Her father merely stared, as if trying to understand the creature speaking before him. Maryann almost squirmed under his attention. This was clearly not going to work. They had made their minds up and would not budge. She had only one throw of the dice left that she could try.
Her father folded his paper. “It is the way of courtship for a suitor to steal kisses. Stamford is clearly passionate and not one to hide his feelings. Is that the reason to rebuff a man who seems to be earnestly seeking your hand in marriage? When no other path to marriage stands before you?”
She smoothed back an errant lock of her hair that escaped the loose chignon. “May I speak with frankness, Papa?”
“You may.”
“Like many gentlemen before him, the earl does not see me as a person with thoughts and opinions of my own.” The memory of how he had gripped her chin and his cold mockery crowded her thoughts, and she forcefully shoved them aside.
“There is one more matter. I, er…came across him at the Metcalfs’ ball.” Maryann paused, embarrassed at what she had to say, then blurted out, “He was in a very intimate act with one of the maids. He was unabashed by my presence and bluntly informed me that he had no intention of changing his ways after we married.”
The countess choked swallowing some tea, looking too shocked to say anything either to rebuke Maryann or to criticize Stamford. The earl’s lips had flattened, but he also did not rebuke the earl’s conduct.
Maryann tried again in a more conciliatory tone. “Do you know that I am called a wallflower by almost everyone in the ton? I’ve had four seasons because you insist on parading me to the gentlemen of society as if I am a horse that needs to be taken off your hands, then given to another for breeding.”
Her mother fixed a gimlet stare on her. “Maryann! Such crudeness is unbecoming!”
She lifted her chin. “Each season grows more tedious than the last. The gentlemen of the ton do not find in me a favorable match to marry, despite my rumored dowry of fifty thousand pounds. And Papa, I do not find them favorable.”
Her father stared at her thoughtfully for long seconds, then he said, “Continue.”
Her mother made to protest, but he reached for her hand and brought her knuckles to his mouth in a brief kiss.
“Papa, the only option you have been giving me is marriage to a man who has been speaking to you of an alliance for over three months. Yet in that time, he has not made any attempt to court me. There is no kindness in his eyes. There is no gentleness in his touch, no sincerity in his conversations. For many years, you spoke to me of my worth and how much you cherished me. Yet you want to give me to a man who does not hold me in the same regard and worth that you taught me. If I cannot have at least that in a union, why must I submit to it? Surely, I was not educated and encouraged to dream, and then be told I am only fit to be a bride?”
Her mother 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?