So, the report in the newsletter was not a surprise to Louisa. But it did grate on her nerves. It did mock her. It did impart a new sense of urgency. All had been set. She and Browne had planned for her bothersome cousin to be on her way back to Lincolnshire today. Louisa wasn’t sure what angered her more—the fact that Victoria would be married and could produce a child, or that her cousin was marrying a duke. Not only that, but a duke who clearly desired his intended.
She toyed with her eggs. Perhaps urgency wasn’t the word she was looking for. Desperation was much more the thing. Those twenty thousand pounds were hers. Neither her unsophisticated cousin nor the self-righteous and priggish duke was going to stop her from realizing her inheritance. They had made the situation a little more difficult for her, but she would overcome these impediments.
Louisa smiled at the empty breakfast room. As a matter of fact, these obstacles added a sense of excitement. She was going to have to become more creative in dealing with them. She loved to be creative.
“Morgan!” she barked.
“Yes, ma’am?” Her trusted butler appeared with satisfying speed.
“I find I will need your assistance after all, in that matter we discussed. There will, of course, be a rather large monetary reward involved.”
“I am always ready to serve you,” he answered with a salacious grin.
Batting her eyelashes, she gave him her nastiest smile. “I need an unsavory fellow or two. Do you know of anyone?”
Morgan nodded slowly. “Indeed I do, ma’am. Indeed I do.”
THREE DAYS AFTER HE’D been blackmailed into marrying Victoria Forster, Taviston stood in the Brownes’ entry hall. He heaved a sighed and stretched his neck. He knew very well she hadn’t blackmailed him. He’d seduced her and he’d been forced to do the honorable thing. Unfortunately, he did not feel honorable. It was as if his insides had been flayed and exposed for all to see.
However, the deed was done and the soon-to-be Dowager Duchess of Taviston had insisted the two of them make an appearance in public. So, to the Kennewick rout they would go.
Just then, Victoria descended the stairs, in yet another gown that did no modiste credit. The bottom was heavy with flounces, the top was overlaid with dyed brown lace. The color, well, he believed the hue known as philomot described it best: the color of dead leaves. No gown should ever suffer such an indignity. Though the color turned her skin sallow, as it would anyone’s, his intended nonetheless arrived at the bottom in a swirl of graceful dignity.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
He narrowed his eyes at her salutation. “We are betrothed now. Do not address me as Your Grace or sir.”
Much as he had done a moment ago, she exhaled heavily. “As you wish.”
“It’s not merely my wish. It is what society expects. Taviston will do.”
The words came out harsher than he meant. She wasn’t quick enough to hide the this-is-going-to-be-a-long-evening look from her face.
Good God, surely he could make an effort to be less of an ass. He surveyed his betrothed’s attire and settled on “Your hair looks lovely this evening.”
She flashed him a genuine smile. “I thank you for the compliment and for not commenting on my gown. I do believe I am ready, if you are.”
“Certainly. You might, however, desire a wrap of some kind. It is a bit cool out tonight.”
A maid stepped out of the shadows of the staircase and handed Victoria a cream-colored shawl. At least it didn’t clash with her dress. Speaking of...
“Have you a gown for the wedding?” He valiantly suppressed a shudder at the thought of what atrocity she might show up in.
Victoria blinked at his abrupt question. “No, I suppose I don’t.”
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“I will have something made and sent over for you.” There. At least he could feel useful in some way. She couldn’t possibly turn aside such a generous offer and he needn’t worry about the appropriateness of her attire on the appointed day.
That wasn’t, however, gratitude blasting out of her widened eyes. “Do you honestly think I choose these horrid gowns?”
“Why else would you wear them?”
There was anger darkening those blue eyes but also something more. A hint of humiliation? No, impossible. Miss Victoria Forster was nothing if not unassailable.
“They are all Louisa will allow me.” She paused then admitted, “I haven’t the faintest idea where to find a gown for the wedding.”
Icy hot anger enveloped him. How petty and cruel her cousin was. “I am sure my mother would happily recommend her modiste.”