Page 78 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
“You taught her to be a martyr, just like you.”
The sisters faced each other across the room, decades of resentment crackling between them. Catherine had known they were estranged, but she'd never witnessed their animosity firsthand.
“I did what was necessary,” Margaret said, each word clipped to precision. “Not all of us could afford to marry penniless barons for love.”
Vivienne’s laugh was sharp and disbelieving. “Harold wasn’t penniless, and you know it. You’re the one who chose position over happiness.”
“I chose security. Stability. A future for my children.”
“Child,” Vivienne corrected, her tone biting. “You have one child, Margaret. One daughter you’re trying to sell to the highest bidder.”
Margaret’s nostrils flared. “How dare you?”
“How dareI?” Vivienne cut in, stepping forward, voice rising with long-suppressed fury. “How dareyou! You vanish for years and then appear out of nowhere, demanding Catherine throw away her chance at happiness because you made some backroom deal with that butterfly-obsessed bore?”
“Sir Reginald is a respectable gentleman with a fortune that could save...” Margaret stopped short, the sentence strangled in her throat. Her jaw tightened.
“Save what?” Catherine asked quietly.
The words slipped out before she could think better of them. Both women turned to her as though they’d momentarily forgotten she existed. Her mother’s glare was pure frost; her aunt’s eyes held pity.
“What needs saving, Mother?” Catherine pressed, her pulse thudding in her ears.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“Doesn’t it?” Catherine rose from her chair, every nerve taut. “I’m the one being bartered for it.”
Margaret’s color deepened. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” Catherine demanded. “Then tell me why Sir Reginald’s money is so important. Tell me what debts he’s threatening to call in.”
“That’s family business,” Margaret said sharply.
“Iamfamily!” The words burst out of her, trembling with fury. “Or am I just currency to pay for Father’s mistakes?”
The wordmistakesfell into the silence. Margaret went utterly still, her expression freezing in place.
“What do you know about your father’s mistakes?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.
“Nothing,” Catherine said. “Because you never tell me anything. But I’m not a fool, Mother. The estate went to Cousin Frederick, yes—but there should have been something. Investments. Income. Instead, we’ve lived on borrowed money and Aunt Vivienne’s kindness.”
“We arenotdependent on anyone,” Margaret snapped, but her voice wavered.
“Aren’t we?” Catherine took a step closer, refusing to look away. “Then why does Sir Reginald’s money matter so much?”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Catherine could hear the ticking of the clock on the mantel, each second dragging out her dread.
When Margaret finally spoke, her voice was different—tired, stripped of its usual hauteur. “Your father left debts,” she said bitterly. “Significant debts. Gaming debts, mostly, though there were also some unfortunate investments.”
Catherine felt the world sway beneath her, as though the elegant morning room had tilted on its axis. “How much?” she whispered.
"Two thousand pounds."
Vivienne gasped. "Margaret, my goodness. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you? So you could look at me with pity? Poor Margaret, married for duty and still ended up with nothing?"
"I would have helped!"
