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“There’s something you don’t know,” he said. “I owe a great debt. I started selling things, but it’s not enough. Even if we sell everything—the whole estate—it won’t be sufficient to cover it.”

Penelope’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is it the gambling?”

“It does not matter. Your whole purpose was to find an excellent match.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, you were not born a man, so my title will not be transferred to you. But at least, you can help your father out and marry the duke.”

So saving her father’s reputation and his life, which the duke had spoken of, that must be about the debt. Worry for her papa twisted her heart. She went to stand by his side, no longer angry but concerned. He hadn’t looked well for a long time. The burden of his unpaid debts must be what had been eating him alive. She’d noticed the lack of funds for new dresses, the diminishing staff in their home, the plainer and simpler food. None of that mattered to her. What she cared about was her papa.

“Will he pay your debts?” she asked.

“No.” He straightened and faced her. “But your marriage will buy me time to fix things.”

“I don’t understand. Isn’t that why you’re marrying me to him? So that he gives you money?”

His face darkened, and he walked away from her to look down at the marriage settlement on the desk. “No, he isn’t giving me money. But that shouldn’t concern you. All you need to do is come to the wedding ceremony in three days and say yes. And by saying yes, you will save your old papa.”

Save her old papa…and he wouldn’t even tell her how! Save him by locking herself into a lifetime of misery with a horrible man—all because of his gambling debts.

“Will you at least tell me what it is that he is going to do for you in exchange for marrying me?” she demanded. “Perhaps, if I know what it is, we can put our heads together and find another way…”

“There is no other way!” yelled Papa so loud, the glass in the windows shook.

Penelope shuddered from his outrage. She’d never heard him shout.

“Well, then I have to refuse,” she said. “That man hates me, and I cannot stand to spend one more minute in the same room with him. You cannot force me to endure a lifetime with someone who I despise. Especially not when I can—”

Not when she could paint and sell her art and earn an income and help her papa in that way. But he interrupted her.

“You cannot refuse. You’re my daughter, and you will do what I say. In three days, you will stand before a vicar and say yes.”

She backed from the room, desperate. “No, Papa. You cannot make me.”

“Selfish girl!” he roared. “I gave everything up for your mother and you. For once in your life, do as you are told!”

Perhaps she was being a little selfish. Perhaps she wanted to pursue her own goals. With the Duchess of Ashton’s patronage, she could be introduced to the artists she admired. The famous female Italian artist, Enrica de Luca, was in London now. Penelope could learn art properly, not just by trying and correcting it herself, but by having someone great guide her.

Her mother had taught her the basics; it was something that had brought them many hours of shared joy. And her mother had always said Penelope had a rare gift. But before her mother had died from fever, Penelope had still thought she would marry and have children.

Then, after her mother’s death and her father’s absence, Penelope had started reading more about art and artists to connect to her deceased mother, and she’d dealt with her painful emotions through her art. And eventually she’d realized that was what she wanted to do with her life. That she had no choice but to paint and no desire greater than to share her work with others.

Even if it meant loneliness.

“No!” she said firmly.

The only suitor she’d ever had was the Duke of Woodley. He was an older man, respectable enough and very rich. But one day, he had stopped calling on her and avoided her when he saw her at balls. Then a month later, he was engaged and soon after had married. She’d always wondered what could have changed his mind about her.

Since then, she’d never heard anything from her father about potential matches, and he usually cut all suitors off. She’d always thought Papa simply didn’t care. And now to be ambushed like this…

Her father’s upper lip curled. “It is done.”

No. She wouldn’t be simply passed from one disinterested man to another like a piece of property.

“It’s not done until I say yes,” she said and left his study.

As she ran up the stairs into her bedroom, her mind raced, looking for a solution, for a way out. She had been introduced to the Duchess of Ashton now. She could request an audience, explain her situation, and ask for help. She could run away and keep working on her paintings and sell them with the help of the duchess. She wouldn’t be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who was the devil himself.

* * *

It was a pretty morning the next day, with birds chirping from beyond her bedroom window, which looked out over the back garden. The sun had risen about an hour ago at six o’clock. The soft, pinkish sunrays played through the branches of the trees with fresh new leaves as bright and as delicate as lace.