Say No to the Duke (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #4) - Eloisa James Page 0,102

grimaced. “I expect the man will go straight to a stationery shop, Betsy, and sell a thrilling description of this evening for new etchings. I am sorry about that.”

“My reputation is ruined,” Betsy said, looking unmoved.

“Society will forget in time,” Jeremy said. He took her in his arms. “I thought perhaps you would like to take a wedding trip.”

Her eyes lit up. “Where shall we go?”

“Anywhere you like,” Jeremy said. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You could wear breeches when you wished, and be a lady when you didn’t.”

She hugged him as tightly as she could.

“As long as you’re always mine,” Jeremy said in a low voice. “My warrior, my queen, and the love of my life.”

Betsy looked up, her eyes shining, and Jeremy saw his future in them.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Just over a year later

“The new vicar is coming to tea,” Aunt Knowe called, bustling into the drawing room.

“Poor Father Duddleston,” Viola said mournfully. She was seated on a sofa unpicking her aunt’s tangled knitting. “He only had a few more weeks before he retired.”

“He died doing what he loved best,” her aunt said. “I’m sure that the new vicar . . . what’s his name? Mr. Marlowe. I’m sure he’ll be as good.”

“Is he married?” Joan asked. Now that she and Viola would be finally debuting in a matter of months, she thought of marriage constantly.

Viola poked at the knitting. She had no interest in marriage, and though she’d managed to postpone their debut for a year, it loomed in front of them now.

“He’s betrothed to a Miss Pettigrew,” Aunt Knowe reported. “Her grandfather is an archbishop, so it’s all very appropriate. I’ve invited her to stay with us for a time.” She jumped back to her feet. “I’d better warn Prism; I believe I forgot to mention it.”

“I have many ideas for the parish school,” Viola said. “Father Duddleston was so resistant to change.”

“You’ll have no time for that,” Joan said. She jumped up and whirled around, following the steps of a country dance. “I can’t wait, I can’t wait.”

Viola willed away the nausea that rose in her stomach. “I wish you would just allow me to wait another year.”

“You’d come up with an excuse and never debut at all,” Joan said briskly. “You’d spend your life puttering about the parish, teaching children silly rhymes and doing good works.”

“No retching in lemon trees from nerves, or spending an evening hiding in the retiring room,” Viola said.

“You must fight your shyness,” Joan urged, not for the first time. “I worry about you.”

Viola’s main worries had to do with the horrors of the Season. She could scarcely manage eating with strangers.

“What if you never meet a man to love, because you are immured in the country?” Joan demanded. “Would you be happy living Aunt Knowe’s life?”

“Why not? She is beloved by many, and she has all of us,” Viola said. “I think she is very lucky.”

“There’s no man in her life,” her sister exclaimed, exasperated. “No husband! Remember the way Betsy watches Jeremy under her lashes, or the way North gazes at Diana with adoration? Don’t you want to feel the same?”

“No,” Viola said decidedly. “It seems most uncomfortable.”

“I want a man to look at me desperately.”

Viola knew better than to express her opinion because Joan had drama in her bones, and Viola didn’t. Viola was also not a Wilde, even though she was raised with them, and the difference was telling. “How many men have come through this castle in the last year?” she asked instead. “Young, unmarried ones, I mean.”

“Likely over thirty,” Joan said, thinking about it. “There had to be at least that many at Diana’s wedding.”

“I have never met a single man whom I’d like to spend time with,” Viola stated. “Not one.”

Joan frowned. “You are being deliberately difficult, Viola. Just think of all the handsome men who pursued Betsy. She said no to all of them, though there were at least four whom I would have considered.”

“I wouldn’t consider any of them.”

Aunt Knowe swept back into the room, looking even more harried. “My dears, isn’t this fun? Mr. Marlowe and Miss Pettigrew have arrived a day early; such a lovely surprise!”

Viola and Joan jumped to their feet.

“My nieces, Lady Joan and Miss Viola Astley,” Aunt Knowe said. “Miss Pettigrew and Mr. Marlowe.”

Viola always looked to women first; having attended a girls’ seminary, she was comfortable in female company. Unfortunately, she knew immediately that Miss Pettigrew was not the sort of woman who