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“Then you will just have to tell your creditors that there has been a change. I know Cudahy and Warnock will be cut up-”
Basil’s jaw dropped and his eyes stared wildly at Stanhope. His skin turned a pasty hue so quickly it looked almost as if he were about to swoon.
“How - how do you know those names?”
“Your situation is hardly secret, Wentworth. In fact, there are wagers among the lower denizens of the ton on whether or not you will succeed only to attaint when Sir Mordecai shuffles off this mortal coil.”
Basil blenched even more as Sir Mordecai glared at him with such intensity I wondered if he had been told the entire extent of Basil’s debts.
“That is just more reason that the marriage between Basil and my granddaughter must take place,” he said in tight tones. “The family name must be saved.”
“I care not a fig about your family name,” Stanhope said, and though his words were light his voice was not, “and neither should Miss Wentworth, for she will be the Viscountess Stanhope as soon as such a happy end can be accomplished.”
There was so much determination in his voice I almost believed him.
“That will never happen, sir. The matter is settled.” Sir Mordecai extended an imperious hand. “Come, Clarissa. It is past time we went home.”
“Oh, Sir Mordecai, pray do not insist!” said the Duchess in a sweet voice that brooked no disagreement. “As she is to be a member of our family, I feel that she should remain here at least for tonight as we must get to know her better.”
“Impossible!” Aunt Lucinda’s face might have been carved from granite. “Perhaps we shall return in a day or two, or you can come to the Hall, but Clarissa stay? Clarissa is totally unprepared.” She made it sound as if I were remiss in not bringing night things to a ball.
The Duchess laughed musically.
“Trouble not your mind, Mrs. Wentworth. We can amply take care of dear Clarissa’s needs, and I do wish to know my sister-to-be immediately.”
“Well, that’s settled,” the Duke said with an authoritative finality, extending his arm to me. “Now, my dear, as you are soon to be a member of the family, I cry privilege and claim a dance with you. Shall we?”
Feeling almost as if I had escaped barely ahead of a closing prison door, I took his arm and we swept out to the ballroom where, at a wave of the Duke’s hand, the music switched to a waltz. The floor emptied as we glided around the floor.
“I can see why Stanhope is so enchanted with you. He has told me repeatedly of your prowess in riding Saracen.”
“He is too kind,” I murmured.
So much had happened in the last few minutes I had trouble making my feet go where they should. It was a blessing that the Duke was such a masterful dancer.
“Your plight has not gone unnoticed in the neighbourhood,” he said in an entirely different voice, pitched much lower so as not to be heard by anyone else. “Old Sir Mordecai’s plans are iniquitous. You must feel that you can remain here for as long as you wish.”
Tears pricked the back of my eyes. Was it so obvious that I dreaded returning to Wentworth Hall? It is a dreadfully sad thing to be frightened of one’s own family, but I knew in my heart that Sir Mordecai and Basil would indeed stop at nothing to fulfil their schemes.
“Thank you. I accept your protection with gratitude.”
The party went on. It seemed I danced every dance, all the while uncomfortably aware that Basil and Sir Mordecai watched me from the sidelines, their eyes burning with what could easily be regarded as hatred. When at last the evening was over, they came and stood on either side of me, anger and frustration wafting from them as tangibly as a bad smell.
“You will cease this nonsense right now,” Sir Mordecai ordered, “and come back to the Hall with us. You are a Wentworth, and you know your duty.”
Basil grabbed my upper arm with painful intensity.
“And Sir Mordecai has decided that we will send for a Special License so our wedding can be celebrated as quickly as possible.”
“As you have refused to do what you must, I have written to Coutt’s and your uncle, giving them instructions on the transfer of your fortune.”
The old man sounded pleased with himself.
“Then you are too late,” I snapped, perhaps unwisely. Basil’s grip on my arm intensified as I tried to shake him off. “I have already written to both of them myself, telling them of your mad scheme and giving instructions that under no circumstances were any changes to my account to be enacted.”
Basil’s growl of rage and the increased grip on my arm were frightening enough, but the word ‘mad’ seemed terribly appropriate for Sir Mordecai’s reaction. His eyes widened until the whites showed all around them and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace of fury, making him resemble nothing so much as a rabid dog.
“You cannot!” Little bits of spittle flew from his lips, clinging to the hairs of his moustache like drops of obscene dew even as his colour rose. “You have to save the Hall and the family name! You are a Wentworth. It is your duty!”
