Page 10 of A Sham Engagement

“Then you must marry her,” his father bellowed, turning a darker shade of puce, if that were possible. “Make an honest woman of the chit. There’s nothing for it. You have no other way out of this.” Was there a touch of satisfaction in his tone?

Elenora wriggled free of her mother’s hold.

“I agree,” Lady Routledge boomed. “Announce their betrothal forthwith and you’ll be able to avoid the scandal this will cause.”

“I can rely on your discretion, Horatia?” Lord Amberley said, taking Lady Routledge’s hands in both of his.

“You can.”

“Then offer for Miss Wetherby forthwith,” Lord Amberley snapped, glaring at his son.

Broxbourne heaved a deep, resigned sigh. “Miss Wetherby, would you be so kind as to accept my offer of marriage?” He had the distinct look of someone to whom the utterance of this sentence brought pain.

“There,” Mama said, unmistakable triumph in her voice. “That’s settled, then. They are betrothed.”

Elenora stamped her foot. “But I don’t agree. I refuse his offer. You can’t make me marry someone I don’t want to marry, and I won’t do it.”

Everyone stared at her, including Lord Broxbourne, whose expression could almost have been described as comical, so full of surprised shock was it.

“Elenora,” Mama fairly gasped out on a strangled breath. “You don’t understand the gravity of your situation. You have been surprised in a most compromising position with a man whose reputation goes before him. Your only way out of this is through marriage.” She shot a glare at Broxbourne. “To the man who compromised you, distasteful as that might be to your family.”

Elenora wasn’t fooled by this outburst. The steely glint in Mama’s eyes betrayed her satisfaction that Elenora had managed to snare herself an earl’s son at her first ball. A man with a considerable fortune.

She clenched her fists. “But I don’t want to marry anyone.” Despite a longing for self-control, Elenora’s voice rose in desperation, the distinct impression of being carried along on a wave of triumph by her mother swamping her. “I don’t understand. Four hours ago you didn’t want me even dancing with Lord Broxbourne and now you want me to marry him?”

Mama shook her head. “Nonsense. Marriage is quite different to what I’d feared he might be after from you. And clearly I was correct in my assumptions. But as luck would have it, he has been caught in his vile addiction and you have been saved from further degradation.” She paused, her brows knitting. “You have been saved, haven’t you? He didn’t do anything more than tear your gown… did he?”

Despite her aversion to lying, an awful longing to tell her mother Lord Broxbourne had done something much worse than tear her dress swept over Elenora. Just to shock her. But shocking her like that would only make this situation worse. If that were possible.

“No,” she said. “He did nothing else.”

Lady Routledge, who still had hold of Lord Amberley’s hands, nodded firmly. “You were lucky enough to have been in time to save your daughter from a fate worse than death, Fanny. And in the process have gained her a far better match than you could have hoped for, for the daughter of a simple baronet.” Was that a hint of resentment mixed in with the satisfaction of having witnessed the situation?

However… “Papa is not a simple baronet,” Elenora burst out, fury getting the better of her. “He’s a wonderful baronet.”

Papa, whose part so far had been negligible and whose appearance could have been described as flustered, had the grace to look flattered and happy for a moment at this extravagant praise.

“Be quiet, Elenora,” Mama ordered. “This is not for you to interfere in.” Nor Papa, so it seemed.

“But it’s my future you’re talking about.”

“And that will be decided by your father and me.” What she meant was by her. Papa would have no say in the matter at all.

Elenora turned to Lord Broxbourne. “Please explain that nothing happened and that you don’t want to marry me.”

He shrugged, an annoying twinkle in his eye. “I don’t think it’s up to me.”

What was he saying? Did he not care? Was he about to allow himself to be bullied into a betrothal to someone he scarcely knew? Someone he’d been so rude to so couldn’t possibly even like? Was he mad? The suspicion that he might be rose. Was she to be forced into marriage with someone who belonged in Bedlam?

“You are absolutely right when you say it’s not up to you,” Lord Amberley, whose snow-white hair had somehow become wildly disarranged, declared. Had he been running his fingers through it? No, he couldn’t have been. Lady Routledge still had his hands firmly in hers. Did hair truly stand on end by itself, then, when someone was shocked? Its state was very diverting.

“Told you,” Broxbourne said to Elenora. “You’d best consider yourself an engaged young lady.”

Elenora might have been lost for words had she been less determined. “But you don’t love me. I don’t think you even like me. Why are you letting them force you into marriage?”

Her mother snorted like an angry bull. “Elenora! Cease from this. Of course, he likes you or he wouldn’t have importuned you so violently.” She swung round on Papa. “Nicholas, take your daughter and keep her silent. She can have no part in this.”

What? Elenora opened her mouth to continue complaining, but Mama’s angry glare silenced her.