Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
Page 58
“My pardons, my lady,” Mr. Audley mumbled in her direction. “It is not personal.”
Amelia actually managed a nod. Not a graceful one, but maybe it was gracious. Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? she remembered wondering. Why weren’t they asking her opinion?
Why couldn’t she seem to speak for herself?
It was like she was watching them all from far away.
They wouldn’t hear her. She could scream and shout, and no one would hear her.
She looked at Thomas. He was staring straight ahead, still as a stone.
She looked at Grace. Surely Grace would come to her aid. She was a woman. She knew what it meant to have one’s life torn out from beneath.
And then it was back at Mr. Audley, who was still fumbling for any argument that would not leave him saddled with her. “I did not agree to this,” he said. “I signed no contract.”
“Neither did he,” said her father, motioning toward Thomas with a tilt of his head. “His father did it.”
“In his name,” Mr. Audley practically yelled.
But her father did not even blink. “That is where you are wrong, Mr. Audley. It did not specify his name at all. My daughter, Amelia Honoria Rose, was to marry the seventh Duke of Wyndham.”
“Really?” This, finally, from Thomas.
“Have you not looked at the papers?” Mr. Audley demanded of him.
“No,” Thomas said. “I never saw the need.”
“Good God,” Mr. Audley swore, “I have fallen in with a band of bloody idiots.”
Amelia saw no reason to contradict.
Mr. Audley looked directly at her father. “Sir,” he said, “I will not marry your daughter.”
“Oh, you will.”
And that was when Amelia knew her heart was broken. Because it wasn’t her father who said those words.
It was Thomas.
“What did you say?” Mr. Audley demanded.
Thomas strode across the room, stopping only when he was nearly nose-to-nose with Mr. Audley. “This woman has spent her entire life preparing to be the Duchess of Wyndham. I will not permit you to leave her life in shambles. Do you understand me?”
And all she could think was— No.
No. She didn’t want to be the duchess. She didn’t care one way or the other. She just wanted him. Thomas.
The man she’d spent her whole life not knowing.
Until now.
Until he’d stood with her, looking down at some meaningless map, and explained to her why Africa was bigger than Greenland.
Until he’d told her that he liked her bossy.
Until he’d made her feel that she mattered. That her thoughts and opinions were worth something.
He had made her feel complete.
But here he was, demanding that she marry someone else. And she didn’t know how to stop it. Because if she spoke out, if she told them all what she wanted, and he rejected her again . . .
But Thomas wasn’t asking her if she understood.
He was asking Mr. Audley. And Mr. Audley said,
“No.”
Amelia took a gulp of air and looked up at the ceil-ing, trying to pretend that two men were not arguing over which of them had to marry her.
“No, I don’t understand,” Mr. Audley continued, his voice insultingly provoking. “Sorry.”
She looked back. It was hard to look away. It was like a carriage accident, except it was her own life being trampled.
Thomas was looking at Mr. Audley with murder in his eyes. And then, almost conversationally, said, “I believe I will kill you.”
“Thomas!” The cry sprang from her throat before she could stop to think, and she flew across the room, grabbing his arm to hold him back.
“You may steal my life away,” Thomas growled, pulling on her arm like an angry, aggrieved animal.
“You may steal my very name, but by God you will not steal hers.”
So that was it. He thought he was doing the right thing. She wanted to cry with frustration. There would be no changing his mind. Thomas had spent his entire life doing the right thing. Never for himself. Always for Wyndham. And now he thought he was doing the right thing for her.
“She has a name,” Mr. Audley retorted. “It’s Willoughby. And for the love of God, she’s the daughter of an earl. She’ll find someone else.”
“If you are the Duke of Wyndham,” Thomas said furiously, “you will honor your commitments.”
“If I’m the Duke of Wyndham, then you can’t tell me what to do.”
“Amelia,” Thomas said with deadly calm, “release my arm.”
Instead, she tightened her grip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Her father chose that moment to intercede— finally.
“Er, gentlemen, this is all hypothetical at this point.
Perhaps we should wait until—”
“I wouldn’t be the seventh duke, anyway,” Mr. Audley muttered.
Her father looked somewhat irritated at the interrup-tion. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wouldn’t.” Mr. Audley looked over at Thomas.
“Would I? Because your father was the sixth duke.
Except he wasn’t. If I am.” And then, if that weren’t confusing enough: “Would he have been? If I was?”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Amelia’s father demanded.
“Your father died before his own father,” Thomas said to Mr. Audley. “If your parents were married, then you would have inherited upon the fifth duke’s death, eliminating my father—and myself—from the succession entirely.”
Amelia actually managed a nod. Not a graceful one, but maybe it was gracious. Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? she remembered wondering. Why weren’t they asking her opinion?
Why couldn’t she seem to speak for herself?
It was like she was watching them all from far away.
They wouldn’t hear her. She could scream and shout, and no one would hear her.
She looked at Thomas. He was staring straight ahead, still as a stone.
She looked at Grace. Surely Grace would come to her aid. She was a woman. She knew what it meant to have one’s life torn out from beneath.
And then it was back at Mr. Audley, who was still fumbling for any argument that would not leave him saddled with her. “I did not agree to this,” he said. “I signed no contract.”
“Neither did he,” said her father, motioning toward Thomas with a tilt of his head. “His father did it.”
“In his name,” Mr. Audley practically yelled.
But her father did not even blink. “That is where you are wrong, Mr. Audley. It did not specify his name at all. My daughter, Amelia Honoria Rose, was to marry the seventh Duke of Wyndham.”
“Really?” This, finally, from Thomas.
“Have you not looked at the papers?” Mr. Audley demanded of him.
“No,” Thomas said. “I never saw the need.”
“Good God,” Mr. Audley swore, “I have fallen in with a band of bloody idiots.”
Amelia saw no reason to contradict.
Mr. Audley looked directly at her father. “Sir,” he said, “I will not marry your daughter.”
“Oh, you will.”
And that was when Amelia knew her heart was broken. Because it wasn’t her father who said those words.
It was Thomas.
“What did you say?” Mr. Audley demanded.
Thomas strode across the room, stopping only when he was nearly nose-to-nose with Mr. Audley. “This woman has spent her entire life preparing to be the Duchess of Wyndham. I will not permit you to leave her life in shambles. Do you understand me?”
And all she could think was— No.
No. She didn’t want to be the duchess. She didn’t care one way or the other. She just wanted him. Thomas.
The man she’d spent her whole life not knowing.
Until now.
Until he’d stood with her, looking down at some meaningless map, and explained to her why Africa was bigger than Greenland.
Until he’d told her that he liked her bossy.
Until he’d made her feel that she mattered. That her thoughts and opinions were worth something.
He had made her feel complete.
But here he was, demanding that she marry someone else. And she didn’t know how to stop it. Because if she spoke out, if she told them all what she wanted, and he rejected her again . . .
But Thomas wasn’t asking her if she understood.
He was asking Mr. Audley. And Mr. Audley said,
“No.”
Amelia took a gulp of air and looked up at the ceil-ing, trying to pretend that two men were not arguing over which of them had to marry her.
“No, I don’t understand,” Mr. Audley continued, his voice insultingly provoking. “Sorry.”
She looked back. It was hard to look away. It was like a carriage accident, except it was her own life being trampled.
Thomas was looking at Mr. Audley with murder in his eyes. And then, almost conversationally, said, “I believe I will kill you.”
“Thomas!” The cry sprang from her throat before she could stop to think, and she flew across the room, grabbing his arm to hold him back.
“You may steal my life away,” Thomas growled, pulling on her arm like an angry, aggrieved animal.
“You may steal my very name, but by God you will not steal hers.”
So that was it. He thought he was doing the right thing. She wanted to cry with frustration. There would be no changing his mind. Thomas had spent his entire life doing the right thing. Never for himself. Always for Wyndham. And now he thought he was doing the right thing for her.
“She has a name,” Mr. Audley retorted. “It’s Willoughby. And for the love of God, she’s the daughter of an earl. She’ll find someone else.”
“If you are the Duke of Wyndham,” Thomas said furiously, “you will honor your commitments.”
“If I’m the Duke of Wyndham, then you can’t tell me what to do.”
“Amelia,” Thomas said with deadly calm, “release my arm.”
Instead, she tightened her grip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Her father chose that moment to intercede— finally.
“Er, gentlemen, this is all hypothetical at this point.
Perhaps we should wait until—”
“I wouldn’t be the seventh duke, anyway,” Mr. Audley muttered.
Her father looked somewhat irritated at the interrup-tion. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wouldn’t.” Mr. Audley looked over at Thomas.
“Would I? Because your father was the sixth duke.
Except he wasn’t. If I am.” And then, if that weren’t confusing enough: “Would he have been? If I was?”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Amelia’s father demanded.
“Your father died before his own father,” Thomas said to Mr. Audley. “If your parents were married, then you would have inherited upon the fifth duke’s death, eliminating my father—and myself—from the succession entirely.”
