‘Good morning, Mother, Good Morning Father…’ Hannah nodded to them both, scurrying to her seat.
Hannah felt extremely weary. The night had been later than a usual bedtime and she had been standing in heels for so many hours her feet were sore that morning. It occurred to her that the nervous energy she had pent up across weeks leading up to her debut all came to a crescendo last night and now she was crashing from the height of it all. Looking across at her mother, who looked a little pale, with dark smudges under her eyes, she concluded that she had to feel the same way.
As the butler pulled out a heavy chair for her and she took her seat, thanking him, her mother poured tea from an ornately patterned china pot, avoiding her daughter’s eye. Vincent took a brioche from the silver platter and took a large bite.
Hannah bristled with the tension in the room. Why was it that nobody spoke? It was rare for them to take a meal in absolute silence; usually, there would be inane chatter, but specifically the morning following her debut, Hannah had anticipated tripping over one another with exclamations and gossip. Certainly, there was much to be said.
Had it gone so terribly badly? Had she shamed her parents somehow? Hannah felt quite sick. She reached out for a honey cake to place upon her plate to signify normality, but she did not know how she might bring herself to eat.
Busying herself with the jug of hot tea, she focused on not spilling as she poured into her cup with shaking hands. The longer this silence continued, surely the worse the situation had to be.
In her mind, Hannah ran through potential misdemeanours she may have committed the past evening – perhaps she had been expected to smile more as she navigated the steps; it was possible they were disappointed by her amateur display of dancing with the Duke; maybe her mother disapproved of her running off to speak with Sophia when the Dowager Duchess had been present; or perhaps her parents had expected her to spend more time socialising within the crowd, as opposed to staying within the safety of her friends. She did not know, but the silence was unusual and unsettling.
Replacing the hot teapot back down, Hannah considered she might be able to initiate a conversation herself.
‘I am very grateful to you, Father, for my debutante ball this evening past,’ she smiled sweetly. Vincent did not meet her eye, simply pursed his lips accepting her thanks, and nodded once, attending only to the cake he ravished.
Hannah’s eyes zipped feverishly between her two parents, willing one of them to speak and when neither did, she tore limply at the honey cake on her plate, hoping nobody would notice that she put none of it in her mouth.
Vincent gulped down the last of his cake, sat up decisively, and cleared his throat with a demonstrative air. Hannah saw her mother steal a brief unnerved glance at him.
‘Daughter,’ Vincent addressed her sternly now, looking her firmly in the eye.
Hannah paused, with her cutlery poised unnecessarily over her food.
‘It has been arranged, that you will marry His Grace, Caleb Exley, the Duke of Montwood.’
Hannah’s fingers released with the shock, sending her fork clattering noisily to her plate. Her mother startled; her father blinked rapidly and Hannah could scarcely breathe.
‘The …Duke of Montwood??’ Hannah stuttered, not able to grasp what her father was telling her.
‘Yes,’ her father nodded curtly and folded his napkin.
‘The gentleman with whom I danced…?’ Hannah knew exactly to whom they referred, but she could not process this new reality; it surely could not be so.
‘The very same, dear,’ Evelyn interjected with a tight, forced smile. ‘A fine upstanding gentleman indeed. You will bring honour to the family by marrying him. I hear his Montwood country estate is the most idyllic place – you will prosper there.’
Only as her mother said these words did it hit Hannah that she would be expected to leave her home to live with this cold stranger who could barely look at her. This was not to mention his ghastly mother who had publicly scorned her.
Hannah shook her head as all these overwhelming thoughts tumbled in – how could her parents expect her to marry into such a family?
As if reading her thoughts, Vincent contributed;
‘I worked closely in business with the late Duke of Montwood, His Grace’s Father, may he rest in peace. He was a good man – solid, dependable, trustworthy. We agreed years back upon the union between young Caleb and yourself. This evening past was simply to ensure the Duke is consenting and all parties have now agreed.’
‘But Father, I…’ Hannah began to protest.
Her mother held up her palm, to stop her daughter from speaking.
‘Hannah, your Father has arranged an unrivalled match.’ There was a warning in Evelyn’s tone and Hannah took heed of it as she watched her Father; his face resolutely set, as he stood from the table and exited the room.
Hannah’s head began to spin slightly; the room took on an unfamiliar tilt and she was aware of her mother speaking – words such asDuchessandhonourable statuswashed over her as she attempted to rebalance.
‘Mother, might I excuse myself to my bedchambers?’ Hannah said as soon as her mother paused for breath in the narrative designed to convince her daughter.
‘There is much….to think upon…’ Hannah justified.
‘Indeed, there is,’ Evelyn smiled, satisfied that her daughter should go and daydream about her impending wedding day.
