Not only was he shoving her, now, he had gambled her away. “Papa, is it true that you lost me in a game of dice?”
He stilled, then gaped at her. “How the devil did you hear that?”
She did not spare him and stated, “The Duke of Chase has visited me.”
The news did not seem to upset him. “My goodness. He’s most eager to see you his.”
“Papa!” she exclaimed, horrified.
“What?” he countered. “Ladies marry, my love. It is what must be done. And Chase needs an heir. He has prevaricated far too long in getting himself a duchess. I am pleased for both of you that this has worked out so well.”
“Papa, you did lose me, did you not?” Her stomach knotted as she considered that he seemed very pleased, as if he had orchestrated this.
“Of course I did,” he replied indignantly. “Chase is an excellent player. But if had not been him, it would have been someone else.”
His words sank in, worse than any blows. He was determined to lose her.
“Craven?” she asked.
“Oh, dear.” Her father frowned. “Chase has been quite blunt, hasn’t he, in this state of affairs. I knew he’d step in if Craven wagered for you. But make no mistake, I will not give up in finding you a husband. Craven will do if Chase will not.”
She stared at the father she had thought her equal for so long. He’d seemed different than other men. But at those words, those words determined to see her put in her place? She knew he was no different than all the rest.
“He told me things that were positively shocking,” she said flatly.
“I doubt that very much, my dear,” he replied honestly. “You are quite well-read. I find it hard to believe that you would be shocked by anything.”
She wanted to scream. Her father was correct. She had read varied texts from Ovid to Fanny Hill. But still, that did not mean that she found this easy to accept.
“Papa, you cannot mean to do this,” she protested. “You cannot mean to see me married in such a way.”
“Why not, my dear?” He beamed at her. “I have solved all your problems. You should be grateful.”
She swallowed, searching his face for any sign of remorse. For any understanding at the horror he was inflicting upon her. “I don’t understand. Don’t you like my company?”
“Of course I like your company,” he assured, patting her cheek. “But the worst thing that could befall you would be the fate of an old maid. It is a deeply unpleasant thing for a woman that results in insecurity, no respect, and little power.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then said, “No, no, you must marry. And you must have children. It is actually your lot in life, my dear. We all must do our duty. And now it is your time to do yours.”
He stepped back and cleared his throat. “Your sister does not need you lingering about as she enters the marriage mart. We don’t need to be reminded of your failures on that score, my dear. You have many, many skills. But the Season is not one of them. I’m sure you will be a much better wife than debutante.”
She ground her teeth.
Each word cut her. Was that all he saw in his daughters? Mares to be taken to market, bid upon, and bred?
Defiantly, she said, “Whatever can you mean to do for Catharine? You cannot mean to put her on the market already. She is but seventeen years old.”
“A perfect age,” her father enthused before nodding to himself. “A malleable age. I waited far too long with you. I never should have allowed you to wait until you were nineteen. You had too many ideas in your head about how things should be. No, no. Seventeen years of age is perfect. Your sister will be able to find a husband immediately. And she will immediately set down to doing the tasks that a wife should.”
“What?” she demanded, anger building up in her like a tide. “Bearing children like some great cow?”
“Now, my dear,” he chastised, giving her a wounded look. Wounded. “You mustn’t say such things. At least not before your husband. Your ideas are quite unusual,” he said. “I never should have indulged you, even though you have the mind of a man.”
“I do not have the mind of a man,” she ground out. “I have the mind of a woman. All women have such minds. We are simply not allowed to use them.”
“That is not true, my dear,” he intoned. “You are singular.”
She folded her hands into fists and dug her nails into her palms at his absurd insistence. She would not argue this point with her father.