Page 63 of More or Less a Countess
Iris and Lady Westcott both rose to their feet with cries of dismay, but Lord Dare raised a hand for quiet, and silence fell over the room.
“There’s no need for that, Huntington. I’ve compromised her, and I intend to marry her.”
Finn stared at Lord Dare for a long moment, taking his measure, then he blew out a breath, and nodded once. “At once, by special license, so we can have the business finished well before the ton comes back to town and gets wind of it.”
Violet sat motionless on the settee, mute with shock, and listened in horror as the two men casually arranged the rest of her life as if they were tossing dice about on a hazard table.
She struggled to open her mouth, to speak, to argue with them, to say something—anything—but all that emerged was a faint whisper. “No.”
No one paid her any attention.
“We’ll have it at Lady Chase’s house in Bedford Square,” Finn said. “Before the end of the week, if possible.”
Lord Dare nodded. “I’ll get the special license tomorrow. Once we’re wed I wish to retire to my country seat in West Sussex. We’ll remain there throughout the winter.”
Violet tried again. “No.”
One tiny word, no more than a breath, and again, no one heard her.
Lady Chase, who seemed to have suddenly realized the granddaughter who’d sworn she’d die a spinster was on the verge of becoming a countess, quickly recovered from her swoon. “We’ll have a wedding breakfast, of course. If it’s to be done, we’ll do what we can to see it’s done right. If word gets about it was rushed, the ton will gossip.”
Iris and Hyacinth turned to Violet, their faces stricken. She met their gazes and began to shake her head, and once she started, she found she couldn’t stop. “No.”
Hyacinth rose unsteadily to her feet. “Violet—”
“No.”
She couldn’t marry Lord Dare. She’d lied to him, used and deceived him, and when he looked at her now, his gray eyes were cold, so cold.
Those cold gray eyes will break my heart…
Violet rose now, too, though her knees still threatened to collapse beneath her. “No. I-I beg your pardon, my lord, but I can’t…I won’t marry you.”
Lord Dare’s icy gaze swept over her, and there wasn’t a shadow of understanding or empathy in his face. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist, Miss Somerset. I don’t intend to be put to the trouble of embarking on a new courtship because of your deception, and it’s only a name, after all. Hyacinth or Violet—what difference does it make?You’rethe lady I’ve been courting.You’rethe lady I compromised, andyou’rethe lady I’ll marry.”
Every word he spoke was like another blow. The chasm in Violet’s chest opened until she thought she might be sucked into the gaping hole and disappear into the abyss. “No—”
He seized her arms in a merciless grasp. “Yes. Need I remind you, Miss Somerset, that you’ve involved your younger sister in your deception? If I choose to make this matter known to the ton, it won’t only be your reputation that’s ruined, but hers as well. I’m certain you don’t wish her to suffer for your foolishness.”
Violet jerked her gaze to Hyacinth.
Her youngest sister, the baby of the family. Hyacinth had always been more fragile than the rest of them, the one who could never sway or bend—the only one of the five sisters who seemed forever on the verge of breaking. Yet everything about her was kind and pure, natural and true, and she deserved only good things.
She’s our family’s dearest treasure…
Hyacinth was shaking her head, her eyes pleading with Violet, but it was too late. It was already done. “No, I…you’re quite right, Lord Dare. I don’t wish for that. I—I accept your proposal.”
“Then I’m the happiest of men.” He took her hand and brushed his lips over her glove, but the gesture was perfunctory, and his face was blank.
And that was it. It hadn’t even taken an hour, but Violet’s fate had been decided. Whether she wanted it or not, in less than a week’s time she’d marry a man she hardly knew, and become the Countess of Dare.
Chapter Sixteen
Violet’s sisters did all they could to introduce a note of gaiety to the occasion, but despite their best efforts, the wedding was a grim affair.
Violet was numb and quiet, her bridegroom severe and unsmiling. Lady Westcott listened with sober attention as her nephew uttered his vows, and Hyacinth looked as if she were about to succumb to floods of tears at every moment. The only one who appeared well pleased with the proceedings was Lady Chase, and even there it was difficult to tell, as she took to her smelling salts partway through the ceremony, and never lifted them from her nose again until it was finished.
Then there was the wedding breakfast to get through. It was nearly over when Delia, Lady Carlisle and the eldest Somerset sister, nudged Mrs. Lily Sutherland, the second-eldest, and tilted her chin toward the staircase. Lily understood at once and prodded Hyacinth, who tapped Iris’s shoulder and gave her a meaningful raise of the eyebrows.
