Page 12 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

“Not unless you can procure a man ready to take you, saving me the agony and money.”

“I have no such prospects,” I grind out. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here with you, letting you wax poetic about what your ‘coin’ is garnering.”

Nothing about this is amusing in the slightest, and yet, he sits there, like the King Alpha himself, haughty and proud, a smile on his lips. I want to smack the look off of him. Even now, a low growl threatens to rumble in my throat. Though I’m not normally prone to violent action, I want to tear him limb from limb.

More than that, however, is the sorrow that pierces me to my core as I watch Middlehey sign his name to the agreement they had just drafted. It is done. I am now to be prepared for the marriage mart. The only saving grace I have is someone with a modicum of civility asking for my hand.

“I have no use for you. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” I curtsy as duty demands, but I feel no respect for this man.

Even as hot, angry tears spark in my eyes, I refuse to let them fall. I’m done giving him and Asher the satisfaction of seeing the agony they cause. With one final glance about my father’s study, I slip out into the hall and race to my bedroom.

* * *

Agony. That’s the only word I can conjure as I sit in this infernal chair as the maid tugs and jerks my hair about, putting it into a coiffure that could probably rival a duchess. Pain, yes, but also droll. The very act of being still as she primps and fusses. This is what I chose not to do at home. This is what I dread by being married—forced into this banality when there are far more important things to accomplish.

Granted, seeing as I’m now stuck in the town home of the Duke of Foxford, it’s not as if my options for a differing occupation are available to me. There’s nowhere I can sneak about and read. No closed-off nook where I can study some plants. Nothing but allowing the maid to make me look presentable.

And for what? The whole process churns my stomach. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, watching the maid as she works. Her fingers are nimble as she piles ringlets into a pleasing array that somehow looks both tame and wild at the same time. Though I can appreciate her craftsmanship, it doesn’t make the discomfort any less.

When she finishes, I give a sigh of relief, but my torture doesn’t end there. Now, I must dress in the current fashion, showing off my body and the dresses Foxford paid for, giving him a glimpse of what his coin procures for him. I watch as the maid pulls the long corset around my body and begins lacing it.

Even a well-paid corset won’t grant him the thing he most wants—a large bosom. But the maid does her best, pulling and tugging until I’m hemmed in, pushing my modest chest up as much as it will go. This will have to do for him. Besides, if he’s any sort of gentleman, he won’t mention it again.

I stare at the transformation in front of me, detesting the look my body is taking on, going from carefree country miss to polished woman. But it’s not the fault of the maid. She’s only doing what she’s been told, turning me into a proper lady.

And gratefully, what she causes with her mental and physical discomfort, she makes up for with her silence. It’s not forced either, more companionable, more like what I had with Mary. Once more, tears dot my eyes, threatening to fall despite my desire to make them stay.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” she murmurs, her fingers fluttering over my back. “His Grace told me to prepare you as if it’s your coming out. He insisted I make you,” she falters as a blush spreads across her cheeks. “I must accentuate your. Well. That is to say, I am to make the best of your-”

Turning, I lay a hand on her arm, a soft smile tugging at my lips. Just as I suspected… Foxford. “These tears are not from you. Truthfully, it would probably take a lot more to make that happen. It’s just memories staining my cheeks.”

She lets out a soft breath and waits for me to turn back around. Should only be a few more tugs. After another moment or two, she backs away and looks me up and down. Though the mirror is right in front of us, I loathe the reflection shining back at me, and so I look everywhere else so as to not see the traitorous woman wavering in my periphery.

I should have stood up for myself. I should have done something, anything, that prevented this right now. Foxford doesn’t own me, and yet, I come crawling to him like an injured dog begging for a scrap or two from the master’s table. To obey him in hopes I can somehow find a match to be free of this situation. Or, better yet, find a way to escape without the yoke of marriage tightening around my neck like a noose. I feel disgusting, pathetic. However, the reflection in front of me shows a far different story.

Instead of a humble lady, the daughter of an Earl, I’m forced to stand there upright, regal, nearly fit for court—a place I never wanted to visit in the first place. I would so much rather be in my library reading instead of dressing up for this needless parade.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the maid draws out a metal busk, far fancier than the wooden ones I have at home. Hopefully, with this device, it will make my breasts stand out enough that Foxford would have no complaints when he looks at me. I toss my head back, keeping still as she slides it in the front of my corset, forcing my breasts to separate.

I just have to tolerate this until he realizes no one will want me, despite the large amount he’s putting up as a dowry. Because after today, he’ll have no doubt I am not made for the marriage mart and never will be. A sly smile crosses my lips as the maid pulls away, unblocking the view from the mirror.

Foxford has made no qualms about the fact that today is a viewing day, a time for him to see just where I’m proficient and where I’m lacking. No doubt he already has ideas in his head of where my level of performance is at, and I have no desire to dissuade him of those notions.

Shaking my head, I ignore the ache in my scalp from the tight ringlets pulled away from my face and step into the dress the maid holds out for me. “There, Miss, you are a vision.”

And truly, I am. It’s not that I despise all the conventions of being a woman, but in my life, I haven’t had the time to really pretty myself up. It was far too stimulating to run about the country house conducting ‘experiments’ with Father or tussling with the dogs. I knew one day I’d have to put away the childish desires that flooded my heart, but I thought it would be on my terms.

Not at the command of a man I don’t even know.

If there is one thing I have to thank Foxford for, it is the absolute sumptuousness of the clothes he purchased. Even when Father was alive, I never asked for anything as fine as these. I didn’t want them. Knowing the man who raised me, he would have given me the world had I but asked… But I didn’t. And now, I never could.

Fluttering my fingers over the soft silks, I turn this way and that, reluctantly admiring the girl soon to be a woman. If only Father could see me now. Would he approve? Or would he allow me to stick to my convictions and refuse any man who didn’t accept me for who I was?

There’s no time to think about it now. Even as I stand there, the maid clutches at her fingers, darting a glance toward the door and back up at the clock. So what if I’m late? Foxford can wait until hell freezes over for all I care. I will not step one foot outside this room until I am good and ready.

For all his faults, he should at least respect a lady’s private chambers. Though, more than likely, he won’t storm in here and embroil himself into a scandal that would lead to him marrying me. No. I am quite safe here.