“Scandal sheets are nothing but women’s gossip. They mean nothing at all,” the Earl insisted.
“I have heard rumors as well. Rumors of his intense anger and his mistreatment of his staff,” Elizabeth Venton, the Countess of Waterburry spoke up, for the first time sounding hesitant about the arrangement.
“Gossip,” he insisted again.
But the content of the scandal sheet and the Countess’s words, which seemed to corroborate all of it, only served to inflame the situation more.
“I cannot marry him. Father, do you see why I cannot?” Marigold wailed in earnest now, flinging herself back into Diana’s arms while their younger sisters tried to soothe her.
“He will be here any minute, and it will not do for him to walk in on my daughters flailing about like so many chickens.”
But there was something about the Earl’s expression now. Something that said… perhaps the negative news about the Duke of Cardan was more than rumors and women’s gossip.
“Shush now,” the Countess said as a knock sounded at the door, but it only quelled her daughters’ outbursts, not the fear in their eyes.
“My Lord, My Lady, may I present His Grace, the Duke of Cardan.”
Mr. Townsend was as formal as ever, announcing the man who singlehandedly upended their morning and most assuredly their lives, though Diana tried her best to reserve judgment until she had a chance to meet him.
But the look on his face as he walked through the door only seemed to prove everything that had been said about him. That stern look said that he was not someone who laughed often. And it seemed to indicate that he was more likely to scowl than crack a smile.
He was definitely not what Diana would want for any of her sisters, especially Marigold. Arabella would also be a bad match, if not worse, with her delicate sensibilities.
“Your Grace.” The Earl bowed, and the rest of the family haltingly followed suit, though the look on his face said he didn’t care in the slightest.
“Which of these is your daughter?” the Duke asked abruptly, glancing around at the four young women standing before him.
“All of them, Your Grace. But Marigold is there, in the middle.”
Each of the other girls only clung to Diana even harder in response, and the Duke stared at them for a long moment before speaking again.
“I am eight-and-twenty, and it is high time that I take a wife. Lady Marigold was suggested as a prodigious match.”
“We are honored that you have chosen Marigold to be your wife.”
“The wedding shall take place as soon as I get the special license, and she will then return with me to my home.”
The tone of his voice was… detached. As if he were simply discussing the weather. Or a business matter. Not marriage. Not something that would affect the rest of his life.
“Should you not spend time together before you determine that you shall wed?” Diana spoke up.
His eyes narrowed in confusion as he looked at her. It was the first true emotion she had seen on his face, and he took a long moment before he answered her question.
“What purpose would that serve?”
“Getting to know your future wife? The woman you shall spend the rest of your days with? You see no value in that?”
“Diana, hold your tongue,” the Earl practically hissed, but Diana was not prone to staying silent on things that mattered.
“My uncle and I have looked into all of the single ladies of the ton. Lady Marigold possesses the qualities necessary for an advantageous match.”
“And just what, pray tell, would those qualities be?” Diana asked, despite her father and mother frowning at her in earnest.
The Duke did not appear pleased to be questioned but deigned to answer her anyway.
“She is of marriageable age, comes from a good family whose history can be traced back several generations, and offers an adequate dowry.”
“All things that apply to a great many young women of the ton, myself included. Why not marry any one of those other women?”
