He cursed again. It had been a luckless day all round. A luckless trip. If all went well, something good would come his way, and Porter would secure him a ticket on a coach leaving tonight. He could only hope.
Chapter 3
The next day, Delia was summoned to the parlour. She almost refused to go, debating whether to tell her father she was ill. She hadn’t left her room since their fight the day before when he had told her he was forcing her to marry Lord Stanton. She had tossed and turned all night, wondering how she could escape this unexpected, dreadful destiny.
To her shock, her father wasn’t alone in the parlour. Lord Stanton was standing there as well. Delia was so consumed with anger that her father would ambush her like this that she simply stood there, gaping like a fish out of water.
“Lady Cordelia,” said Lord Stanton smoothly, walking over to her. “How lovely you look, my dear.”
Delia glared at him. Lord Stanton was tall and slightly stooped, with thinning brown hair. He looked older than the last time she had seen him, which was probably about six months ago. His eyes were assessing her carefully as if taking stock of a possession that had unexpectedly come into his grasp.
Behind them, her father coughed. “Shall we sit down? Tea will be along presently.”
They did so. There was an awkward silence. Delia stared into the fire. She wasn’t about to make this any easier for them. Hopefully, Lord Stanton would notice her reticence and might decide he didn’t want such a surly bride after all. It was the only weapon at her disposal. Gentlemen disliked wayward ladies. That was something she was very well aware of.
After the tea arrived, her father suddenly jumped as if he had remembered something. “I do apologise,” he said. “I must talk to Cook about a few things.” His eyes flickered towards Delia. “I shall send in Mrs Kerr, the housekeeper, to chaperone until I return.”
Delia’s face burnt with mortification. It was clearly a thinly disguised attempt to leave her alone with the gentleman so they could talk with a modicum of privacy. Mrs Kerr would not sit with them—the housekeeper would chaperone from a far corner of the room while she did her embroidery.
How could Papa be so blatant?
Lord Stanton didn’t look surprised by her father’s statement. In fact, he looked very pleased. Delia was suddenly suspicious that the two men had arranged this beforehand. Her face felt like it was on fire. It was humiliating. She didn’t want to speak privately with the gentleman. She didn’t want to be here at all. She still couldn’t believe that this was actually happening at all. She felt like her whole safe, ordered world had been turned upside down.
Papa left the room, and Mrs Kerr came in straight away, taking her seat in the corner of the room as Delia had known she would. The rules of chaperonage were being observed.
“You are very quiet today, Lady Cordelia,” said Lord Stanton, gazing at her steadily. “I assume you have some questions about our betrothal?”
Delia glared at him. “This betrothal has been sprung upon me, my lord. I hardly know what to think or say.”
“Then let me reassure you,” he said in a confident voice. “Everything will be taken care of. You need not worry about anything. I thought a small wedding, in a month’s time, perhaps in the chapel of my home. That way we can be married quickly with minimum fuss.”
Delia didn’t say anything. It seemed Lord Stanton had everything stitched up.
“Eleanor and Amelia are thrilled by the news,” he continued with a smug smile. “Of course, they were as surprised as you at first. I think they believed I would remain a widower forever and still cling to the memory of their late mother and her place in our home as Lady Stanton. But they soon saw the benefit of the arrangement, once I explained it to them.”
Delia just managed to stop herself from snorting aloud. She didn’t believe Eleanor and Amelia were thrilled by the news at all. She didn’t know either lady very well, but they most certainly wouldn’t welcome her as their stepmother. Both ladies were haughty and cold.
Delia knew that Eleanor had unofficially stepped into the role of her late mother, playing hostess for her father at balls and dinner parties, as well as taking on the mantle of the benevolent lady at church and district meetings. Eleanor had power, and she wouldn’t like relinquishing it, one little bit. They would probably make her life a misery in a thousand velvet-gloved ways.
“Please enlighten me, my lord,” she said through gritted teeth. “What benefit is there in me marrying you?”
He looked surprised. “It is mutually beneficial, Lady Cordelia,” he said in an almost patronising voice, as if he were explaining something to a small child. “You become Lady Stanton, with all the privilege of the position, as well as saving your father from certain ruin. And I get a beautiful young wife, who in time will hopefully provide me with the son and heir I need.”
Delia clenched her hands together on her lap. She knew it—he only wanted a broodmare. He was targeting a young lady because only a young lady could have children. She recoiled, instinctively loathing being reduced to such a role.
He didn’t like her for herself. He barely knew her, after all. He might admire her beauty, but that was as far as it went. For the first time, she fervently wished she was plain and stout. Then he wouldn’t have looked at her twice.
And now, her skin was crawling at the thought of how those imaginary children would be conceived. He would be her husband in every way. He would touch her in the most intimate way. As her husband, it was his duty and his right. She didn’t have a right to say no. She must submit to him. The law of the land was absolute on the matter. Once she married him, she ceased to be a person in her own right at all. She became the property of Lord Stanton, just like his horses or his furniture.
Delia blinked back tears. She had always dreamt of falling in love, just like in the romance novels she devoured. She yearned for it. The thought of marrying the man sitting opposite her—a man old enough to be her father—filled her with revulsion. Lord Stanton was a nice enough man, she supposed, but he was also arrogant and patronising.
She knew how he would treat her after their wedding. She wouldn’t be allowed an opinion that deviated from his own. He would rule her with a firm hand. She wouldn’t be able to breathe.
And apart from all that, he left her completely cold. She didn’t feel even the smallest spark of attraction for him. The thought of lying with him as his wife was horrible. Her only hope would be that he might leave her alone once she gave him the son and heir he longed for, but there was no guarantee of that either.
Her future stretched before her as bleak as a cold winter’s day. She truly didn’t know how she was going to endure it.
***