The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,19
Charlie. I will not marry him. Not even to save the family. I’ll work my fingers to the bone for you, I’ll scrimp and save and skivvy if I must, but I will not give that man the right to me, to own me. No. I shan’t.”
“What nonsense is this?” Charlie said impatiently. “You act as though I would sell you into slavery!”
“You are selling me into slavery,” Livvy retorted. “Just because I would live in a fine house and wear dresses that aren’t five years out of date would not change the fact that I would belong to a man I despise.”
“You don’t despise him.”
Livvy shot to her feet.
“Don’t you tell me what I feel!” she shouted in fury, tears pricking at her eyes.
She had been a fool to trust her brother. He was weak, and his weakness would be her condemnation if she wavered now. Livvy took a deep breath and forced her voice into something resembling a reasonable, calm tone.
“Hear me, and hear me well, Charlie, for I’ll not say it again. I will not marry that man to save you from a situation of your own making. I tried to warn you against your friend’s ridiculous investment scheme, and you refused to listen, but you’ll listen now. I’ll leave and not come back before I allow you to betroth me to that man, and if you think to persuade me or cajole me into it, stop now. One more word on the matter and I’ll never speak to you again.”
Her brother stared at her, his colour high as his own temper flared, but she didn’t care. If she didn’t beat him over the head with her meaning he’d think she would come around, that she just needed time to think it over. Well, she’d thought it over. She’d sacrificed a great deal for this family—her own future and happiness, for one—she’d not sacrifice what little freedom remained for them.
“You’re being hysterical,” he said, stalking to the window and glowering at the rain sheeting down beyond the glass.
She stamped down with difficulty on the desire to show him what hysterical looked like, but her reply was quiet and serene, even if she was throwing things at him in her mind. “Do I sound hysterical, Charlie? Good heavens. I’d no idea how sensitive you were. Perhaps you should have a lie down, you’ll give yourself a migraine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
Somehow, she left the room without giving into the desire to beat her brother about the head with the nearest object, though her hands trembled so much she could hardly turn the door handle. Outside, she almost barged into Mr Walsh and murmured an apology before she fled, heading for the gardens, for escape, for the path that led down to the sea, though the rain was pelting down still. It soaked her to the bone in no time at all, but Livvy did not stop.
“Well?” King demanded as Walsh returned, looking grim faced.
He had often believed the man wasted his talents as a valet. He’d have made an exceptional spy. Walsh could read people with ease, always seemed to be aware of any upset or scandal in a household, and could smell an intrigue from a mile away. It had saved King from a great deal of unpleasantness over the years. When Walsh had brought him his breakfast and told him there was something amiss in the house, King had listened. Not that he gave a hoot for whatever problems Boscawen had brought down upon himself. That was his own affair. He might not want to burden the man further, but he wasn’t a blasted priest or a shoulder to cry on, and he had no financial help to give beyond a few extra coins for his keep. Yet, if the place was about to fall apart, they’d want King out and he couldn’t have that, not until he was stronger. He’d woken feeling utterly wretched, so tired the very idea getting out of bed was akin to climbing a bloody mountain, and miserable besides. He wasn’t a surly fellow by nature, not until recently, but everything seemed so damned black he felt like curling up under the blankets and never coming out again. The only bright spot in the past few days had been the knowledge that he’d unsettled the unflappable Miss Penrose.
“He’s trying to marry Miss Penrose to some bloke what lives nearby. A Mr Skewes.”