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“Must I marry him, Papa?” She looked up at her father, hoping he could see the plea in her eyes.
“No, my dear.” He sighed. “I could never make you do anything against your wish. You do not have to marry the Duke of Alderham, but I hoped that you would give the matter some thought.”
“I shall try.” There was a slight tremor in her voice, and she winced when she heard it. “May I be excused?”
“Of course, my dear,” Mortimer replied, concern clouding his gaze.
Bridget left the room and hurried up to her bedchamber, where she leaned against the door after closing it, her eyes stinging with tears. A soft knock sounded just then.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It is Sarah, Miss,” came a reply.
She opened the door and, as soon as Sarah was inside, said, “Father asked the Duke of Alderham to marry me.”
“Oh, dear!” Sarah took her hand and guided her to sit on a sofa, settling beside her. “Did he accept?”
“He must have because my consent is needed.”
“Do you wish to marry him?”
“I do not believe the hearsay, but…” Her throat tightened. “I cannot decide to marry a man that I do not know.”
Sarah squeezed her hand comfortingly. “You have a choice, Bridget. But you need not make your decision now.” She addressed her by her Christian name in private. Bridget’s family had been through a difficult time after her mother’s death six years ago, and Sarah had given her both friendship and support throughout.
“I suppose,” was all Bridget could muster.
“Come, let me help you dress for bed.” Sarah stood and walked to the dressing room.
Her friend distracted her with the latest gossip she had heard from the servants, and for a moment, Bridget forgot her woes. But once she was alone and under her covers, her thoughts began to swirl wildly, and guilt slowly engulfed her.
Her scandal had cost her father his influence in the House of Lords, and Andrew was regarded with disapprobation amongst his fellow gentlemen. So far, all she had managed to do was drag the ones she loved to the lowest of lows. Well, she loved and trusted her father, and believed he would never approach Alderham for marriage if the man were truly abeast. At least that was what she tried to convince herself.
But in her heart of hearts, Bridget knew, this was not a time to be bargaining; beggars cannot be choosers.
She got out of bed and found a deep green velvet robe that Sarah had left out for her, then exited her bedchamber to find her father. It was near midnight, and the household had retired, but she knew Mortimer would be awake and in his study, toiling away. Thus, it was her first destination.
He called for her to enter after a brief knock, and when he saw her, he set down the quill in his hand and stood from his chair behind a large mahogany desk, motioning for her to sit near the hearth.
“What is the duke like?” she asked after sitting.
“He is a good man,” Mortimer began, taking the chair opposite hers. “He was wounded in the Battle of Salamanca four years ago, leading to his reclusiveness.”
Bridget frowned. She had heard that the man was deformed, but never knew that he had suffered a battle wound. She was, once more, reminded of how unfair society was.
“I consent to the marriage, Papa,” she said.
Surprise passed over Mortimer’s features. “Are you certain?”
“I trust your opinion of him, so yes, I am certain.”
“Very well. I shall write and inform him.” He stood and returned to his desk, where he drew a parchment and began to write.
Bridget’s life was changing, but this time, it was a change that she was in control of.
Chapter 2
“It appears I am to be wed in a sennight.” Harry Westwood, the fourth Duke of Alderham, folded the missive he had just read and regarded his friend, Mr. Gerard Belmont, whose gray eyes were wide with surprise.
