Blast it all, her uncle’s assumption that she could not attract a suitor without aid of a dowry hurt only because it was true. She had learned that much during her sole, ill-fated Season, in which Lord Stonebury had been too embarrassed to be seen with her in public.
Suffering through another London Season would be a living hell.
“There has to be another way,” she whispered.
Lord Banfield brightened. “If you don’t want a Season, we can have the thing solved in no time. Surely a village like Delmouth must have at least one bachelor in want of a wife?”
Rebecca’s stomach churned. She would have no more chance for happiness with one of the local fishermen or wayfaring smugglers than she would with the London crowd. She didn’t fit in anywhere.
What she wanted was her independence. Not a husband. Just the freedom to be herself.
“Please, Uncle.” She clutched her hands to her chest, fully prepared to beg. “Could you please give me the money outright? I promise never to return, asking for more.”
He laughed jovially and gave her a kind pat upon the shoulder. “Of course I cannot. The very question proves how silly women are. How would you pay your accounts? Everyone knows females aren’t good with figures.”
A bolt of impatience flashed through her.
“Who do you think has been auditing the books?” she snapped without thinking.
The solicitor’s stricken face swung in her direction. “Itwasn’tone of the ghosts?”
“I daresay a ghost would do better at accounting than a woman,” Lord Banfield put in disapprovingly before Rebecca could answer. “I won’t stand for any such meddling, young lady. Now that I’m the earl, you are forbidden from even touching any of the journals. I take care of my business myself. Starting with you. If you wish to make your own decisions, then turn your pretty head to selecting a husband.”
“And…if I can’t find one?” she stammered with dread.
“If you aren’t wed before the start of the Season and cannot bring anyone up to scratch before your portion runs dry, then you leave me no choice but to do the selecting myself. If you haven’t chosen a husband by the end of January—I’ll choose for you.”
She tried to hide her shiver as a chill went down her spine.
He nodded at the solicitor. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve invitations to address, and then I must collect my wife and daughters. Dozens of guests will be arriving for the reading of the will. Lady Banfield will wish her family to be settled first.”
Rebecca stepped back as the two men swept past her. When they disappeared down the corridor, she sagged back against the wall and tried to calm her heart.
Three months. She had only until the end of January to find a sweet, not-too-demanding suitor delighted to have her dowry—and happy to leave her alone. She swallowed.
Perhaps Delmouth would be a fine pond to fish in. She could stay in the country, far from London. And her husband would be gone all day, doing whatever it was country husbands did.
Such a marriage might be bearable after all. Provided she could arrange one within three short months.
Her fists clenched. She couldnotallow her uncle to choose for her. He’d pick some dreadful London fop, or an ancient roué, or a self-important, fickle rakehell like that arrogant Lord Stonebury… who undoubtedly topped the guest list for the reading of the will. Not just because he was related to the prior earl’s sister. But because everyone who knew Lord Stonebury, loved him.
Once, Rebecca had too.
She leaned the back of her head against the wall in despair. What hope had she of even attracting a country gentleman? Even her alleged friends had turned from her ever since the moment of Lord Stonebury’ public cut.
In fact, Rebecca had been hurt so badly that she was relieved at first when her parents didn’t have the funds to give her a second Season. But they loved her too much to give up.
They’d trekked all the way to South Cornwall in the hopes that her mother’s distant uncle, the Earl of Banfield, might be impressed enough with the gentle manners and pleasing face of a young Rebecca that he might be coaxed into sponsoring her second Season.
It worked. Banfield had agreed to fund her second Season. Rebecca’s parents had been ecstatic.
They’d begged her to join them on a pleasure boat to celebrate their financial success in Cornwall before returning to London.
Rebecca had declined to join them. She’d discovered the castle’s soaring library, and meant to inhale as many books as possible before returning to their barren rented cottage on the outskirts of London. ‘Twas both the best and worst decision of her life.
She had never seen her parents again, not even as ghosts. Only bits of wreckage ever drifted ashore.
When her year of mourning had concluded, Lord Banfield no longer recalled his promise to sponsor another Season. He had forgotten she was under his roof altogether.
