Dorothy blinked, titling her head to the side. “Wait, you said… this could have rendered me unmarriageable entirely?” she repeated slowly. “Could have, Papa? It still may. You speak as though the matter is over when the rumors are yet alive andthriving. Should we not be thinking of a remedy or at the very least drafting an apology to Lord Hensley, making clear we would understand should he withdraw entirely?”
Howard scoffed. “An apology? I did not stumble on the news myself, Dorothy,” he said, in that unhurried, matter-of-fact way that always left her scrambling to keep up. “It was not from the papers that I heard of it at all. The letter came from the Hensley informing us that he would expedite the wedding owing to the rumors in circulation. Only then did I trouble myself to see for certain what was being said.”
Cecilia blinked at him. The words landed in her mind like scattered cards, their order refusing to align. He had not read it? Not until after Lord Hensley had written? The notion seemed absurd.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Dorothy said with squinted eyes. “Lord Hensley... has heard the rumor?”
“He has.” Howard nodded once.
“Yet, he wrote asking to... expedite the wedding?”
“He did,” he revealed. “Apparently, he is either too proud to be troubled by gossip or too smitten with you to care.”
Dorothy’s eyes widened a fraction, her fingers tightening on the fold of her skirt. “Smitten?” she repeated, as though the wordwere an unfamiliar object she was obliged to turn over and inspect from every angle.
Howard’s mouth twitched. “It is the most charitable explanation I can offer. Perhaps in his mind he simply refuses to lose you to any other man, scandal or no.”
Dorothy’s lips parted, but no immediate reply emerged. She found herself completely flabbergasted by the absurdity of the notion.
“Regardless of this mess... your wedding will hold in a few days,” Howard announced. “But I am very disappointed by this, Dorothy. I will be informing your sisters about this.”
Dorothy’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Too smitten?” she repeated, unable to get past it. “Does Lord Hensley even know what this rumor means? Does he know what it means for a lady to be ruined? Does he...” She broke off, waving her hands in the air, before resuming, “... does he understand the gravity of the thing?”
Howard regarded her as though she had grown another head. “Why do you seem agitated? Did you want the rumor to be true?”
“What? Of course not!”
“Then perhaps be grateful,” he said dryly. “You can finally get married, Dorothy. I can finally marry my last daughter off and have some peace of mind that I have done the right thing.”
She began pacing across the carpet, her skirts swishing as she turned sharply at each end. “But... does he know what he’s getting into? I am dreadfully dull. I only know books, really, I have nothing in common with those lively society women he must be accustomed to. I cannot dance without looking like I am avoiding a duel. I?—”
Howard’s lips twitched. “You sound as though you are campaigning against your own marriage.”
“Perhaps I am!” she said, throwing up her hands. “If he knew, truly knew, how tedious I am, he would rescind the offer this instant.”
“Then pray he never discovers it,” Howard replied.
All this while, Dorothy had been careful, painfully careful not to wound her father’s pride or make him believe she did not trust his judgment. When he first told her she was to marry Lord Hensley, she had swallowed her protest, smiled, and said nothing. Instead, she had gone to Lucy, and together, they had contrived the plan that was supposed to solve the problem without ever forcing her to speak the words aloud.
But now, with the plan unraveling and Lord Hensley apparently unfazed by the rumors, she felt the careful thread she had been holding snap in her hands. The thought of obeying her father in this, of binding herself to a man she could not bear, rose in her throat like something she might choke on.
She loved Howard dearly. She did not want to disappoint him, did not want to look into his tired eyes and be the cause of fresh worry. Yet the prospect of going through with the wedding seemed suddenly impossible, suffocating.
“Papa,” she blurted, “I do not want to marry Lord Hensley.”
Howard’s head jerked back, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy fog. “What do you mean?”
“I mean precisely what I have said,” Dorothy replied, the sudden rush of courage bringing color to her cheeks. “He is…old, Papa. He is your friend; surely that ought to give one pause.”
“We may be friends, but I am years older than Hensley.”
“It matters not. He is still old. Also, is it not a warning in itself that he has never married? Why should a viscount remain unattached for so long, unless there is some cause for concern? Moreover, he is cold in manner, and he looks... oh, he looks as though he but awaits the proper moment to make my life intolerable. I do not wish to marry him. I will not be bound to him... to any man so advanced in years.”
Howard stared at her, disbelief narrowing his eyes. “Dorothy… don’t tell me you— Are you saying—” His voice stopped short, but his gaze sharpened. “You are the one who started this ridiculous rumor?”
The room seemed to tilt. She swallowed, knowing she could either lie and prolong this or come clean and face the storm. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was me. All of it. I only did it because I did not wish to marry Lord Hensley.”
Howard’s face darkened as he stared at her in utter disbelief. “Do you have any notion of the gravity of what you have done? You have played with reputations as though they were toys. Do you think the world will simply forget?”
