Page 37 of Reluctantly His

“I have good news for you, Charlotte,” Father said as he folded his hands in front of him, giving me his full attention.

This wasn’t a good sign. Usually he barely looked up from his computer.

“Yes, sir?”

“I have brokered a deal with the Zeigler family. Have you heard of them before?”

“No, sir.”

“They are a titled family from England. They don’t have any money, of course. None of those old families do anymore.”

There wasn’t a question, so I didn’t say anything and waited for my father to get to his point. Thankfully, he was always a very busy man, which made him a very blunt man. Very little time for unnecessary details.

“Although the family is dead broke, they have something we do not have, a British title. It doesn’t matter how many generations Manwarring Enterprises continues on. We will always be viewed as grubby Paddies. But those stuck-up bastards will be forced to eat their condescension when we have a title in the family. Understand?”

“No, sir.”

That was not the response I was expected to give. He just raised an eyebrow at me, so I clarified. “I understand that you want to add legitimacy to our family name, a longer history. I understand the Zeigler family is looking to change their financial status. I just don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

He spread his arms as he approached me, before cupping my upper arms. “You, my dear, will be the one making this happen by marrying The Honorable Romney Horus Zeigler, a baron living in London.”

“Oh.” That was the only thing I could think to say.

He actually kissed me on the forehead. “I’m very proud of you, daughter.”

Countless cello concerts, school awards, and accolades, and I finally heard the words I’d longed to hear my entire life… and it was for nothing I’d actually accomplished beyond being a daughter of marriage age.

I’d known my father would be looking to marry me off soon, especially with all the recent near-miss scandals with my brother and sister.

I just assumed it would be to someone I had at least met before, even in passing. I had assumed my father would give me the benefit of allowing a potential suitor to court me before informing me that I was to be married. I was in some medieval times nightmare.

“The Zeigler family will be coming to dinner tomorrow night. You will meet your future husband, and you will not embarrass this family. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered automatically, still not quite processing the information he was throwing at me.

“I have already asked my secretary to make a copy of the research I have done on the family so you can familiarize yourself with Romney’s tastes, habits, likes, and dislikes. I need you to show him that you will be an appropriate wife.”

“What if…” I clamped my lips shut. I knew better than to argue.

“What if what?” My father had already returned to his seat and was pressing the space bar to fire up his computer.

The discussion over my future, my chance at happiness, my thoughts on the matter as a whole, was apparently over.

“What if I don’t like him? What if he doesn’t like me? What if we don’t get along? What if he wants to move me to England?” Everything spilled out of my lips before I could stop it.

I had heard of word vomit before, but I had never experienced it.

Anxiety covered my entire body. It was like ants were crawling over my skin. My face was on fire.

“Whether or not you like him is completely irrelevant. You will do what you are told. If he doesn’t like you, then you had better figure out a way to fix that and make him like you. And if he wants to move you to England, then you are moving to England. I suggest you pack an umbrella. I hear it rains a lot.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to barter me off as if I meant nothing more to you than a painting or piece of property.”

I didn’t know if I had tapped into some kind of weird inner strength or if I was having a mental breakdown.

Probably both.

I’d spent a sleepless night crying into my pillow over Reid.

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