The men laughed again, and Ellie felt as though her knees had locked in place as fresh humiliation washed over her in hot waves.They’ll come out and see me,she thought, threads of panic running through her.They’ll know I heard, they’ll—
A voice she didn’t recognize spoke up. “Why aren’t you clamoring after her skirts if she’s such a catch, Morley?”
There was no response for a long, tense moment. “No, that’s… no. She’s not for me, gentlemen.” Henry’s dismissive tone cleaved her in two. “I have other… attachments. You know how I am, and Eleanor and I…” He paused. For an instant, she wished he would say something cruel, something deeply cutting she could swear him off, expunge him from her heart forever.
But he didn’t. Henry gave a low chuckle before speaking again. “My father just got a fresh bottle of French brandy I’ve been dying to try. Shall we give it a go?”
Ellie stumbled from the hall, nearly falling headfirst into the ballroom. She walked in a daze and was surprised to be stopped by her own father as she passed.
“Eleanor.” Her father’s voice broke into her thoughts, and she winced at the intrusion as he pushed her in front of him. “Ashby, my daughter, Lady Eleanor. Eleanor, I would like you to meet an old friend, Lord Ashby, Earl of Brunswick. ”
Oldwas the correct word to describe the gentleman standing by her father’s side. He was in his seventh decade if he was a day, his white hair a wispy poof of spun cotton on his head. His skin stretched over his skeleton like brittle paper. Dull eyes assessed her slowly from head to toe and up again, resting for a discomfitingly long time on her midsection. His nostrils flared, and he wiped a bit of spittle from his lip with a monogrammed handkerchief.
Ellie dropped into a polite curtsey, eager to excuse herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
“She’s a bit big, but has the hips to bear sturdy sons.” Ashby’s voice was full of phlegm, as though he spent all of his waking hours with a cigar at his lips.
Her stomach fell to her toes as she watched her father flinch and then nod in agreement. “P-pardon me?”
Ashby continued speaking as though she hadn’t said a word. “I’m still amenable, assuming a doctor will confirm she’s fit to have children.”
Her father tensed. “There is no indication she wouldn’t be.”
“That’s what the last one told me. I don’t have many more years in me, and I need a son, quickly. God forbid my worthless nephew inherits the title.”
“Father,” Ellie hissed, but he spoke over her protest.
“I’ll have my solicitor stop by Ashby House in the morning,” her father said. Ashby nodded and shuffled towards the door.
“Please tell me that wasn’t—that isn’t—” Bile rose in her throat, choking her. “You couldn’t possibly—”
“He’s a decent man,” her father interrupted. “He will take care of you, Eleanor. We can’t wait any longer for you to marry.” He sighed and met her gaze, his expression only the slightest bit contrite. “I won’t be around forever, and your mother… Well, I don’t want to risk it. Ashby can give you security. You’ll be a countess.”
She shook her head. “Mama won’t agree with this.”
“She has no say in the matter.” He heaved a sigh and pressed his eyes closed, a forest of wrinkles creasing his face. “I’ve tried for years to find a suitable match, and every time you’ve refused to even consider it.”
“Every single one of them was at least two decades my senior,” Ellie said, her lungs burning. “I had hoped for someone—”
“But there has been no one, Eleanor.” The sympathy in his eyes undercut the harshness of his words. “Trust me in this. It’s the best decision. You’ll have the life most girls dream of.”
Frustration flared in her gut, and Ellie lifted her chin. “There is someone who might marry me,” she said in a rush, her heart thrumming wildly against her breastbone. “I—I may secure a proposal before the night is out.”
Her father blinked. “No one has courted you—”
“I know,” she interrupted, “but please, will you give me the chance to see if…”
If Henry might want me? If I can escape this wretched fate?
“I will, Eleanor.” His brows furrowed. “But only until the new year, no longer.”
Ellie nodded blankly as she stumbled, snagging her heel on the hem of her gown. She lurched forward, catching the back of a chair before fumbling her way into the foyer, still teeming with merrymakers. A singalong had begun in the ballroom as Lady Fensworth’s piano led her guests in caroling, a saccharine soundtrack for Ellie’s shattering heart, her pulse a demented drummer in her ears.
She wanted to scream, to tear the paintings from the walls and rip glasses from hands and smash them on the floor. Curse this life, this utter lack of control. Curse this body that would never bring an admiring eye. Curse this world for damning her to a life as a second-class citizen because of her gender.
Curse the one man whom she thought was different. How had Ellie been so foolish to believe Henry might see her as more than a joke, a consolation prize, a token to be passed around and cast aside.
Blindly, she turned a corner and into a deserted hall and pressed her palm into the wall, the floral pattern of the brocade pressing into her hand. She knew marriage would be inevitable, particularly when her father was ready to be rid of her. Butthis?
