Page 49 of Reluctantly His

As Luc hustled a clearly pissed off Reid out of the room, the baroness pushed the knife in further.

“I always thought it sounded like screeching, dying cats,” his mother added, making my father scowl.

He wiped his lips on his napkin before tossing it to the side of his plate with perhaps more force than was necessary. “Then you’ve obviously been listening to inferior musicians. My Charlotte playing is enchanting. She’s a master of her craft. The concert Amelia is referring to was some of her best work.”

Enchanting?

Master of my craft?

Wait… did he just imply he was at the charity concert the other night?

Listening to me play?

I stared at my father with undisguised confusion and wonder.

Had I been too harsh on my father? Had he secretly been watching me perform all these years?

The baroness snorted. “With all due respect, Lucian. Britain enjoys the finest musicians in the world. I doubt your daughter’s amateurish, American plucking compares.”

Italy, Austria, Germany, France, Russia, the United States—all countries with finer reputations for generations of exceptional musicians compared to Britain. And what was with her using the word American like a disparaging descriptor?

Romney lifted his glass as he chuckled. “Now, Mother, leave the poor girl alone.”

Finally. Maybe there was hope for our marriage yet.

After taking a loud sip of his wine, he continued, “It’s not like she’ll continue to play after we are married.” He placed his hand over mine and squeezed. The gesture painfully constricted my fingers, my rings crushing into the sensitive sides. “She’ll be too busy doing her duty and giving me sons.”

The air seized in my lungs as my spine stiffened.

In horror, my gaze swung to the empty doorway where Luc and Reid had disappeared not seconds earlier.

I then looked over at the grayish glow of Romney’s skin. Did he know how dangerously close he’d probably just come to having his ass handed to him, if not by Reid, then definitely by my brother?

“Enough of that talk.” Ever the smooth businessman, my father steered the conversation back to business.

I leaned over to Amelia and whispered, “Give me the details, and if I’m able, I will absolutely help.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

The rest of the evening was just as brutally painful.

My father had flown in some celebrity chef for the evening, but the food was nothing more than dust and sand in my mouth.

My thoughts ping-ponged between anger and confusion, knowing that for the rest of my life, I would never be able to get Reid out of my head, while also being utterly devastated that my one solace, my cello, had been dismissed as a boorish, amateur hobby by my fiancé and his mother.

I wondered if he would even allow me to continue to play for charity events, or would he think it pulled too much time away from me being treated like a freaking broodmare?

After dessert, it was time for the women to retire to one of the formal sitting rooms for a glass of sherry and small talk while the men went to the parlor for cigars, cognac, and shop talk.

Olivia and Amelia could see the hard time I’d been having at dinner.

Of course, I knew they didn’t understand why, but my sister and sister-in-law were at least courteous enough to keep the baroness entertained with questions about London, their favorite places to go shopping, and other frivolous things.

I should have known enough to participate in the conversation. To contribute in some small way. But I couldn’t be bothered.

Amelia’s mother may have been what Luc called a shrew, but she’d taught Amelia how to interact with aristocracy.

Olivia was well versed in London shopping because of her magazine.

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