Page 5
Dorian let out a curse. The solution swirled in his mind. He must be mad thinking about this, but he’d have to endure one of John’s sisters for only a year if her family agreed. He’d pay off the family’s debts. He’d pretend it would be a real marriage for his aunt’s sake. He wouldn’t touch the girl, would never claim his rights as a husband. When no child would come in one year, they’d just say the woman was barren and there was nothing to be done. Then his aunt would, with luck, leave him alone and concentrate her efforts on her next victim who could still bring her grandbabies—Chastity.
Was he mad, or did this plan make sense?
“Yes,” Dorian said, locking eyes with each of his friends in turn.
His mind reeled. Was he truly considering it? To marry his victim’s sister was to bind himself to the family he had so grievously wronged. Doubt and hesitation clawed at him. Was he being a fool? Was he that desperate to relieve this plague on his soul?
And yet he knew this was the closest he could ever come to atoning for his sins.
His knuckles hurt, pain pounding with the beating of his pulse. He would do this, not for his own sake, but for honor, for penance, for the chance to right even a fraction of the wrongs he had done.
He took in a lungful of air. “I will marry one of the Rose daughters. I will pay off Mr. Rose’s debts.”
“You’ve never even met any of the daughters!” exclaimed Pryde. “Will you propose without laying eyes on your betrothed? And how will you decide which of the six to choose?”
“Why not? It doesn’t matter who she is. I will choose the youngest if she’s of age—she will likely be the most pliable and amenable and unencumbered by romantic attachments. How old is she?”
“Eighteen, as far as I know,” Luhst answered.
He always seemed to have the relevant information on every unattached female in London.
“Then she will do.”
“Are you certain, Dorian?” Lucien asked quietly. “This is a monumental decision. It’ll change the course of your life forever.”
“I know,” Dorian replied. “It is the only way I can appease my aunt while helping the family of the man I murdered.”
“You must think again!” Pryde said. “There are so many things to consider. Think of your reputation. The Roses have been surrounded by scandal for years.”
“Because of me,” said Dorian.
“And what about us—me and Lucien? We helped you cover up the murder.”
“I’ll never betray you two. No matter what. You know that—loyalty till death.”
“And how in the world are you ever going to look her in the eye and be yourself?” Pryde asked. “What if you fall in love with her—or she with you? Have you considered that? And what about getting closer to the family of your victim?”
“No, Constantine. I won’t have an issue with her ever wanting to get close to me. I must be the least lovable person in the entire world.”
Howe helped him put his arms through the sleeves of his black coat bearing the Rath coat of arms: a lion in flames. As Dorian looked at himself in the mirror, Howe took a brush and swept away any dust from his shoulders and from the crimson waistcoat.
“But—” began Pryde.
Dorian stood straight, squared his shoulders, and tilted his chin up. His gaze was stern on himself. He would accept this challenge, even if it led to his destruction.
“You were there,” he said. “You know what I did. You know I must atone. Take me to Mr. Rose.”
2
“Who are they?” came the whisper of one of the congregation. The woman covertly looked over her shoulder as the vicar droned the Sunday sermon.
A shiver ran through Miss Patience Rose, despite the morning sunlight spilling through the small windows of Harringer’s church hall. The whole congregation sat in front of her, with two empty pews left between them and her family.
“The notorious Roses,” came the loud whisper of another woman. “Their son took his own life.”
Mama must have heard it, too, based on her sudden pallor. Patience squeezed her mama’s hand. Her five sisters sat on the same pew, squeezed together like pickles in a jar, trying to occupy as little space in the church as they could.
Their habitual spot for twelve years now.
