looked ready to swoon, and Crispin stared at her as if she had grown horns. Only her papa remained unflappable, and Maryann knew it was he she needed to convince.
“Then what do you desire, if not to marry and have a home of your own?”
The question so startled her, she flustered for a few moments. “I do not know as yet, Papa.”
A black scowl formed across his brow. “Maryann…”
“I do not discount ever having a family of my own, Papa. But as to what else life has to offer, how can I expect to know it when I was never given the freedom to dare to think there might be more beyond the constraints of your expectations?”
She swiped at the tears she hadn’t realized spilled on her cheeks. “Please, Papa. If I have that freedom, perhaps I might find what my heart truly desires.”
Her father remained contemplative for several moments. “We will withhold announcing the engagement for a few weeks.”
She tried to stand and go to him, but relief made her knees wobble. “Thank you, Papa.”
“You have until we retire to the country in October to find what it is you seek.”
Oh God, that was only three months. “And if I do not find it?”
“You will marry Stamford.”
A raw gasp escaped her.
“And what if I should find it?” she asked hoarsely.
“Once I approve, you will be allowed to reach for whatever it is.”
It was more than she had expected but less that what she had hoped for.
“The countess and I will deal with the current gossip. Should it prove unmanageable, arrangements will be made for you to travel to Hertfordshire until it settles down. Crispin will accompany you while your mother and I remain in Town.”
Her father was a powerful man in the ton; if he could squash the rumors, they would fade away like ashes in the wind within a couple weeks. A hard lump formed in her throat. “Yes, Papa.”
She had always known the power of her ruse would be a momentary shock wave that would cause enough ripples in society to influence Stamford’s actions. She’d once overheard her brother remark that a gentleman would not wish to marry a lady suspected of dallying with another gentleman. And everyone knew the marquess was a right rogue, the worst of the lot when it came to debauching innocent misses.
That was the whisper about for the last few seasons, and surely Stamford had heard them. Would he show up this morning, honor insulted, and withdraw his ridiculous offer?
“Papa…what if Lord Stamford should hear the gossips and withdraw his offer?” She ardently prayed he would.
Her father’s expression shuttered. “He won’t.”
“But you cannot be so certain that—”
“He won’t.”
All appetite killed, Maryann excused herself, pushed back her chair, and walked away. A cold, heavy disquiet settled on her shoulders. How certain her father seemed, as if there was more to the matter.
With a sense of dread, Maryann wondered whether her father still possessed every intention of pushing through that alliance. With a deep breath, she accepted the truth—he had no intention of allowing her to escape marriage to Stamford, and whatever she wanted to pursue would be denied.
How could you, Papa?
Chapter Eight
Maryann reposed on a chaise longue in her personal parlor, working on delicate stitching for her embroidery. She had taken a tray in the parlor, too engrossed in completing her design of a chaffinch to join the family in the formal dining room. She wanted breathing room away from their heavy press of disappointment, and the hurt she felt that they still continued to ignore her heart’s wishes.
The last few days had been emotionally tiring. Her mother had not berated her as expected, but the countess’s eyes had been dark with disappointment, and that had hurt Maryann’s heart more than a deserved tongue lashing. Crispin continually demanded to know if she wanted to start a scandal from which they might never recover. He scolded her most fiercely, blaming himself for her outrageous conduct. If not for his overindulgence, could she dream of being so boldly rebellious?
She had often heard the tale that as a babe she cried often, a misery not even her nursemaid could soothe. Only when Crispin took her into his arms was she soothed. A young boy of only four years at her birth, he had taken to his role as her protective older brother rather fastidiously. It had been mutual love, and never had he been angry with her as he had been this morning.