Page 2 of Miss Devon’s Choice

“I have come with important news,” he said abruptly, turning away from her and going to his preferred chair. It was the only one in the room without spindly legs. “Sit.”

She sat, quickly, on the small settee across from him. Rebecca folded her hands in her lap and kept her face as expressionless as possible. Her response was not required so much as her attention. Speaking too much often made her father even more disagreeable and stern.

“You are to be married in September.”

The bottom fell out of her stomach and bells sounded in her head. She took in a sharp breath and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from shouting every question that rushed to her tongue. She counted to three but got no further before he spoke again.

“I have brokered a very fine arrangement for us both. You will marry the Earl of Ivyford’s eldest grandson and heir, Christian Hundley, Lord Easton. It has taken me nearly six months to secure this connection for us, but it will be well worth the effort.”

Rebecca had known her father wished to use her to secure an alliance with a more powerful family, possibly a peer, but she had no idea he would go completely about the business without her knowledge or involvement. Nor did she suppose the news of such a thing would be dropped upon her so unceremoniously.

Her mind spun through a dozen faces from the corners of ballrooms. “I haven’t any idea who that is,” she said at last, her voice rising higher in tone as she spoke, coming out as nearly a squeak at the end. Had she heard that name mentioned before? No. Not that she could recall.

Why wouldn’t she know about the heir to an earldom? He was the current Earl of Ivyford’s grandson. Perhaps he was very young. But how young? At sixteen, he wouldn’t be in society yet. Would she be married off to a child? Who was Christian Hundley, and why did his family even take notice of her? She wasn’t anyone important. Not really. Only her most distant relatives had titles or the prestige to make an earl take notice.

Her father narrowed his eyes at her and steepled his fingers before him. “Lord Easton is to inherit the title and holdings in England and Scotland. The family has shares in the East India Trading Company and properties in the Caribbean. Their wealth is immense.”

Rebecca’s throat felt as if it were trying to close, cutting off her air, but she forced herself to speak. “What is their purpose in aligning with us?” She had a thousand arguments in her heart, but she knew an outburst of any kind could mean severe consequences. She had to stay calm, reasonable, and remain in control of her emotions.

“I have controlling shares in a shipping company they wish to use for business with the Caribbean.” He smirked and sat back further. “If this unpleasantness with the Yankees ceases soon, as all suggest it might, my company also has a few salvageable ties to the Colonies.” He shrugged, glossing over the war being fought across an ocean. “The Devon name is a wise investment.”

The man obsessed over his shares of stock. The fact that her betrothed was interested in her for similar reasons didn’t win Lord Easton any of her favor.

Rebecca took a deep breath. “What if I do not wish to marry this Lord Easton? What if I say no?” She had to ask, though she knew he would have a suitable threat at hand. He always did.

“I will send you to Austria,” he replied evenly, the only sign of his displeasure a slight crease above his eyebrows. “To a school of the strictest nature. I will cut off all communication between you and your sisters, and Horace. You will remain there until you reach your majority. Perhaps longer. Alone. No access to books, to family, to friends. You will marry Lord Easton or suffer that fate.”

An icy grip locked around her heart. Rebecca started to nod, knowing he would fulfill every word of his ultimatum. The last two years of her life, every meeting with him had been riddled with disdain and commands. He controlled her and her younger brother completely.

She could not lose her sisters or her brother. They were the only people in the world who truly loved or cared for her at all.

“Very well.” She closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay away long enough for her to escape the room. “When will I meet him?”

“Whenever he sees fit. I doubt he has any desire to bother himself with you. The man isn’t known to go about in society. He’s something of a recluse.”

Her eyes snapped open. “He’s what?”

Her father glowered at her. “I don’t repeat myself, child.”

Rebecca’s heart fell still further. A recluse? A man taking a bride in the same manner he would place an advertisement in the newspaper? It was calculating and cold. The man she married would be exactly like her father. Aloof, seeing marriage as nothing more than a business transaction. A memory of her mother’s sad brown eyes floated before her. What would her mother have thought of the arrangement? She couldn’t think on that. Not now.

“I understand.” Rebecca put her hands on the arms of the chair and rose to her feet, keeping herself as steady as possible given the trembling state of her spirit. “What of my cousin’s house party? Do you still wish for me to attend?”

“Did I suggest otherwise?” he asked, his posture as straight and unaffected as ever. “You will of course go to the Earl of Annesbury’s home.”

She suspected he found it a great annoyance to know she would see at least one of her sisters in the country while visiting her cousin, the earl’s wife. Christine, the middle sister, had an especially distant relationship with their father. His eyes left her, staring instead at the portrait of his late brother-in-law with dislike.

“May I be excused?”

He nodded without looking in her direction. “I will see you at dinner.”

“Yes, Father.” Her knees nearly buckled when she curtsied, but they held firm enough to get her out of the room and across the hall to the empty conservatory. There, Rebecca gave up at last and crumbled to the ground. She covered her mouth with both hands and curled into a ball on the floor, her heart-rending sobs hopefully muffled enough to keep anyone from hearing.

At eighteen years old, life was over, her choices made for her, and hope for a romance like the ones in her novels all but dead.

*

Christian rubbed at his eyes and closed the ledger in front of him. The day’s business was over at last and he could see to something more enjoyable. He stood from his desk and stretched, running his hands through his dark hair, then hastily correcting whatever mess that had made.