Yours,
Marcus
Felicity’s eyes widened. “Marcus Deville? The Earl of Kingsbury?”
Vincent straightened. “You’re in contact with that misanthrope? You refer to him in such an informal manner of address?”
Winifred’s cheeks heated. “We have been corresponding for months.”
“Where did you meet him?” Vincent asked sharply. “Does your mother know?”
“I haven’t, and no,” Winifred said. “One of my letters was redirected to him by mistake, and he responded. In any case, I am quite certain Mother will overlook the impropriety if I become a countess.”
Felicity frowned. “Oh, cousin, what if he is an absolute brute?”
Winifred clasped her hands on her lap. The concern in Felicity’s voice made her throat tighten, cutting off the defense she desperately wanted to raise for Marcus. Even though she had never heard his voice or seen his face, she could not believe a man who wrote with such eloquence could be a ‘brute.’ In any case, it was not as if she’d had much success finding an appropriate suitor in Toronto. She had not yet broached the topic of keeping Felicity with her as a companion to Marcus, but she felt confident he would be amenable to her request. At least he had promised to allow her to continueher research. That alone was worth whatever cost he demanded.
“Tell me you are not seriously considering his proposal,” Felicity said.
Before Winifred could respond to that, the door to the library flew open and her mother stormed inside. Mrs. Belltree’s black hair was confined in a tight bun at the back of her head, her light-blue eyes were narrowed, and her thin lips were pinched.
“M-Mother,” Winifred said. “We were just about to join you.”
Mrs. Belltree crossed her arms. “Do not lie to me, child. You have been spending far too much time sequestered in this dusty room. I understand your desire to entertain Felicity, but you must resume your search for a husband at once. I do not wish to see you become a spinster.”
An ache began between her temples. It wasn’t as if she hadn’ttried, but any suitor who spent more than a few minutes in her presence always found a reason to flee after hearing her lecture about the Destruction of Antioch or the Calcutta cyclone.
She couldn’t help it. Men, with their appraising glances and disingenuous flattery, made her nervous. The only one not related to her with whom she’d ever held a meaningful conversation had been Marcus, and that hardly counted, as his responses took several weeks to arrive, which gave her plenty of time to organize her thoughts.
Felicity shoved to her feet. “I apologize, Aunt. It is as much my fault as Winifred’s that we have not attended events the last several nights.”
Vincent curled his lip. “Perhaps it is time for us to return home, sister.”
“No!” Winifred cried. When both Felicity and her mother looked at her, she flushed. “I-I mean… It is not Felicity’s fault. Do not punish her for my failure. It is only that my research—”
“Research!” Mrs. Belltree threw her arms in the air. “That is all you care about. Yet unlike your cousins, you refuse to educate yourself onour family history.”
Of course her mother would raise that argument, even though it had been Mrs. Belltree who had agreed to Mr. Belltree’s demand to relocate after Winifred had returned one night from her uncle’s home with their family crest branded between her collarbones, the result of a barbaric tradition.
Her mother huffed. “I have been more than patient, Winifred. If you cannot secure a husband by the end of the month, youwillaccept Vincent’s offer, even if I have to burn every book in this library.”
Her mother’s threat combined with Vincent’s self-satisfied smirk shattered the last of Winifred’s restraint. Becoming the wife of her despicable cousin would be worse than imprisonment, even if it pleased Felicity. She straightened her shoulders. “The Earl of Kingsbury has asked me to marry him.”
Vincent paled. “Impossible.”
Mrs. Belltree’s jaw dropped before she snapped her mouth shut and beamed. “Oh, why didn’t you say so?” She rushed forward, toppling over several stacks of books. “Tell me more about the earl,” she said as Vincent stormed out of the room. She clasped Winifred’s hands. “Has he recently come to town?”
Winifred swallowed thickly. “No, Mother. He, ah… is in Scotland.”
Mrs. Belltree tilted her head. “Scotland?” She glanced at Felicity. “If this is a joke you girls have conjured, I do not find it amusing.”
Winifred wanted nothing more at that moment than to crawl beneath the settee and curl into a ball, but her mother had her hands in a tight grip.
She had no choice. Her mother would scrutinize any excuse she made up, and she had never been adept at lying.
It would have to be the truth.
“He responded to a letter I sent some months ago regarding an articlein a magazine.”
