”
Adel flinched as the man whose clutches she was desperate to escape appeared on the landing above the staircase. What was he doing here? The annual Gladstone house party was considered one of the most exciting events of the season, but Evie had promised that her mother had not issued an invitation to the earl.
Adel’s wrists tingled, and the fading bruises his punishing grip had left ached. Bile rose in her throat and she gulped the remainder of the champagne to wash away the unpleasant taste. Her father and stepmother had accepted an offer for her hand from the slimy toad. His presence was dangerous. What if he announced their engagement? Extricating herself from such a disaster would be impossible.
His gaze had unerringly found her. Not that it was much work, as she was one of three young ladies standing on the periphery of the room with their dance cards virtually empty. A pleased smile appeared on his face and her throat tightened. It would be a catastrophe if he singled her out. The bile she’d tried to banish resurfaced, and the crush of the ballroom she’d found exciting an hour ago was now suffocating. She remembered the nasty words Lord Vale had whispered against her lips as he forced her to kiss him. He had mockingly laughed when she had slapped him, saying he liked it rough sometimes. She’d been bewildered as to what it referred to, only knowing she had to be afraid. Adel had fled to her father despite Lord Vale’s threat that she keep quiet. The bodice of her dress had been torn, her lips swollen—evidence of the earl’s loss of control. She had expected her father to protect her, not give her to the man.
Panic attempted to freeze her limbs, but she scampered away as if she had not seen the earl. She scanned the ballroom for her father. He and her stepmother typically made a concentrated effort to ingratiate themselves with other lofty guests, and she could spy Lady Margaret’s high purple turban with its peacock feathers making the rounds. But where was Papa? Adel had seen him leaving the card room earlier. He had slipped through the terrace windows. Surely he should have returned by now?
Adel pretended she did not see Lord Vale fighting the crush to reach her. With quickened steps she followed the path her father had taken. There were several guests on the terrace, laughing and chatting. She ignored them and spun to the hot house in the distance. He was a secret botanist and instinctively she knew to where he had escaped.
Oh, Papa. How she wished he would not bend so easily to the demands of his wife. Never would Adel believe it was her father’s wish to rub shoulders with the finest of the bon ton. When her mother had been alive they had been so happy. Life had been wonderful, and they had lived in Somerset, rarely traveling to London or Bath. Her father had remarried only a year after Adel’s mother died, and everything had changed.
Do not dwell in the past, Adel, look to the future.
The gardens and the grounds were well lit by gas lamps and she hastened to the hot house, stepping carefully along the cobbled trail. She slipped in through the entrance, her heart squeezing when she spied him with a magnifying glass, peering at some plant. “Father,” she said softly.
He lowered the glass and faced her. For a wonderful second, pleasure suffused his face, before he became guarded. With a pointed glare behind her, he spoke, “Why have you traveled this far without a chaperone? Where is your mother?”
Stepmother. She bit back the instinctive rebuttal. “It is a short journey here, and I urgently needed to speak with you, Papa.” She moved farther inside. “Lord Vale arrived a few minutes ago and I—”
“Excellent,” her father said, with a wide smile. “I must go and greet him. Come along, I am certain he will want a few dances with you.”
“No!” She gritted her teeth. “Though I miss the pleasure of dancing, I cannot consent to—”
A heavy sigh filled the air. “You are to wed the earl, Adel. He has secured an invitation to Lady Gladstone’s house party solely to court you. It shows me how much he esteems yo
u and wishes to secure your affections.”
“Have you gone mad?” she demanded faintly. Surely her father couldn’t be so cruel? He knew of Lord Vale’s licentious character, of the atrocious way he had behaved toward her. “He attacked me, Papa.” She winced at the pleading note in her voice. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and stepped forward. “I cannot marry a man who has so little regard for my welfare. He left bruises on my arms. He is a despicable cad.”
Her father, Sir Archibald Hays, glared at her. “You will accord the earl the respect that is indeed due to him, young lady.”
How could he have forgotten her tears and fright? It still lived with her, though days had passed. “Papa…Lord Vale attacked me.” It was not that she desired her father to do something frightful like challenge the earl to a duel, but she expected some outrage on her behalf. She expected him to protect her, and his stance now shattered the naive belief she’d held onto that she was the most important person in his world. Her stepmother now had that honor, and as a viscount’s daughter, Lady Margaret’s wish was to see their family’s meager social connections strengthened. It seems Adel’s father was willing to sacrifice his daughter’s happiness to please his wife.
His face flushed in what might have been discomfort, before scrunching into a frown. “Pish… Passion…you are very beautiful, Adel, you look very much like your mother.” For a second his features softened and regret gleamed in his gaze. Then he cleared his throat and continued, “It is expected that as your intended, Lord Vale may have gotten a bit carried away. I visited his estate yesterday before traveling down and he explained to me, apologized for his slight indiscretion. I accepted his generous offer for your hand.”
Slight indiscretion? “You are trivializing my pain.”
He gently placed the magnifying glass on the table. “You are twenty-one, Adel. This is your fourth outing, our coffers are nigh empty and we cannot afford another season for you. The earl is making amends for his actions by offering marriage. I only want what is best for you, my dear.”
She stepped forward, searching his face. “My happiness would be in marrying a man that esteems me…much like you did Mamma. Mr. Atwood has been my friend and our neighbor for years. He has offer—”
“No.”
“Papa, please. If you would meet with him again, you would see what a kind, sensitive, and amiable gentleman he is—”