Page 28 of As the Earl Likes
“Who is it?” his mother prodded, her expression eager.
“Miss Josephine Harker.”
“Damn me,” the duke breathed.
The duchess scrunched her face, her mouth drawing into a frown. “Who?”
“Her mother owns the Siren’s Call,” the duke replied. “It’s a gaming hell.”
The color drained from the duchess’s face. “A what?”
“It’s not a gaming hell, Mama,” Sheff said, throwing his father a perturbed glower. “It’s a club, and a very nice one. Jo’s mother opened it close to twenty years ago, I think.”
“That’s about right,” the duke said with a nod. He drank more of his wine. “But good heavens, Sheff, couldn’t you have chosen someone from your own class?”
They were reacting exactly as he’d expected and hoped. Though, for some reason, their obvious disapproval rankled. Jo was a fine woman.
Except, you chose her precisely because they wouldn’t like her and would be less likely to press for a rush to the altar.
The reminder sounding in his brain settled his agitation a bit. This was proceeding just as planned, and he needed to remember that.
The duchess gripped the back of a chair before moving stiltedly to sit in it. Or, more accurately, collapse onto it. Her face was still pale. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
“Her mother owns a gaming hell,” she whispered. She shook her head slowly. “No, no. This cannot be.” Lifting her gaze to Sheff’s, she actually looked as though she might cry. “You must rescind your offer. It’s not too late.”
Sheff clung to his patience. This was all part of the scheme. But what if he were truly in love with Jo? He gritted his teeth. He had not expected to be annoyed by the very reaction he’d sought to provoke.
Taking a deep breath, he said, “Mama, I trust you will come to welcome Jo warmly. She is exceedingly clever, well-mannered, and she will be an excellent countess.”
“But she isn’t even part of Society,” the duchess said, sounding as though she’d just heard the worst news possible. “And her parentage…” Her voice trailed off as her face became even paler.
“At least he’s marrying someone,” his father said. “You can whip her into shape, I’m sure, Alice.”
Sheff’s mother sent her husband a glare before addressing Sheff once more. “This will ruin the family.” She threw her hands up and clenched her jaw.
“It will not,” Sheff ground out. “Jo is wonderful. You aren’t even giving her a chance. She will exceed every one of your expectations.” He took another deep breath to try to calm his surprising anger. “The matter is settled. I have already secured her father’s permission, and, as I said, Jo is already wearing Grandmama’s ring.” He almost mentioned the presumptive betrothal ball, but if his mother didn’t want to have one, wouldn’t that be for the best?
The duke frowned at his now-empty wineglass before moving his focus to Sheff. “There is no chance you’ll change your mind?”
“No.”
“We must have a betrothal ball,” the duchess said bitterly. She looked at Sheff expectantly. “I don’t suppose your gaming-hell betrothed could plan and execute a ball?”
“Since she manages a busy club with seemingly little effort, I imagine she could.” That was perhaps the truest thing he’d said yet.
The duchess gripped the arm of her chair, her knuckles going white. “She works at this gaming hell?”
“Yes.” Sheff felt no guilt at duping his parents, especially his mother, given her reaction. He loved her, but she’d been completely unreasonable on the subject of his marriage. Her reaction today was even worse. “Mama, was I supposed to permit you to choose a wife of whom you approve?”
His father snorted, and Sheff was fairly certain he was trying not to laugh.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the duchess said, sniffing. “But you cannot fault me for wanting you to wed someone who is your social equal.”
That was most important to her, which Sheff ought to have known. Hearing her say it, however, hit him. He now realized that what he’d been seeking wasn’t a reprieve from their demands, but a reprieve from them. An odd sense of exhaustion settled over him. Why did everything in this family have to be so fraught, so bloody difficult?
“I am sorry you are unhappy with my choice of bride,” Sheff said, stiffening his spine and adopting his most noble tone. “However, I am going to marry Jo and I encourage you to find it within yourselves to be happy about it. Or at least not distraught. I am getting married. That is what you wanted.”
“He’s right,” the duke said. “Congratulations, Sheff. I hope you will be very happy. Truly.” He sounded as if he actually meant it.
