Chapter 3

Virtue approached her father's study with her heart thudding. As a little girl, the room had terrified her, as she had often associated its musty interiors with her father's stern demeanor and brisk temper. The few times she'd dared to enter it, she would always leave with her tail between her legs and tears welling in her eyes. He was a stern man, her father. He was a serious man, also. Not overtly cruel or ‘evil' as the characters in her storybooks, just not the sort of man who was used to not getting his way. And he hated being interrupted when he was at work.

On this day, however, she had been summoned, which at least mitigated the risk of aggravating him by an untimely interruption. Nevertheless, she anticipated that his reasons for calling her were likely to be no less severe.

She tapped gently at the heavy, oak door of the study and waited. And waited. Several minutes must have passed before he finally called back.

"Come in!" His voice, a harsh bark from within, shattered the tense silence.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Virtue opened the door and stepped inside. Even as a grown woman, the study was an intimidating room. Not overtly large by any sense, yet it somehow always made her feel small inside it; dark and devoid of any natural light, a high ceiling, stacked bookshelves that seemed to tower over her, a work desk that only came up to her waist but felt as if it reached her shoulders. And then there was the man seated behind it.

Like Virtue, Lord Holmfield—as he commanded to be referred to, even by his daughter—was short, especially for a man. Stocky also, what was once a robust frame had since turned soft with age. His hair, a faded strawberry blonde, had receded significantly, and his skin bore the ruddy hue of blotches, his cheeks ample and his jowls wobbly. But it was his eyes that Virtue always watched, for they told of the mood he was in. Was he angry with her? Was he venomous? Or was he... she met his eyes, tried to read them, but found it impossible to do in the moment.

This, of course, only added to her nerves.

"You asked to see me, my lord?" she spoke softly as she lingered in the doorway.

"Yes." He gestured to the chair opposite his desk, lifting his gaze for a moment. "Sit."

She nodded and crossed the room, taking the seat, trying to get as comfortable as she could, all the while feeling her father study her with a sense of contempt. When her mother had been alive, her father had been far kinder and more compassionate. When she had died, over ten years ago now, he had turned cold and withdrawn. He had come to view Virtue less as a daughter and more as a chess piece, to be strategically positioned for familial advantage. His overarching ambition was to see her well-married.

And indeed, when he had successfully orchestrated her betrothal, she had noticed a change in her father that she could never have predicted. For a time there, he had treated her with something akin to pride and satisfaction, elated that she was finally living up to her purpose. Elated for what it meant for him, also.

Since the wedding had been canceled, however, Virtue could count on her hands the number of times she and her father had spoken.

"The… events, that transpired the previous evening," her father began with austere firmness, "shall never be spoken on inside the walls of Holmfield. Understand?"

Virtue's brow furrowed slightly as she lifted her eyes to meet his. Could that be compassion flickering in his eyes? Surely not. "What do you.... what do you mean?"

"I do not believe I was speaking in riddles," he muttered with a tone of vexation. "It was foolish of you, girl. I can scarcely believe you would even..." He bit his tongue and shook his head. "No matter. It is done now, and for that reason, we shall work to erase it from the grand history of the Hartleighs. You are well aware of how swiftly gossip travels in this town. The sole method to arrest its spread is to disregard it utterly. Now, is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord." She nodded once but could not suppress the faint smile that played on her lips. "And thank you."

"For what?" he grumbled.

Her smile widened a touch. "Nothing."

He studied her for a moment, as if deciding something. "Very well. And on that note, it is important to remember who you are. My daughter. You are no fool. No embarrassment. You are certainly not the subject of idle chatter. The disgrace lies not with you but with those whose tongues are too freely wagged. This, I will no longer tolerate."

Virtue eyed her father intently, unable to fathom what he was saying or why he was saying it. She had thought he'd brought her here to shout and scream, but it was the opposite of that. He had a point he was trying to make, that was clear, but she could not begin to reason what it might be.

"What Lord Prescott did to you was a disgrace," he growled, anger now lacing his tone. "But not for you. For him! He made a fool of his own name, not yours, certainly not mine, and it is time that we reminded the people of that. Don't you think?"

"Y-yes, my lord," she stammered, sensing that was all he wished to hear.

"He thinks to tarnish you." He chuckled bitterly. "He thinks to ruin me? Pah! Well, we shall see what he thinks next. I dare say, he will rue the day he ever dared to cross me and mine."

Still, Virtue regarded her father. She knew now that his hostilities were not for her, so that was a good thing to be sure. Rather, he seemed awfully proud of something, excited even. He was building toward a point, and where she might have guessed what it was... no, she would not dare.

"It is for that reason," he began, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic buoyancy as he stood from his chair, "that I bring you tidings which I believe will also be a source of excitement for you." He raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk playing across his features.

"You do?" Her heart began to flutter. Surely not? Surely, this wasn't going where she thought...

"I have been tirelessly occupied these past two weeks. However, diligent efforts often yield fruitful outcomes, and it pleases me immensely to inform you that in one week's time, Virtue, you are to be married to—"

"What?!" The word escaped her lips before she could temper her reaction, and she saw her father's jaw clench in response. "Sorry..." she murmured hastily, mind whirling as she looked at him to continue.

"As I was saying, I have arranged for you to be wed." He paused and cocked an eyebrow at her, making sure she did not interrupt this time. "Securing a suitor willing to marry so precipitously was no trifling matter. Yet, considering recent events, I deemed it prudent to forego a traditional betrothal. This way, we circumvent any... unforeseen complications," he added sharply, his intent unmistakable. "And, as fortune would have it, I have found an exemplary gentleman." He halted, allowing the gravity of his announcement to settle as he fixed his gaze upon her.

"Who would—" she whispered, holding her tongue at that for she had so many questions but knew better than to ask them.

He nodded solemnly. "You should be aware, this was no trifling task. Given the... aftermath of recent events," he said, his tone sharpening with frustration as he clicked his tongue. "Our options were regrettably limited. Threadbare, one might say. The fact that I managed to secure a suitor at all, and one of considerable standing, is nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps, in a roundabout way, you are owed some adulations yourself," he chuckled lightly. "You did look quite graceful the other evening, my dear, so perhaps word of your charm reached him."

"Thank you, my lord—"

"Now, now! We will have none of that! I am your father and will be referred to as such. As to the facts, he has agreed to the dowry, he is as eager to wed as I could hope, and come next week, we shall throw a wedding at my local parish. A small ceremony, he insisted, but considering the circumstances, I think it is best. Weddings of this… nature, tend to invite gossip -- something we will do well to avoid. So, a quick, private ceremony, free from whispers and other nuisances, and the two of you will then be free to remind the ton who you are and where you come from."

She could barely stand it any further. Was this some kind of jest? Or was he really more concerned with discussing the details surrounding the marriage than the marriage itself and her supposed betrothed? As he spoke, her mind wandered, her heart raced, and her excitement rose to levels previously thought unattainable. Her father had found her a husband. She was going to be married. Could it be perhaps… Lord Tarrow? The details aligned, and she did feel there had been some connection between them when they had locked gazes at the ball. Or perhaps, it was another of the lords on Prudence's list? Yes, there was the fact that she had never met this mysterious man, and had no idea who he was, but she knew her father well enough to know that he must have been someone of renown. He would rather her die alone than marry beneath her station.

But who was it? Who might he have found? Excitement mixed with fear mixed with nerves, and all the while her father watched her squirm, finally waiting for her to ask the obvious question.

"Who is he, father?"

He smiled at that, a hint of triumph in his expression. "His Grace, the Duke of Greystone."

"His Grace?!" Virtue's eyes widened, a mix of shock and awe coloring her voice. A Duke! The idea seemed almost fantastical. Given her recent social blunders, how could a Duke possibly deem her a suitable bride? Especially under such hastily arranged circumstances—it defied understanding. It made no sense! That was until her father continued to speak.

"He is a good man, Virtue." He nodded firmly as if to affirm it. "A war hero. Fabulously wealthy. Young too, considering. And given that his estate lies several hundred miles away, I believe you'll find the change of scenery quite to your liking. Yes..." His smile took on a proud curve. "And whatever rumors you might hear about him, well, you of all people know the weight—or lack thereof—of gossip. I would just ignore them."

"Rumors…?" Virtue leaned back in her chair, her initial excitement morphing into worry. "What… what do they say?"

"His Grace, Duke Greystone, Virtue." Her father repeated the title, eyeing her with a puzzled look as if the name alone should trigger recognition. "Surely, you have heard of his, ah... of what happened?"

Virtue felt a stir of unease. The way her father mentioned the Duke's history implied there was more to this man than his titles and accolades. What had happened with the Duke of Greystone that made him consider her a suitable bride, of all people, despite all her recent shortcomings? Worse, what might it mean for her future? "I have not. What happened?"

As her father divulged the details, Virtue's initial spark of excitement rapidly extinguished, replaced by a creeping dread. She did indeed recognize the name—the Duke of Greystone. And with recognition came the flood of chilling rumors that accompanied it, each more unsettling than the last.

Fear was what replaced her excitement. Fear and bitter remorse.

Ever since she was a little girl, Virtue had wished for nothing more than to marry. Well, to fall in love and marry, but at this point, she was willing to settle with the latter. Now that her fate had been set before her, however, she wondered if the prize she sought was worth the cost. Love and happiness were things she associated with marriage, but if the rumors about His Grace were true -- and she had no reason to believe otherwise -- love and happiness were likely the last things she would ever feel again.

A murderer? A madman? A monster ripped straight from her storybooks? These rumors swirled menacingly through her mind, her anxiety mounting with each passing moment. As her father prattled on, his enthusiasm starkly contrasting her growing unease, Virtue couldn't help but wonder: What in good heavens was he thinking?

It appeared he wasn't, at least not with any regard to her well-being.