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I pinch a bitter smile. “Yeah.”
“He’s…” She shakes her head. “I’ve heard rumors about his temper.”
“But he’s rich and well-titled, and the Belcourts are on the decline. Kiera needs to get into a good college, and Gregory has all the connections. It’s a good match.” I can’t keep the revulsion out of my voice, and Rhoda drops her lipstick.
She wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight. “It’ll be okay. The Count donates to all major universities on the continent. Doesn’t he spend half his earnings on medical research? That’s a sign of someone who cares.”
“Or a sign of someone who has vested interest in a particular industry.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I don’t even know what I’m saying. He could be a saint for all I know. I just don’t like the way he looks at me.” I glance at Rhoda, forcing a smile. “At least the Duke of Harbor is handsome in a silver fox kind of way.”
Rhoda laughs, nodding. “I think I can grow to love him.”
Sadness bubbles up in my chest, pressing against my ribs until they nearly crack from the pressure. I’ve been living a fantasy, thinking I could marry who I pleased and live the life I want. I believed my sisters and I could choose our partners and carve our own way in the world.
But between Maggie and Rhoda, I’m starting to realize that’s not true. How long will it be until a match is found for me? How old will I be when my parents decide I need to marry?
The King is my second cousin. I’m not a nobody, and marrying badly would bring shame on my family, no matter who Maggie ends up with.
As Rhoda finishes touching up her makeup, her big diamond ring glittering on her finger, I can see my future. She’s my future. Maggie is my future.
I’m not living my own life. I may be a concert pianist, earning the praise of the Queen. I may be wearing a pretty dress and attending the Christmas Ball at Farcliff Castle. I may be smiling and drinking champagne, but I’m on borrowed time.
Soon a husband will be chosen for me, too, and I’ll have to learn to love him, or tolerate him—or at the very least, accept him.
Painting a false smile on my face, I head for the door with Rhoda, pushing it open and steeling myself against the weight of diamonds and sapphires and expectations. They’re all starting to feel more like shackles and chains than luxuries.
I shake my head, clearing the thought away.
I’m fortunate to have been born into this family. Not many people get to come to the castle like this. My life is comfortable.
But comfort has a price, and I’m only just realizing I’m going to have to pay it sooner rather than later.
A shadow falls over my shoulders as Count Gregory appears by my side. He peers at me over his long hook nose, his eyes drifting down to my chest.
That slimy feeling inches down my spine, and I take half a step back to put some space between us.
“Would you do me the honor of a dance?” the Count asks, his thin lips curling upward.
Trying to quell the panic inside me, I give him a curt nod. “Of course.”
When the Count’s hand touches the crook of my lower back, I try not to flinch. If I hadn’t just emptied my stomach, I’d want to do it now. I keep my lips mashed together and my face as relaxed as I can, but the woodenness of my steps almost betrays me.
Leading me to the center of the dance floor, the Count opens his arms with a flourish. “You look angelic, Lady Belcourt.” He bares his teeth in a sorry excuse for a smile.
I drop into a curtsy just to avoid eye contact.
When my palm slides over his hand, a shiver passes through me. Bitter bile clings to my throat when the Count places his hand on my hip, but all my years of training help me keep a placid smile on my face. The musicians start playing a waltz, and the dance begins.
How long does one dance last?
An eternity.
I feel naked. Exposed. The Count’s gaze is lecherous, his lips curled into a disgusting smirk.
He’s marrying my sister, and he’s looking at me like that. He’s marrying my sister. I can’t let that happen! But what can I do? It’ll be announced within weeks, once Maggie’s foot is healed enough for public appearances.
“I was disappointed to hear your sister wouldn’t be attending tonight, but I could never have imagined the pleasure of your company,” the Count says, dropping his voice to a low rasp. It grates on my skin like nails on a chalkboard.
I stare at a mole on his neck. At the two long, wiry hairs sticking out of it.
