be cloistered with some overly pious nuns?” She despised the insidious creep of hurt in her voice and the sudden clammy feel of her hands.
“What else would you have me do?” Her father asked the question in a subdued tone as he circled the desk to take a seat in his chair. Over steepled fingers, he fixed her with a grave stare. “My presence is required in America for the next several months. If I leave you here, the moment I am gone you will be gallivanting from Cornwall to Northumberland with God knows who, and I will be met with a fait accompli upon my return. Lord only knows which bounder you’ll present me with as your husband.”
“Why is it so important that he has your stamp of approval? I would imagine it should be enough that you will be rid of me.” The words came out more charged and emotional than she would have liked. But that came more from anger than hurt. She didn’t care that her father didn’t want her. Not anymore. That need in her had been exorcised from her not long after her mother’s death.
Amelia paused, unfurled the fingers digging into her palms, and continued in a carefully modulated tone. “I am now a grown woman. Don’t I have the right to choose the man who will, in the eyes of the law, own me for the rest of my life? Won’t you afford me even that small concession?”
“And have you tied to a man like Clayborough?” Her father did nothing to keep the disdain from his voice. “You would find yourself living the life of genteel poverty in too few years. And who do you think your husband would look to when that occurs?” With only a slight pause in his speech, he continued, “Me, that is who. Even that self-serving Clayborough knows I would never permit my own flesh and blood to live in such a manner. Can you imagine, the daughter of a marquess living in a run-down estate with threadbare carpeting and traveling in equipage long past the hackney stage?” He emitted a sound of disgust. “I expect much more for you than that.”
Yes, good heavens, what would society say? The embarrassment, the mortification simply could not be endured by someone of her father’s stature. But living in genteel poverty had to be a vast cry better than being locked in a convent. And he must know she would never descend to ask him for one shilling.
However, Amelia hid any response she might have been tempted to give behind a vacant stare. She lacked sufficient interest to rouse herself from the inertia of arguing with her father over her selection in men.
“Twice in one year, you have run off to marry without my consent. Twice I have been forced to hire investigators to bring you home. You are fortunate that I was able to keep your escapades off every nattering tongue in society, for then there would be no hope of finding you a decent match. Can you not see you have left me with no other option?”
Amelia knew her father did not actually expect her to agree. Leaves would cease to turn color during the autumn months before that miracle occurred. However, a real tendril of fear misted over her like the thick London fog and quite literally had her heart beating double time. Her father had a look in his eyes and an uncompromising mien that she’d never witnessed in his dealings with her.
“Have you forgotten what I endured as a child at the hands of those women at that school? Or don’t you care what becomes of me?” Amelia had no practice in cajolement. She’d never had any particular need of it. Not when she was a connoisseur in the art of guilt.
Harold Bertram sat back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. For several seconds he watched her, and she wondered if he too recalled the beating she’d received—one which had left her skin bruised and broken. That had been the punishment she’d received after attempting to run away. Away from women who thought the cane the sole recourse for even the smallest infraction. When her father had learned of the incident, he’d removed her from the school in an act charged with righteous indignation.
She’d returned home under the misguided belief his actions had meant he cared for her. It had been a false assumption. The week following her return to their country estate, he’d left for