CHAPTERONE
Rose stood there, her fists hidden beneath the silken folds of her skirts—herentire body ramrod stiff, to the point ofalmost trembling.
“I cannot believe you consider this appropriate, Your Grace.” She almost spat the title at her brother-in-law. “My husband not dead even a year.”
“Oh, please, no more of this grief-stricken bride pretense.” Ernest Barrington stubbed out the cigar he had been smoking on the china tea saucer sitting atop her antique writing desk. “We know there was nothing between you, and certainly not a baby!” His pleasure evident.
It was the first timethe two of them had agreed all afternoon, but she refused to admit it. She was starting to realize that without the patter of tiny feet, her position in this majestic castle was precarious.
“The Duke and I understood each other very well,” Rose insisted, jutting out her chin to maintain a semblance of self-assurance.
“Sadly, not as well as the dozen or so other women on whom he bestowed his favors, who have at least had the sense to realize their good fortunes are over. You received what you wanted out of Ambrose; your father’s debt paid off with money that should rightfully be mine now, and your sister’s place in society guaranteed. Time for a payback.”
Rose did not grace him with a reply. She just stared him down.
“You must know that the church does not approve of such practices,” she said.
“Oh, are you pious now?” He cocked his head to one side and gave her a sneering smile.
“I was raised to be God-fearing, Your Grace.’
“Well, in my opinion, the church has very little to do with religion. It is simply a system of control, and I need not controlling. What I am asking of you is not against the law, and it makes perfect sense for both of us. And who, except us, is going to object?”
But I do object, thought Rose.Every single cell in my body is objecting.She could not fail to observe how the rolls of fat around his middle were straining against his vest buttons and breeches. He was so overweight his legs looked like sticks trying to hold up a disproportionate torso. But that was not the worst thing about him.
“Look,” he was trying again. “It must be quite plain this is sensible, even to you.” Ernest took an uncomfortably close step across the red silk rug in the drawing room. She took a step back, but the loveseat behind her blocked her path. The odor of tobacco, alcohol, and strong cologne emanating from him was overwhelming. He was even more repugnant up close, his skin blotched and pot-marked. His fine clothing, which had led to Ambrose calling him'The Dandy', did not compensate for his unsightly demeanor. Swallowing her disgust at his proximity, shetried to smile. She'd have to try a different approach.
“Your Grace, I am sure you could find a far younger and more lovely life companion, especially with your new-found status.”
“What do I want with a ton twit?” Ernest spat, his spittle landing on her cheek. It took everything she had not to dashit away, but she was not going to do anything that would widen his Machiavellian leer.
“I want you and I always have, long before Ambrose chose to thwart me. But you are still young enough to serve me well.”
He reached out and touched one gnarled finger to the back of her hand before she whipped hers away. He smiled with the smugness of an animal circling its prey, knowing all routes were blocked.
“You really only have two choices, my dear. Marry me and be the Duchess of Norfolk, or endure a life of poverty.”
“I am already the Duchess of Norfolk,” she retorted.
“The Dowager Duchess now,” he sneered. “You can keep that title. It means nothing. It cannot buy you a house, pay your servants, give you the life you want. Only marriage to me will guarantee that.”
“Or marriage to someone else!”
“But my dear, who would want you? You’re barren.”
Rose was stunned by his cruelty. Even from him, she hadn't expected such a scathing remark. It wasn't certain she was barren;Ambrose could have been the source of the problem. However, she was aware of the gossip in the ton, which would almost certainly limit any marriage proposals. However, his comment had solidified her resolve to have nothing to do with her late husband's brother.
Rose steeled herself to bring her face closer to his as she ground out angrily, “I wouldn’t marry you if my life depended on it.”
Ernest was unfazed. He shrugged. “I would say, my dear, that it does.”
He watched her, hawk-like, as she moved away from him, over to one of the long windows looking out across the castle gardens. In the distance, she could see the rooftops of the town, rolling down to the River Arun beyond. A fully-laden barge was moving slowly towards Arundel port. It was a dull, rainy English summer’s day, but the lushness of the lawns, and the greenery of the forest usually pleased her even when wet. Not today, however.
“The Duke and I were married for nine years without one child as you have so charitably pointed out.” She suppressed the quiver in her voice. “Why would you wish to marry me?”
“I am not interested in children!” Ernest Barrington laughed. “You will be too busy to look after them if I have anything to do with it.” He ogled lasciviously, his gaze falling to the top of her cleavage to which shecovered herself with her hands. He smiled in response, his teeth full of tobacco stains. “The title can die with me as far as I am concerned,” he said.
“But this is my house, my home,” Rose said softly, almost beseechingly.