Page 16 of About a Rogue
“How much?” she demanded.
“A one-quarter interest,” was his horrifying reply.
Bianca felt incandescent with rage. She had expected to inherit half, with Cathy getting the other half. It was true she had envisioned Cathy wed to an amiable, pliant husband like Mayne, leaving her effectively in charge of Perusia, but now Papa had given one quarter to thisinvader, this usurping, grasping, fortune hunter—
“And if you want any hope of saving Perusia and placating St. James so he doesn’t drag us into court and end up owninghalfof Perusia,” her father added in the same ominous tone, “perhaps you ought to put on your sister’s bridal dress and fulfill the contract.”
For a moment she thoughtshewould have an apoplexy; she could barely breathe, she was so angry. Cathy’s dainty chip hat decorated with pink cabbage roses lay on the bureau, next to the lace fichu that had been their mother’s. Knowing she would be eloping with her love, Cathy had happily gone through all the motions of preparing for the wedding. With shaking hands Bianca jammed the hat onto her head and tossed the fichu around her shoulders.
“Very well,” she said coldly. “If that’s all you care about, and what I have to do to preserve Perusia, I will.”
She threw open the door and went out of the room, knocking over Ellen, who was crouched down at the keyhole listening. “Get up, Ellen, we’ll be late for the wedding.”
Down the stairs she marched, hands in fists and head high. Aunt Frances emerged from the dining room, nose twitching in expectation and Trevor yapping at her skirts, and Bianca pushed right by her and out the front door. Her father was roaring at the servants upstairs, but stormed after her in time to catch up as she reached the gate, hauling the flustered Mr. Filpot behind him.
For a moment they both paused. This was the moment, Bianca would acknowledge later, that she ought to have said something. Not necessarily an apology—she would never be sorry for helping Cathy marry a man she loved instead of a man she didn’t know—but some word of understanding, to let her father know that she did regret some consequences of her actions.
Shewassorry that Cathy’s elopement, on the eve of a much-trumpeted marriage, would be humiliating to Papa, particularly given that all of Marslip as well as the jilted bridegroom would witness it. She didnotwant to let her temper get the better of her again and lead her into making a massive mistake that all of them would rue for the rest of their days. Shedidn’tlike quarreling with her only remaining parent, who was so like her in temperament and humor, making them the closest of fathers and daughters—when they weren’t quarreling like mortal enemies.
But before she could bring herself to say any of that, Papa opened the gate for her, and Bianca stalked through, carried along by fury and outrage.
Ironically, it was a glorious day. The sky was a peerless blue, dolloped with billowing clouds of pure white. The honeysuckle was in bloom, its sweet scent rising to meet her as she strode down the path toward the small stone church. Peevishly Bianca hoped the roads to Wolverhampton were dry, so that her sister at least would remember this day happily.
Guests were loitering outside the church—no doubt waiting for the bride to arrive. Bianca cut through them like a scythe, ignoring their scandalized and fascinated stares, until someone touched her arm.
“Good morning, Bianca,” said her friend Amelia impishly. “That hasty to see your sister wed, are you?”
She opened her mouth, then paused.
“Such a lovely thing for your papa to invite us to the wedding celebration. Mum’s beside herself; unpicked her best gown and turned and pressed it.” She wrinkled her nose at this waste of energy. “Where is Cathy?” Amelia craned her neck. “Is she already a fashionable London lady, late to everything?”
Bianca seized her hand. “Amelia, go home,” she whispered. “Tell everyone—take them all away—”
“Bianca!”
She looked over her shoulder. Papa had come back for her. He barely managed a nod at the astonished Amelia before taking Bianca’s arm and leading her, firmly, into the sacristy. “A moment,” he barked at Mr. Filpot, who was trying to don his vestments. The startled fellow fled, collar in hand, and Papa closed the door behind him.
Too late Bianca realized Mr. St. James was also in the room. Today he was magnificent in an ivory coat over emerald green breeches, his coal-dark hair as sleek as a seal’s fur. At their entrance, he looked up from the book in his hands, his brows raised in idle inquiry.
“St. James,” said Papa with determined cheer. “Good morning, sir.”
“Sir. Miss Tate.” The man made a languid bow. He was so elegant, so handsome, Bianca glared at him in fulminating disgust. In return he gave her a sinfully intimate smile. Not at all the sort of smile a decent man would give any woman except his bride, on his wedding day.
Then she remembered thatshemight now be that bride. Not that St. James knew it, which left him firmly in the category of rogue.
“I have some unfortunate news,” went on Papa. “It appears my daughter Catherine has... left.”
St. James’s brows snapped together. “Left?”
“She’s eloped with someone else,” said Bianca before her father could reply. “A man she is desperately in love with. No doubt they are exchanging their vows at this very moment.”
St. James didn’t move a muscle but the room seemed to grow at once smaller and hotter.
“I cannot vouch for that,” said Papa, holding his palm out toward Bianca as if to push her physically from the conversation. “But it’s true she’s run off with the fellow.”
“Our agreement, sir,” began St. James.
“I have another daughter,” said Papa, almost defiantly. “If you’ll have her.”
