Chapter Two

"Are you going to pursue me through every hallway until I listen to what you have to say, we argue peaceably, and you finally surrender? How many times must we repeat this charade, Aunt?" Evan Thorne, the Marquess of Bridfield, turned sharply on his way to the kitchens, where he had hoped to pilfer some bread and cheese to take with him on his afternoon walk.

Indeed, he turned so quickly that his Aunt Amelia did not realize he had halted until she barreled right into him. She knocked into his chest and stumbled backward, but he caught her before she could fall.

"I was not pursuing you," she protested, wincing as she rubbed her chin, where she had struck his broad chest. "But we do need to discuss this. I have been asking for weeks if you will sit down with me so we can talk civilly, but you keep making up excuses."

Evan raised an eyebrow. "So, you were chasing me down?"

"You do not have to phrase it so… distastefully," she grumbled, resting her hands upon her hips. "Nevertheless, now that I have your undivided attention, let us speak of it. This cannot be avoided or postponed any longer, dear nephew."

Evan chuckled stiffly. "The discussion or the marriage you believe I should bind myself to?"

"Both," she replied, her dark green eyes—so like his own—hardening as she caught her breath. "Marriage is not only your duty as Marquess, but a way to find happiness in life. Companionship, at the very least, and let me tell you—I would have been lost without the companionship of my sweet Lionel. We would both have been lost without him. You know it is what he would have wanted for you, and what I want for you."

Evan grimaced, closing his eyes. "You would guilt me with the wishes of a man who is no longer with us, so I cannot verify his hopes for me?"

He still could not put into words how much he missed his Uncle Lionel; a man who had been like a father to him. The sort of father he should have had since birth, instead of the one that fate gave him. In truth, if Lionel had still been living, and had been standing there at his wife's side in a duo of determination, Evan knew he likely would have given up and accepted whatever they desired for him. Even now, he could not reject his Aunt Amelia outright; he loved her too much for that.

"He told you himself," Amelia reminded him.

Evan dropped his chin to his chest, remembering his uncle's last words. "Find someone, my boy. It is a long life, but it will be an empty one if you choose to be alone."

"I do not know what you want me to say, Aunt," he insisted with a sigh. "I would marry in the blink of an eye, but what am I to do when no suitable lady will have me? My reputation precedes me and, often, these young ladies are running before I can even be introduced."

Amelia tilted her head to one side. "How mysteriously convenient."

"Mysterious, yes. Convenient, no." He cleared his throat. "I must have upset someone terribly for them to do this to me, dragging my name through the muck of the scandal sheets. I once thought I might try to investigate and reprimand the culprit, but it proved too difficult. It is likely a disgruntled friend from school or university—you know how such grudges refuse to die."

Amelia tutted under her breath. "Then, it is fortunate that you have me—a withered old prune with nothing to do but seek a match for her favorite nephew."

"I am your only nephew."

"Precisely." Amelia's sudden grin alarmed him. "And, because you are my favorite and only nephew, I have remedied the situation on your behalf. You would have known sooner if you did not insist on scurrying away with your feeble means of avoiding me trailing behind you."

A sick feeling churned in Evan's stomach, his blood running cold. "You have… remedied it? How, might I ask, have you done such an impossible thing?"

"There is to be a dinner at the house tomorrow evening. There, you are to meet your future wife, who will be residing here. A party has been arranged too, but I shall speak more of that in due course," Amelia replied, with a sly smile that further tightened the invisible noose around his neck. "Indeed, your bride ought to be arriving this afternoon, and from what I hear, she is quite the delight. I took great pains to select the perfect match for you, and though I am certain you will be shocked for a short while, you will have plenty of time to become acquainted during her stay here."

Shocked was more than an understatement. Evan could not move, his legs leaden, his innards twisting into knots, while his heart raced violently in his chest, threatening to break a rib as it tried to burst free of his body. It was a devilish move from his aunt, and they both knew it as they looked at one another, neither wanting to be the first to glance away.

"I could not bring such disdain upon a young lady," he began to protest, finding his voice though it sounded strangled. "Why drag her through the mire with me, Aunt? It would be unjust—nay, unkind."

Amelia continued to smile her irreverent smile. "Because her reputation is in need of as much improvement as yours," she said. "So, cease whatever protest is forming upon your tongue, and do me this one favor. I do not ask for much, my dear boy. Please, do this, for me."

After raising him for four-and-ten years, Amelia knew him far too well. She knew he would not be able to reject her plea, for she was the only mother figure he had ever known. He would have done anything for her. Almost anything… and that line was on the verge of being overstepped.

"Is she… wayward?" Evan asked, still seeking a way out.

Amelia shook her head. "Not in the manner you are thinking. She is a renowned spinster, that is all, and her father is eager to see her wed."

"So, she is old?" Evan tried not to grimace, envisioning someone of his aunt's nine-and-forty years. Amelia still looked exceptionally beautiful for her age, but that did not mean he wished to marry someone two decades older. Indeed, he did not wish to marry at all.

Amelia shook her head again. "Not yet a true spinster. She is two-and-twenty. A rather fair age to wed, I should think."

"I… will attend the party," Evan said, after a moment or two. "I will meet with her, but… I cannot promise she will not resist a union, once she inevitably learns of my reputation."

He thought it best to lay the blame of a failed engagement upon this mysterious woman pre-emptively, for he would certainly try his best to ensure a match did not proceed beyond the party.

Amelia shrugged. "You might be surprised." She paused. "Of course, I shall have to inform your father of what I have arranged, though I cannot imagine he will have any complaints. I thought it best to tell you first, seeing as it pertains to you. Perhaps, you might prefer to be the one to write to him?"

Evan's dread at the prospect of meeting a bride he neither knew or wanted transformed into cold, icy serpents that slithered up from his abdomen and bit deep into his lungs, pouring venom into his chest that burned up his throat, leaving it with no place to go but out of his mouth. "Speak of that man again in my presence, and I will do you no favors, no matter how much I adore you."

Balling his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms to ease the spike of rage that buffeted his insides, he strode away without another word. Amelia could scheme and plot whatever she liked, testing his graciousness, but bringing his father into the conversation was one thing he would not, could not, would never tolerate.

* * *

"Tell me again why we could not rest at home for a few days?" Olivia felt every hour of the lengthy journey they had taken from Lord Jodrell's ball, just outside London. She did not even know what part of the country she and her mother, sitting at her side, were in.

Her mother, Laura, continued to stare out of the carriage window, as she had been doing for the past few hours like a child seeing the countryside for the first time. "Oh, how can you complain when it is such a beautiful day, and such a beautiful part of the world?"

"Because I am in last night's gown and I look as if I have been dragged through every one of these hedgerows backward," Olivia replied. "One might suspect you do not actually wish for me to make a good impression upon this marquess."

This scoundrel, rather, she grumbled inwardly.

Her mother turned sharply. "That is certainly not my wish!" she enthused. "You must make a good impression, my darling. Your father has told me such wonderful things about this gentleman. Why, I feel as giddy as if I were the one being introduced to my betrothed!"

Olivia wondered if her mother was quite well, only to realize that her father might not have told the entire truth to his wife. Indeed, Olivia doubted her mother would be quite so "giddy" if she understood that they were on their way to meet a notorious rogue.

"Remind me why Father is not joining us when this is, apparently, of great importance to him?" Olivia prodded a little, wondering if she ought to inform her mother of the marquess's infamous nature. Perhaps, that was why Olivia's father had matched her with such a man, taking pity on a similarly wretched creature.

Laura shrugged. "He has business to attend to that could not wait. He has given you his apologies, Olivia—do not make this a quarrel that it does not need to be. He will join us when he can."

"Business, you say?" Olivia's words were barbed, but if her mother noticed, she did not show it as she resumed her observation of the countryside.

"Mm, yes. Something pertaining to copper mines. I was not listening properly."

In case you heard the truth? Olivia held her tongue, aware that it was unfair to upset her mother over something beyond her control. Laura Agarn was bound to a marriage that had never served her, and, as Olivia had learned, it was easier for Laura to find bliss in feigned ignorance than to struggle through the painful reality.

"Did he tell you when his business would conclude?" Olivia watched her mother's face for any indication of secret knowledge.

Laura glanced back at her daughter. "When it is done," she said firmly. "Please, might we just enjoy this pleasant journey?"

"As long as I can bathe as soon as we reach this dowager's residence, I shall not say another word."

Laura smiled. "An excellent trade."

Olivia sat back, entirely convinced that her father was lying and indulging in another affair, but there was no use in dredging up such a thing. After all, Olivia's mother would be the first to notice if her husband had gone astray again, and she would be the first to pretend she did not know. When it came to matters of her broken heart, Laura's lips were sealed shut, her mind an impenetrable vault that needed to stay locked in order to ensure her survival.

And that is why I will not be marrying anyone, Mama, Olivia vowed silently. I will not pretend to look the other way while I am disrespected by a man. I will not let anyone break this heart of mine. By the time their visit came to an end, the marquess would not even be able to be in the same room as Olivia; she was counting on it.

"It is a little bit exciting," she half-lied, stung with a jab of guilt as her mother looked back at her with a smile so wide and hopeful.

"It is! I told you!" her mother cried, taking hold of Olivia's hand and squeezing it tight.

But the only excitement Olivia truly felt was anticipation for the plan she intended to execute. It demanded discretion, of course, for if her father caught wind of what she meant to do, he would marry her off to this stranger without delay… and that could not be permitted, under any circumstances.

Marquess, I hope you are ready to welcome me, for I will ensure that I am impossible to forget. A smile turned up the corners of Olivia's lips as she squeezed her mother's hand in return, swallowing down an explosion of laughter as she envisioned what was to come. The marquess might have thought he knew women intimately, but she was about to show him that he had no idea what they were truly capable of.