Page 82 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

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Trentham plodded behind the footman who led him to the Barringtons’ parlor, where Lady Elizabeth awaited him. Oh, God. Felicity. He’d promised her he could be relied upon. He couldn’t betray her to save himself.

He should never have taken Ophelia for that carriage ride, spoken to her of love. Prematurely. That was unforgivable.

“His Grace, the Duke of Trentham,” the fellow announced.

Lady Barrington smoothed the front of her dress and beckoned him in. Lady Elizabeth was seated on the davenport, pale and rigid.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Lady Barrington said, then swished past him and out the door, which she left ajar, as if her daughter needed protection from ravishment. Insult added to injury.

Trentham went to Lady Elizabeth. Going down on his knee before her would be ludicrous. Instead, he towered over her.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He spoke in an expressionless monotone.

She raised her eyes to him, eyes that were glassy and red-rimmed. It pained him to see her misery. He’d caused it. Approaching her at her coming-out ball had been a mistake from the very first.

“Lady Elizabeth, I know this isn’t what you want—”

“I hate you! I’ll always hate you!”

She was so ridiculously young. He softened his voice. “I won’t mistreat you. Here, I’ll buy back your mare.” He was speaking to her as if she were Julia’s age, or Foster’s, a child he could easily distract with presents.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “I know you don’t care for me.”

Barrington hadn’t told her. She didn’t know he was being blackmailed. “I—I thought it was time to unite the Trentham line with the Barringtons’. A union long overdue.”

She scowled. “That’s stupid.”

This wasn’t her fault.

“I’ll agree it was ill-conceived. But now I need a yes or a no, Elizabeth.”

She heaved three deep angry breaths. “Yes.” Then she burst into tears.

*

“He had me over a barrel,” Trentham said, rolling his empty gin glass between his palms. He’d been too disgusted with himself, making his explanation to Eli, to finish supper. So they’d removed to his study, where they’d cracked open a bottle, then sank into facing chairs. Trentham eyed the water stain on the ebony desk and resolved not to bother setting his glass down, ever again.

“The blackguard.” Eli shook his head, topped off his own glass, then refilled Trentham’s. “But you can’t marry the chit.”

“How am I to get out of it?” When Eli gave no answer, he muttered, “Our solicitors are meeting tomorrow. The marquess is in a rush.”

“Creditors are hounding him.” Eli bobbed his head curtly, as if he knew what it was like to stand in those shoes. “I expect it will cost you a fortune. Barrington must be even deeper in dun territory than we thought.”

“I don’t care about the money.” He harumphed, then took another swig. “Besides, Cavanaugh is sharp.”

“Cavanaugh?”

“My solicitor. I’m collecting them like fleas. If Barrington’s man pushes for too much, Cavanaugh will threaten to drop the whole thing.”

“You won’t get out of it that way. Barrington’s fellow will fold. He’ll take what he can.” Eli sniffed. “And you know you’ll be generous, regardless.”

Trentham shrugged. “I’m stuck with her, Eli. For the rest of my damned life.” He grimaced as a new thought struck him. “Don’t tell Felicity. Don’t tell anyone who might tell Felicity. I don’t want her to think she’s responsible.”

“Of course not.” Eli scratched his scalp. “Is there any guarantee that Barrington will apply pressure in support of Lady Townes’ suit?”

“No. He doesn’t even know about it. Frankly, I think he’d find it more horrifying that a woman would dare lay accusations against her husband than that she’d take a lover. I don’t want his crooked favors. I only want his vow to not meddle. That, he did give. With a holier-than-thou smirk.”