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The Duke didn’t give her a chance to voice her complaints. “My Lord,” he said. “Now that we have gotten the announcement out of the way, perhaps we should begin making arrangements for the wedding.”
“How do you know my Father, Lord Winchfield?” Belle asked, looking up to meet his eyes. She could feel her father’s weighty gaze, but she refused to look at him.
The Marquess tilted his head to the side, regarding her for a moment. She wondered what was going through his head. Perhaps he would think her too fiery a bride and decide marriage to her wasn’t the best course of action.
“Why, through you, Lady Belle,” he said, his voice low. Belle’s skin crawled at the sound. “This may sound romantically foolish, but I took a liking to you after last Season. When I learned that you had remained unmarried, I hurried to finish my business and ask for your hand in marriage before you were off to this Season. I am not a man who likes competition overly much, I’m afraid.” He ended on a laugh.
Ah, I remember now.
He had been in London during the last Season and she’d heard a few rumors labeling him a rake. As a result, Belle had instantly written him off.
“That’s…sweet of you,” she ended, trying not to turn her nose up.
“As were saying,” her father continued, cutting her in two with one of his glares. She tried her best to ignore it, looking at her mother instead. The Duchess was shaking. “We should also make preparations for the merger.”
“For the merger?” Belle cut in, her head snapping up. She knew she would have hell to pay for her constant interruptions, but she also knew she could get away with it with the Marquess here, since her father wouldn’t reprimand her in front of company. She hoped. “The merger of the companies? Is that why we’re getting married?”
“Belle…” Belle looked at her mother, eyes wide. The Duchess shook her head.
She bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to glare at the Marquess. She tried not to snap at her father. She tried not to let her very unladylike temper show.
This is why Father had this dress made for me. So I could look pretty as I am being sold off.
She kept her eyes on her plate as the men picked up the conversation about the marriage. Angry tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them see her cry. She chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, until all the food was gone, and she had nothing to focus her attention on. Yet still, they talked and they talked, Lord Winchfield paying Belle a compliment here and there, while Belle and the Duchess said nothing.
They hadn’t even asked her what she wanted to do, if she was willing to be shackled to the Marquess. No, her father didn’t care about what she wanted. He never had. And her poor mother had been a terrible victim of his cold ways, but Belle wasn’t going to allow herself to be the same.
She had to say something. She had to protest.
Then why is it so difficult?
The Marquess’ appraising gaze as the conversation lulled near the end of the dinner made her shiver with disgust. Belle didn’t care to smile at him, or to be polite. She wanted to leave the room and retreat to her bedchambers where she could let all this frustration out in peace.
“We don’t need you at the moment,” her father said gruffly, without even deigning to look in her direction as he rose. “You may busy yourself elsewhere.”
And that was that. Though she was the topic of discussion, though her future was what was being considered, she wasn’t even allowed to sit in on the meetings. Belle had a feeling her father wouldn’t have even bothered to have a dress made if it wasn’t for the Marquess’ benefit.
Belle stiffly rose to her feet and curtsied, trying to keep the disdain from her face. As she turned and took her leave, she could feel the Marquess s eyes.
“My Lady?”
Belle ignored Hannah as she tried not to storm up the stairs. The tears ran unhindered now and her breathing grew shallow as she quickly tried to reach the confines of her bedchambers. She knew the girl would be right on her heels, knew that she would be confused as to why she was crying like this, but this wasn’t the first time Hannah had seen her so distressed.
Belle sat at her vanity table, forcefully trying to take her hair down. She couldn’t see anything through the blur of tears but she struggled all the same, managing to stab herself in the scalp with a few errant pins.
“My Lady!” Hannah’s soft hand grabbed hers, stopping her from causing any more damage. “Allow me.”
She did, taking a deep, shaky breath, wiping angrily at her tears.
“I’m betrothed to the Marquess of Winchfield,” Belle said once she felt she was strong enough to. As her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, she went on, “He’s a rake, Hannah. During the last London Season, I told myself I wouldn’t allow him to get near me. Thankfully, he seemed preoccupied with other ladies, but now he is claiming that he’s always had his eye on me. Can you believe that?”
“You are a beautiful lady—”
“That hardly matters! It’s all for my Father’s benefit, anyhow. My Father simply wants to strengthen his textile company and he thinks marrying me off is the best way to do it. He’s always thought of the company alone and never my feelings.”
Again, the tears came. Hannah began to style her hair again as she listened.
“You should have seen the way he was looking at me, Hannah. Lord Winchfield. He stared at me as if he couldn’t wait to have me…” She shuddered, unable to finish the thought.
