Page 7 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
With an enormous sigh, so her father could not mistake her dissatisfaction, Gemma stood. She did not bother to find parting words. Knew whatever she said would make no difference anyway.
She trudged downstairs, eyes darting lest she ran into Miss Henford, or worse, the Duke. She felt like a wild animal creeping through the forest in an attempt to avoid the hunter's arrow.
“In here, Gemma.” Veronica poked her head out of the sitting room and motioned for her sister to enter. Gemma slipped through the door in relief. The sight of her sisters and grandmother brought a much-needed smile to her face. Their grandmother's short-legged terrier, Patch, was curled up besideher feet. He raised his head and wagged his tail at Gemma, before quickly returning to sleep.
“Did you have any luck with Father?” asked Veronica, as Gemma sat on the settee beside her.
Gemma's smile disappeared. “He promised he would be down in an hour. But…” She did not bother to finish. They all knew how flimsy Mark Caster's promises were these days.
Their grandmother, Pippa Marlow, shook her head, letting out an enormous sigh. “Honestly. That father of yours…” Just as it did each time she spoke of the Earl, her lip curled in distaste, and something hardened behind her eyes. “Is it not enough that he ruined my poor daughter's life? Must he seek to destroy his own children's as well?”
Gemma closed her eyes. Though she knew everything her grandmother said was right, she hated hearing her badmouth their father. He well deserved it, of course, but some irrationally protective part of her railed against it, nonetheless. “He is not destroying our lives, Grandmother.” Her voice came out softer than she had intended.
“He is certainly doing his best,” hissed the Dowager Marchioness. She scooped her dog into her arms and began to scratch him behind the ears. “And I do not know why you of all people are defending him, Gemma. If it weren't for his drunkenness and gambling, you would have been married long ago.”
Gemma said nothing. While she was well aware that the Earl had much to answer for, something in the back of her mind reminded her that her own coldness had likely contributed toher unmarried state. There were few men in thetonwho went out of their way to seek out Lady Highbrow's company.
Except, it seems, the Duke of Larsen…
If what Veronica had told her was correct, the Duke had very much gone out of his way to be in her company last night, even if it was to argue with her, and compete in such ridiculous games. At the thought of the Duke, she felt her body heat inexplicably and her heart begin to quicken.
What in heaven's name is the matter with me?
“I do not think Gemma wishes to be married, Grandmother,” Jane giggled, clearly desperate to move past the conversation about their father. “After all, a husband would never allow her to hold apoetry contestwith another gentleman!”
Gemma exchanged glances with Veronica. It was true—she did not wish to be married at all. But the only person she had ever confessed such a thing to was the older of her two sisters. She had never dared breathe a word of it to Jane.
I know it is an outlandish way to think, and I would hate for my youngest sister to come to share my views.
The Dowager Marchioness made a noise in her throat. “Nonsense. I am sure the right husband would never forbid Gemma to express herself in such a way.”
Gemma narrowly managed to hold back a disbelieving snort. She felt fairly certain that, had she had a husband, he would have thrown her over his shoulder and locked her in the wine cellar before he let her compete in a poetry contest with the Duke of Larsen.
No doubt that would have been for the best…
“Express herself!” Jane tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh Gemma, you were so funny last night,” she giggled, twining a stray strand of brown hair around her finger. “You got so furious at the poor Duke when he dared to suggest that women do not have the mind to grasp politics. I truly thought you might slap him!”
“Indeed,” said their grandmother. “You kept us all mightily entertained.”
The Dowager Marchioness seemed to be enjoying this far too much. Was she not even a little bit ashamed that Gemma had spent so much time in the Duke's company, given they were supposed to be celebrating his upcoming marriage to Miss Henford?
Gemma shook her head. “I suppose I can just be grateful that Father did not see it.”
“Well,” the Dowager Marchioness snapped, “I am glad you are grateful.” Gemma instantly regretted bringing the conversation back to her father. “I myself was mortified,” her grandmother continued. “The man disappeared off to the gambling tables the moment dinner was finished.” She snorted. “To think, my dearest friend's grandson has invited us here to celebrate his wedding, and all your father can do is drink himself half to death.”
The Dowager Marchioness shook her head in disgust, turning to look at each of her granddaughters in turn. “You listen to me, my dears. You make sure you marry a gentleman who will care for you. Do right by you. A man who will stay away from the drink and the gambling halls. Do not make the same mistake your poor dear mother did.”
Gemma had no intention of making the same mistake as her mother. Had no intention of going near men who lost themselves in drink and gambling. And the Duke of Larsen most certainly fell into that category. A fine man to keep her distance from.
So why was her body craving his nearness with every inch of its being?
Chapter Five
Wyatt wished he had never agreed to this damn party. Once again, the guests were all sitting at the vast tree-like table in Henrietta's family's dining room, working their way through a dinner that seemed never-ending. Just how many blasted courses could they be expected to force down?
After last night's theatrics, spending a second day in the company of Henrietta Henford and her family, along with their guests, was beginning to feel like torture.
A second day…He almost laughed. He was about to commit to an entire lifetime in the company of Henrietta Henford.And she wants my family gone from Larsen…
