Unable to remain still, Jasper began to pace. There were several reasons why they should not work; he was a duke, Ada a vicar’s daughter. They’d only known each other a few weeks. She believed wholeheartedly in love and expressed it easily; his sterling contribution was er, well, good. Yet…the answers to his mother’s questions were yes, yes, and yes.
Perhaps he had indeed found his true love. Perhaps he needed to march to the gold parlor right this minute and declare his feelings to Ada—
The door to his library crashed open.
His jaw dropped as Reverend Blair and another much younger man stormed in, both dressed in unrelieved black and clutching their hats. Only that cretin would dare, but he’d gone too far this time.
“Vicar,” said Jasper frigidly. “Explain yourself or I’ll have you removed from my estate in a manner ill-befitting a man of the cloth.”
“I think you know,” said Reverend Blair, his eyes flashing. “That woman abducted my daughter and I’ve come to retrieve her—”
“That woman is the Duchess of Gilroy and shall be referred to as Her Grace.”
Lavinia examined her manicure in a manner that was somehow more menacing than brandishing a sword. “Also, I merely provided transportation. But I do find it excessively rude, Reverend, that you’ve charged in here without announcement and haven’t even introduced your friend.”
The vicar scowled. Then without warning, he smiled. “Oh, you wish to know who this most excellent young man is?”
“I wait on tenterhooks,” said Jasper.
The young blond man stepped forward and bowed. “Mr. Micah Ambrose, Your Graces. New curate at St. Mary’s in Charlton Kings…and Miss Blair’s fiancé.”
What the bloody goddamned hell?
Jasper stared in utter disbelief. “Fiancé?”
Reverend Blair chuckled. “Oh yes, it is all arranged. I did say Ada was not for the likes of you, did I not? She’ll wed an upright man, a godly man, and be most content.”
Lavinia stood, her fists clenching. “And what are the young lady’s wishes in the matter?”
Both the unwanted visitors looked at her, obviously startled, as though it hadn’t even occurred to them Ada might have wishes.
“My daughter wants to wed,” said the vicar impatiently. “I found her an appropriate husband who will fit in just so at the vicarage. I’m not sure why any of this is the business of the aristocracy.”
Jasper tilted his head. “Let us find Ada and hear her opinion. At once.”
Her father had often made it clear that women disappointed him. Her not being a son. Mama dying before producing a son to follow in his footsteps. But she had thoroughly underestimated what he would do to keep a housekeeper for the lowest expense: arrange her marriage to a stranger and storm the estate of a duke.
Ada continued to pace the ridiculously large and lavish gold parlor, not wanting to be at a disadvantage when her father and Mr. Ambrose burst through the door, as they no doubt would very shortly. Not even burly footmen would halt Reverend Ernest Blair in high dudgeon, and he had been furious at her temporary escape. Poor Jasper. Thanks to her, a circus had indeed invaded his home. Thankfully, she’d had time to explain the situation to Ruth and Martha, so they were prepared for the arrival of vicar and curate and had offered her their spare bedchamber to stay in if need be.
“I really think you should start drinking, my dear,” said Martha, from where she sat on an embroidered chaise next to Ruth. “Be easier on your nerves. And this brandy is top notch.”
Gracious, the thought was tempting. Either that or dumping the entire decanter on her father’s head. She might be nearly thirty, without fortune or property, but she had friends, blast it all. More to the point, she knew what love was, and would not be marrying without it.
“Ada.”
Jasper’s brusque voice carried from the parlor door, and she sighed in relief at his comforting presence, although at this moment he looked understandably irritated, trailed as he was by her father and Mr. Ambrose. The duchess merely smiled and waggled her fingers as she took a seat near Ruth and poured herself a tumbler of brandy from the half-empty decanter.
“Your Grace,” Ada replied, dipping into a curtsy. All she wanted to do was run to him, but he should be reward for toil, not her sword arm today. It was one thing to have a man who would stand toe to toe with her father, but she needed to do so as well. “Er…good afternoon.”
“Ada dear, would you like a brandy?” asked the duchess innocently, although the glint in her eyes said she understood the provocative nature of the question. The opening riposte.
Her father coughed. “She most certainly would not. That is a beverage suitable only for gentlemen.”
“I don’t believe,” said Ada slowly, “there is any such beverage. And yes I would, Your Grace.”
“Here you go,” said the duchess, pouring a small brandy and handing it to her.
Ernest’s indrawn breath was overloud in the silence and his cheeks darkened to scarlet; a volcano ready to explode. But Ada deliberately held her father’s gaze and took a small sip, for she had to start as she meant to go on. Oooh, it burned. Thankfully she’d been sensible and sipped rather than gulped; otherwise she would be a spluttering, red-eyed mess, and that certainly wasn’t in keeping with the bold character she wished to portray. “Ah. Much better.”
Jasper’s lips twitched. “I might have one also, Mother.”
“It’s not even one o’clock in the afternoon!” burst out Mr. Ambrose.
“A talking clock,” said Ruth. “How modern.”
Ada looked away briefly, lest she give in to a very inappropriate giggle. Her entire life, she had feared her father and his bullish demands, his insistence on obedience, and complete lack of care for her wishes. And yet today, surrounded by others who truly valued her, he seemed…smaller. A man who could be defeated.
“I am not a talking clock,” said the curate, “but I am Miss Blair’s fiancé, and I do not approve of this nonsense. We should be on our way.”
Ada glanced at Jasper. The tiny inclination of his head, the warmth in his eyes, and the slight weight of his gift dangling from her wrist gave her the last little boost of confidence she needed to say, “Mr. Ambrose, you are not my fiancé.”
The young man gaped at her. “But…”
“What are you prattling about, Ada?” snapped her father. “It’s all arranged. You agreed.”
Fury bubbled, and she clenched her fists. But she couldn’t hold it inside anymore. No amount of beating a dusty rug or chopping a vegetable with great severity would calm this storm. Thirty years of frustration and resentment, of sorrow and grief, of constant oppression to cater to the whims of one man was about to unleash in a torrent of emotion.
“I most certainly did not agree. You decided, just as you always do, with no care for my thoughts or wishes. I do not love Mr. Ambrose. I don’t even know him. But because it suited your plans, you went ahead and offered me up like a fat sheep at the Cheltenham fair, despite the fact that you do not own me. Despite the fact that I am not fresh from the schoolroom, but a woman grown. And I say no. No. There is only one man I love, and that is Jasper Muir, Duke of Gilroy.”