“This past Sunday, I was approached by the Duke of Bellingham. Apparently, his second son, Mark, is in need of a wife, and they’re willing to take you on after the appropriate period of mourning. You’ll be married next summer in Devon, so… enjoy this little rendezvous while you can.”
“Take me on?” she echoed, aghast. “You’re mad if you think I’ll be impressed upon to marry again, Father; I barely survived the last one!”
He stepped forward, his threatening manner causing her to flinch away. Her father hadn’t been a heavy-handed parent, but he’d slapped them a few times if they’d provoked him enough.
“Think of someone other than yourself for once, Honoria,” he blustered, his chins vibrating with the violence of his unchecked disdain. “Mercy and Felicity are being treated abominably, shunned from society, and openly mocked. Their chances at decent marriages are effectively nil. Your mother is possibly on her deathbed with nervous conniptions, her heart growing weaker by the day. I’ve had to instruct the staff to hide the papers and the cordial from her. Business like mine is built on reputation, you daft girl. What do you think will happen to our wealth if our name is in tatters? You are not the only one who has suffered, but you’re the only one who can reclaim some semblance of our family’s honor in the wake of this disaster.”
Suddenly dizzy, Nora pressed her hand to her forehead, unable to tell if she were feverish, or if her hands were abnormally cold.
She should have known. She was aware of what the ton did to those who fell out of favor. Nothing that her father had imparted should have been news to her.
But her sisters had never let on their distress, hadn’t mentioned her mother’s condition. She’d been more than happy to stay cossetted in this tower like a damaged princess, forgetting that she wasn’t the only person in danger. That the ripples of her husband’s actions would affect the innocent, and that she had some responsibility to amend that.
She’d never really considered that she could become Titus’s ruin. Because he was such a strong and stalwart man. Capable and gifted and ruthless and resilient, she no more assumed she could cause him harm than a butterfly could destroy a lion.
But it was so much worse than that.
She could ruin him with her affection.
Again.
Was it some sort of curse? To have him for moments of bliss, only to have to choose between him and honor? Or to make him chose between her and ruination?
“Why would a Duke invite someone like me into his family?” she asked, kneading at her temple.
Her father’s gaze darted away, sliding a dagger of unease into her ribs. “He’s a victim of his own scandal. Mark was kept from prison only by the hand of his father, the Duke. He’s an invert, so he’s being forced to go into the church… being a vicar’s wife will do you some good, I think.”
“An invert.” She dropped her hand in surprise. “You mean, he prefers the romantic company of…men?”
“Evidently fell in love with some French actor. There are photographs.” Her father shuddered. “He’s reported to be nothing like William, thank God. A gentle sort of fellow, studious and dull.”
Honoria instantly felt a tug of pity for Mark.
If not for Titus, such an arrangement might suit her quite well. A kind man, one who wouldn’t make sexual demands of her. A quiet life in a country vicarage. She didn’t so much mind the idea of men being lovers, couldn’t understand why it was considered such a sin to begin with.
A click from down the hall toward the entry told her the door had been opened and shut. The sound preceded Titus’s footsteps down the hall. She knew the cadence of his confident stride, and she stood suddenly. Her heart at once surged to her throat, only to take a nosedive into the pit of her belly.
This was impossible. No matter what she did, she hurt him.
If she ended it, she sliced through the tenuous bond they’d only just forged. She broke his heart again, just when he’d begun to open it.
If she stayed… she might cost him everything. His patients and his patrons. His entire life’s work. Everyone she loved would suffer for that love. She was like a fragmented bomb, laying waste to all who dared to stand in her immediate vicinity.
Her father, apparently, hadn’t marked Titus’s approach. “I suppose you and Mark will both have to