The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,21

motives and thought Mr Skewes a nice fellow, Charlie knew she despised him. He knew she feared marrying a man she could not trust, and yet he’d tried to force her hand, to use her love for her nieces and nephews to coerce her to the altar.

Don’t you want the girls to have dowries? Don’t you want poor Harry to go to university?

As if it were her doing they couldn’t! Then he’d dropped the final bombshell. He had debts, debts that he could not pay. All their savings had gone. He’d sold everything that wasn’t nailed down or entailed, and it still wasn’t enough, yet he’d still spent more buying stupid presents for Christmas… she wanted to weep. She had wept. For once she’d cried for herself, for a life wasted on trying to keep this family together when her brother was determined to undo all her good work.

Still she’d told him—spelled it out in words even he could understand—that she would not marry Mr Skewes under any circumstances, and that she had lost faith in him. It was impossible to trust Charlie now. She needed a plan, a way out. Livvy gave a despairing sob. Her only way out of her brother’s house was to marry, and if he could no longer afford to keep her….

Well, there was more than one man in the world, not that she’d ever met more than a handful of them. Society was thin on the ground here, and she’d been too busy with Charlie’s brood to meet the few there were very often. There were plenty of gentlemen farmers about who would snap her up but that would not help the children. She needed a wealthy man, wealthy enough to see Harry and George through school and university and give the girls their come out. A man like that would not be found in Bude or anywhere near here.

Great Aunt Agatha!

The idea hit her like a lightning strike. Her aunt was a daunting, mysterious figure, and one she only knew from the occasional letter that came their way and usually left Charlie in towering rage. Not that he ever let her read them. He said Aunt Agatha was a wicked creature, and Livvy must have nothing to do with her. It was one of the few things Charlie and their grandfather had ever agreed upon. Apparently, she had a reputation. She was also a very wealthy widow, and always gave a lavish New Year’s Ball at her home in Bath.

Bath was not so very far away. Perhaps if Livvy could get there, her aunt might take pity on her, might lend her a gown and introduce her to some eligible men. Might give her a chance… might wave her magic wand and give her glass slippers and turn a pumpkin into a carriage. Livvy swallowed down a wave of misery. Yet it was her only chance, a straw to cling to against the torrent that seemed to be swirling around her, threatening to sweep her off her feet and tow her under.

“Miss Penrose?”

Oh, how bloody perfect. Livvy cursed the man to Hades. She must look a fright, soaked to the bone, her eyes burning from weeping too hard, and no doubt her nose was as red as a beacon from spending too long standing on the beach while the wind buffeted her back and forth. So, naturally, her nemesis had come to speak to her.

“Good heavens,” Kingston said, his eyes widening as he took in the picture she made. She could only imagine how unattractive she must look. “You’re soaked to the skin. Come inside at once.”

Livvy balked, having had quite enough of men telling her what to do for one day.

“I am more than capable of looking after myself, I th-thank you, my l-lord,” she retorted through chattering teeth, and then ruined it with a disgusting sneeze.

“There, you’ve caught a chill, you idiotic creature. What the devil were you thinking, wandering about in such weather with your skirts wet through? Don’t you have the sense you were born with?”

He took her arm, no doubt some chivalrous instinct raising its head that had not quite been drowned in brandy, but Livvy felt a burst of alarm. Why, she could not have said, except that it felt as if another man were taking charge of her life, and she simply snapped.

“No!” she yelled, pulling herself free. “No, I won’t go with you! I’ll look after myself, I always look after myself, no… no one