Page 80 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

“Good evening all,” I start out, sweat gathering on my palms. “I am sure this is highly irregular, although I thank you for indulging me. I have something to share with you. And I’m sure you will find it very interesting to note.”

Whispers flood the room as the guests begin to talk amongst themselves. It’s clear by where their eye line drifts and to where their fingers point, they assume I’m with child. Even Asher begins to frown and cross his arms, his eyes no longer looking quite so congenial.

“There is a snake amongst you.” I pause for dramatic effect. “One that parades as peerage, sneaking into your houses, but he is not what he seems.”

Now, the whispering and pointing take on a far different tone. Everyone looks about, their gossiping tongues telling the next guest whom they think it is. But all the while, Asher doesn’t seem perturbed. Could it be he does know our plans?

My knees quake for a moment as I close my eyes, needing a break from the cacophony, the stench of anger, and most of all, Asher’s composed face. There, in the quiet of my mind, I conjure up my father, holding him near to me. He never raised me to be afraid.

In fact, he made it so I would never be under the crushing weight of a man unless I chose to. Joseph slips his hand into mine, squeezing softly. Though my marriage started off by force, I wouldn’t have chosen another partner to be by my side.

Emboldened, I squeeze his back and remember the daughter my father raised. “Please, I beg of you,” I cry out, my voice stronger and more sure. “I require silence so that all may hear. That person is Asher Walsh, the false earl of Middlehey.”

His calm veneer vanishes as he leaps to his feet, anger rolling off of him in molten waves. To his credit, he’s able to school his features, putting back on the mask of civility. But it’s too late. I’ve already seen behind the mask for a second time.

“You dare hurl such accusations at me? One who trapped this duke into marriage with you? Odd that a woman is to speak on such matters while her husband remains silent.”

The Ton stays quiet, riveted by this scandalous show. “I have proof,” I cry out.

“Proof. Bah,” he growls. “What proof could you possibly have?”

“I have Thomas Baker, the former earl of Middlehey’s will and testament.” Pulling the papers from my chest, I ignore the titters that flit through the tables. “Everything is here.”

Prowling forward, he sneers at me. “And how do we know you didn’t forge them? I looked high and low, and no will was ever produced. Why, I think you’re just as mad as your father.”

Joseph stands to defend me, but I raise my hand. This is a battle I need to fight alone. If I do not defeat this foe, then I will always live in the shadow of his hurtful words.

“You will watch what you say about my father. He was a good man.”

Raising his arms to the people, Asher twirls about, smiling at them, cajoling them. “You good people of the Ton cannot deny it. He was an eccentric.”

“That may be, but he had his wits about him. Enough that he hid his possessions from you and your grubby, greedy paws.”

“Enough of this,” he roars. “I will not stand for this slander.”

“It is not slander if it is the truth!” I rebut.

Gazes bounce between us, the audience held in rapt attention. Snarling, Asher stands, his finger jutting toward me. “You, of all people, the daughter of a pauper, should take care with your words.”

Whispers stir up again as members of the Ton hold their own courts. They judge me. I can see it in the stiffening of their spines. But they won’t dare speak out against me. Not as the wife of a duke.

“Should I?” Straightening up, I let the anger of injustice burn through me, fueling my strength. “And why? I do not claim to hold lands or titles. I had no inkling of thought about my mother’s station. And neither did any of you.” At that, the whispers die for a few moments. “As a woman, my station doesn’t matter. I am still the rightful daughter of Thomas Baker, Earl of Middlehey. And that’s far better than what can be said about you.”

“Yes,” he sneers. “A woman. A woman dares to hurl these accusations. I find it all in bad taste. Completely reprehensible that one as she be allowed to speak amongst her betters.”

My husband stands next to me, lending me his aid, his title, and the strength of his love. “Then perhaps,” Joseph growls, “you will listen to the words of a rightful duke. These documents are in no way forged. They were confirmed by a barrister.” Glancing over the crowd, he smiles as a man stands. “Him, to be precise.”

Whirling around, Asher takes on the actions of an injured animal—erratic and dangerous.

“The late earl of Middlehey found irrevocable proof that you are not blood to him. You are, in fact, a by-blow that should have never even been handed land, much less a title,” Joseph continues, his voice calm and sure.

“And let us not forget the debts my husband discovered, compelling you to force him and me into a marriage in hopes that you’d get a crumb of money.”

He chuckles, turning to a duke on his right. “Kincaster? Hartham?” No one answers him. Moving to the next set of tables, he tries again. “Portson. Oakwell. Surely you don’t believe these lies.” Again, silence.

One by one, every person in the room turns from him, showing them his back.

Snarling, Asher runs toward us, stopped only by Joseph’s friends. He swipes at me, bellowing his rage. “That twit of a servant, Johnson, should have killed you that night in the library instead of merely roughing you up. You harridan. You spiteful woman. You bitch.”