Page 6 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
Wyatt froze in the hallway. He had never heard his betrothed raise her voice before. In all their albeit limited dealings, Henrietta Henford had been nothing but sweetness and light.He was slightly taken aback—though he knew well enough that he deserved her harshness.
“I have never been so humiliated in my life!” Miss Henford wailed.
“You have nothing to be humiliated about, Henrietta.” Wyatt recognized the voice of one of Miss Henford's friends. “It isherwho ought to be embarrassed. That dreadful Lady Gemma.”
“Lady Highbrow.” Miss Henford spat out the name as though it were poison. “Who does she think she is?” Wyatt heard her sharp footsteps clomp back and forth across the room. “It is all the Dowager Duchess's fault,” Henrietta continued. “The mindless old bat.”
Wyatt felt his shoulders tighten at the mention of his grandmother.
“She has no decency left. Dressed up like a peacock and trotting around the place with that filthy rat of a dog. She was the one encouraging Lady Gemma and my husband-to-be last night. Who does she think she is, enabling such behavior from insignificant people like Lady Highbrow?” She snorted. “If I had my way, the Volks never would have set foot in my house. But the Dowager Duchess insisted on it.”
Wyatt blinked, caught off guard both by this piece of information, and the hateful words flowing from his betrothed's mouth.
He knew his grandmother had pushed the Henfords to invite Lord Volk and his family to the party. Knew that if Henrietta and her family had had their way, the disgraced Earl and his daughters would never have set foot inside this house. His grandmother and Lady Gemma's were the best of friends, soher insistence that the Volks attend was to be expected. But the knowledge that the Dowager Duchess had encouraged their uncouth behavior last night was surprising.
Or perhaps it is not…
Wyatt knew well that his grandmother did not approve of Miss Henford. Then again, his grandmother approved of few of his mother's decisions. Since Wyatt's father had died when he was six, the two ladies had battled each other for control of his upbringing. He had memories of them arguing over everything from bedtime to schools, to what he would eat for dinner. Wyatt had been under their thrall until escaping to Eton at the age of ten-and-two. These days, though he was determined to make his own life, the ongoing war between the Duchess and the Dowager Duchess showed no signs of abating.
Had his grandmother enjoyed his drunken antics last night because she had known they would upset Miss Henford? Perhaps cause her to question whether she was marrying the right man?
“Just you wait until I am Duchess of Larsen,” Henrietta said darkly. “I'll see to it that the Dowager Duchess is out of the house. And the Duke's mother too. I shall have full control of Larsen Manor. And those two meddling witches will be out of our lives.”
Wyatt's stomach turned over. He had always known Henrietta Henford was ambitious—she and her family had made it known that they would settle for nothing less than a duke as her husband. But he had no idea her determination went this far. And that it had such a cruel and poisonous streak.
“Come on now,” her friend said gently. “You do not mean any of that. You are just angry.”
“I mean every word of it,” Miss Henford hissed.
And with a heaviness in his chest, Wyatt realized he believed her.
Chapter Four
“Father?” Gemma knocked tentatively on his bedchamber door. The Earl's valet had assured her that her father was at least out of bed and dressed, but Gemma knew it was important that he make an appearance downstairs. She had already done enough damage to her family's reputation last night. Having her father spend the entire day locked away in his bedchamber with his cups was hardly the way to redeem themselves.
The Earl let out a muffled grunt that Gemma took as an invitation to enter. She opened the door and stepped inside hesitantly. “Good morning, Father.”
The Earl of Volk was slumped in an armchair by the window, the curtains drawn to keep out the bright morning sun. Though he was fully dressed, his shirt was untucked and he had kicked off his shoes. His eyes were drooping closed and his gray hair was uncombed. He let out a faint murmur of acknowledgment as Gemma stepped into the room.
Despite expecting the sight that greeted her, Gemma's heart still lurched. Once upon a time, Mark Caster had been the best offathers. Gemma had many precious memories of him reading her bedtime stories as a child; of him playing in the garden outside their house with her, Veronica, and Jane.
That had all changed when her father's older brother had died, and Mark had inherited the Earldom. The sudden, unexpected responsibility had crushed him, and he had turned to the bottle for solace. He had become cold and distant, and any attempts to get close to him were met with harsh words and anger. The death of Gemma's mother, five years ago, had only hastened his decline. These days, Gemma rarely saw him without a drink in his hand.
She approached his chair tentatively. She could still smell last night's liquor rising from his skin. She kneeled beside him, pressing a gentle hand to his wrist. “It is a beautiful day outside, Father,” she said. “Why not come outside? I am sure the fresh air would do you good.”
The Earl waved a dismissive hand in her direction. “Later, my dear. I am tired.”
Gemma sighed. In spite of herself, the sorry sight of her father reminded her of her own future. Though she did not wish to marry a man out of desperation, or obligation, there was a part of her that feared what a life of spinsterhood would look like. Would she become as lonely and distant as the Earl? Beyond that concern was the uncomfortable knowledge of what her own failure to marry would mean for Veronica and Jane.
Kind, lively Veronica deserved to be a wife; deserved to find a husband who would keep her secure and make her happy.Sunshine,they called her, for at times she seemed like the only source of positivity within the miserable walls of Volk House. But Veronica finding a husband would become far less likelywith a drunkard for a father, a spinster as an older sister, and a family home in disrepair. And as for poor Jane, who was just ten-and-six, her future would be destroyed before she even made her debut.
Gemma closed her eyes, as the weight of the situation swung toward her. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand. “Father.” Her voice was firmer now. “Miss Henford's family were very kind in inviting us here to celebrate the wedding. The least you can do is show your face.”
At his daughter's sharpness, the Earl opened his eyes and sighed. “Ah, Gemma, you're right as usual.” He pulled his arm out from under her grasp and patted her hand. “I shall be down in an hour. I promise.”
“No, Father. You will come down now.”
A frown darkened Lord Volk's face, his voice rising to match her own. “Gemma. I said I will be down in an hour. Leave me be.”
