Chapter 4

Bernadette looked up at her father in confusion. He stood in the doorway to his study, the light from the lamps casting him almost in shadow. She frowned up at him, heart thumping in alarm and consternation.

"Father?" she inquired. "I need to tell you some news. I..."

"Not now," he interrupted, and his voice was oddly tense—not angry, but as if he had some important information to express. "Can you step into the study for a moment? I have something to tell you. Something important."

Bernadette felt her frown tighten. "Yes, Father," she murmured. Her hands damp, suddenly, with nervous perspiration, she walked into the study and stood by the big desk by the back wall. Her father shut the door.

"Bernadette, daughter," he began. "I received some excellent news from Lord Lockwood. He has...he has arranged with me that you are to wed Viscount Blackburne, his grandson."

"What?" she cried out, alarmed.

"No need to shout," her father said, wincing. "It is exciting news, of course, but I expect you to receive it decorously, as befits..."

"No! Father! It's not excitement," Bernadette interrupted swiftly. "It's...it's not possible. I can't. I can't do it." She gulped. She couldn't marry someone she'd never met. It wasn't imaginable. It was awful. What if he was some unruly gambler and drinker like Ambrose? Or, worse, some lecherous horror who might be cruel, too? The room went dark around her, and she leaned back, reaching for the wall to steady herself.

"It's not optional," her father said tightly. "It's settled."

"No!" Bernadette caught herself on the mantel, about to pass out. She swayed on her feet, her world suddenly distant and strange. It felt like she was seeing the scene through a haze, as though her ears were stuffed with cotton wadding, and she could hear nothing. Nothing made sense.

"It's going to happen in a week," her father continued, as mildly as if he discussed a ball or some trivial event. "His lordship the earl has taken it upon himself to organise the ceremony and to obtain the license for us. So there is no need for any form of delay. Soon, you will be in line to be a countess." He smiled thinly, as though this was the ultimate in good news.

"No, Father," she whispered. "No. You're not...you didn't..." she couldn't believe what she was hearing. She sat down heavily on a chair by the desk, unable to stand up anymore. Her heart fluttered dangerously.

"I did. Well, I must admit, the earl approached me. He's known to me through my interest in the East India Company. We are both heavily invested there." He ran a hand down his face thoughtfully. "An intelligent man."

"I can't do this," Bernadette said softly. She gazed up at him, straining to see some vestige of kindness in his eyes. But all she could see there was a sort of fatuous contentment. He was pleased. He thought this was a good option. He clearly thought she'd be glad.

"Father..." she whispered. She looked up at him desperately. A thought came to her. "The Earl of Lockwood?" She frowned. At very least, she could expect her father to tell her more about this man. How old was he? What did he look like? Could she meet him, perhaps, before they decided? There had to be some way out of this.

"Yes. Your betrothal to his grandson is arranged. His grandson will inherit the earldom after Rowell, the current earl, passes away. Rowell's son was in line to inherit, but he was involved in a fatal riding accident. Now his grandson is the heir. He is currently known by his courtesy title, Viscount Blackburne."

"Blackburne..." Bernadette repeated it softly. She frowned. She felt sure she'd met almost every eligible man in high society—her mother insisted—but that name was one she was certain she'd never heard.

"Yes. Viscount Blackburne," her father repeated.

"Can I meet him?" Bernadette asked hopefully. At the very least, he had to agree to that.

"Of course, you'll meet him. Rowell and his grandson are coming to dinner tomorrow. You'll meet him then."

"Tomorrow!" Bernadette gaped.

"Yes, tomorrow. Thursday," her father explained, as though she'd suddenly lost her wits.

"Father, it's too soon," Bernadette stammered. "You can't make me. I can't..."

"You have no choice in this matter. I have arranged it, and you will do your duty. It is expected of you. You're the daughter of a baron. And this baron always keeps his word. I expect that you will carry out what I have arranged and not humiliate me."

"Yes, Father," Bernadette whispered. She felt tears spring to her eyes.

She gazed down at the carpet upon which he stood, his boot toes creating tiny imprints in the delicate silk fibers, much like his disregard for her emotions and the delicate fabric of her existence. She choked her tears back and stood. "I will go to my chamber...I beg to be excused," she said tightly. She didn't want to cry in front of him. She wasn't going to let him have the power to make her cry.

"You will do exactly as I say. We are fortunate to be so honoured—you are lucky to have this choice." His voice was firm and pompously contented at once.

She made a fist, the feeling of her nails digging into her palm the only thing convincing her that this wasn't some wild dream. He truly sounded pleased. She walked to the door, then paused.

"Wait!" Bernadette held up her hand. She'd lost her daring to mention the letter, but now, she decided she had to, terrified or not. "I do have another choice. I can go somewhere else."

"What?" Her father's face darkened. Bernadette stepped back, feeling her heart thud with fear. His anger was terrifying to her; one of the strongest, darkest powers in her world.

"I have another choice," she stammered, holding up the letter. It was like a sword, her one defense. "I have this letter. Aunt sent it."

"Aunt who?" her father demanded, striding towards her as if he'd grab the letter. She gulped and stepped back.

"Aunt Rachel. She said...she said I can stay there. Be her companion. Keep her company and share her house and I could go tomorrow, if you let me," she gabbled. Her father's anger always reduced her to helpless sobs.

"No, you can't!" Her father glared at her. "You'd truly be a companion to some minor provincial viscountess?" His throat worked with rage. "You know that estate is the poorest in England. You'd be laughed out of the Ton ."

"Maybe that's not a bad thing," Bernadette whispered. She didn't know where the courage had come from to say that, but her father's eyes narrowed and he stalked towards her, making her turn the doorknob in haste.

"You dare to think you can flout me? That you can make a fool of me with Lockwood and the entire society?" he shouted. "Have you lost your wits?"

"I don't know," she replied. Her mind had almost stopped being able to think, her body shaking, her heart racing. No words came anymore, her brain numbed with sheer terror. "I don't know. I don't..."

"You will do as I say," her father said angrily. "And you'll one day thank me. You'll be a countess. And you'll be a member of even higher society than we are."

Bernadette nodded. She was past reason.

"Yes, Father," she whispered. There was no use in arguing, she could see that. No point in angering him—it was too frightening. All she could do was acquiesce. Perhaps another plan would come to her. It had to.

"Good." He let out a breath, as if he believed her agreement. "Well, then. You can go now. I am sure you have a lot to take in."

"Yes," Bernadette answered, almost inaudibly.

He stood back for her, and she opened the door, hurrying down the hallway to her room. She shut the door and leaned against it, as if it could shut out the shock that she'd just experienced.

"Judy?" she called, thinking her maid might be in the room next door, where she kept her clothes. "Judy?

No answer came and Bernadette rang the bell to summon her. She needed someone's counsel. She needed help.

Plans whirled through her mind. She would run to her friend's townhouse, and Viola's family would smuggle her back to the countryside. She would hide somewhere in London, making her family reconsider. She would get a job as a governess under another name.

"Miss Bernadette?" Judy called, knocking lightly at the door.

"Judy! Please, come in," Bernadette called out in reply.

Her maid entered, her slim face transforming into an expression of shock when she saw Bernadette's horrified expression.

"What's troubling you, Miss Bernadette?" she asked at once, taking her hand.

"It's Father..." Bernadette told her, trying not to sob.

"Is he sick?" Judy asked, sounding surprised.

"No. He...he promised my hand to...to someone I don't even know!" Bernadette stammered, unable to hide her fear. She was shaking. Now that she was away from Father and in a safe place, her body could show the fear she'd been hiding. Judy reached for her, her slender arms wrapping her close.

"Shh. Shh, milady. It's all right. It's all right."

"I have to do something," Bernadette whispered. "I can't let him."

Judy held her tight, and Bernadette stopped shivering. She breathed in, feeling calmer. She looked at Judy, whose dark gaze held hers.

"Mayhap it isn't so bad, milady," Judy said softly. "Mayhap the man is young and handsome. You can't know."

Bernadette chuckled a little distractedly. The idea was so far from any thoughts in her mind that, just for an instant, it made her feel better. "I doubt it," she said quietly as her mind settled down again.

Judy smiled. "It doesn't mean he can't be, milady. Many people find happiness in such things. It could be better than you think. Better than here, and that's almost certain."

Bernadette nodded. Judy knew, even though Bernadette almost never told her, how indifferent and cold her parents were.

"You're right," she answered.

Judy chuckled. "I am right," she agreed. "Now, it can't be too bad. I don't reckon your father would sell you to a travelling merchant."

Bernadette smiled a little sadly. "No. But only because a merchant won't advance him in society."

"Now, milady! It can't be that bad. Parents want what's best for us."

Bernadette swallowed hard. "Maybe," she whispered. She knew that wasn't true. Her parents did not know her. She had been raised by her nanny, at the country estate, Rothendale Manor, and her parents saw her rarely, hardly at all before she turned eight years old. They had more interest in visiting Town and being at society events than ever they did in their only daughter. They couldn't decide what was best for her because they would have had to know something about her, which they did not.

"I shall retire to the kitchen in order to procure a delightful cup of tea for you," Judy murmured. That's what you need...good and fortifying, a cup of tea is." Judy smiled at her.

"Thank you," Bernadette whispered dutifully.

Judy hurried out. Bernadette sat down and looked out of the window. She stared up at the clouds, just visible through the branches of the oak tree beyond the casement. The branches tossed, the leaves fluttering in the stiff spring breeze. She watched them—they were as wild and tumultuous as her own thoughts. As she sat there, she thought about what Judy had said.

Perhaps he wasn't hideous—Judy was right. Curiosity might be the only way she could keep herself from losing her wits. As she sat there watching the leaves rustle in the breeze, her mind invented a dozen pictures of Viscount Blackburne. Slim and dark-haired, with soulful brown eyes like a man in a French romance novel. Pale and red-haired, with glinting emerald eyes like a Scottish laird. Maybe square-faced and solemn, like a good Englishman.

Maybe it's not too bad, she thought silently.

She would know tomorrow evening what he was really like. And then she could decide whether to run to Viola to hide or not.