Allison Lane Read Free

added to himself.  Negotiating an advantageous price for the Chaucer would be easier than if he faced Whitfield or a hardheaded man of business.  An untried boy would not even recognize his manipulation.  But this was not the time for such planning.  His wife was looking mulish – a trait she should have abandoned after all these years.  “Elizabeth is nearly on the shelf,” he pointed out.  “I can give her neither a Season nor a decent dowry, thanks to Father’s idiocy.  Do you wish her to dwindle into an old maid?”
    “Of course not,” she protested.  “But a duke’s heir will hardly be interested in a penniless wife, especially one who lacks impeccable bloodlines.  Nor can she claim either beauty or accomplishments.  Besides, she has shown no interest in marriage and will likely balk at the idea.”
    “I have been far too lenient with the chit,” he growled, pacing his study.  And too lenient with his wife.  She should know better than to mention bloodlines.  Who did she think she was?  A loyal wife would help him instead of raising objections.  “This is the best opportunity we will ever have.  If we arrange the meeting properly, he will pay for the privilege of wedding her.”
    “You cannot use force.”  Her voice rose to a squeak, then died under his glare.  But she again demonstrated a woeful faithlessness.  “Would it not be easier to interest him in Cecilia?  She is beautiful, accomplished, and vivacious – far more likely to draw the eyes of a powerful lord.  Once she is wed, she can find a match for Elizabeth.  Symington might even provide a dowry.”
    “No.  This is our best chance to get Elizabeth off our hands.  Cecilia is already settled.  Sir Lewis offered for her a month ago.  We will sign the contract as soon as he returns from Carlisle.”
    “Why have you said nothing?” gasped Lady Fosdale.
    “Are you questioning my authority to arrange matters?” he demanded softly.
    “Of course not.”
    “Nor will you.”  He glared until she cowered in her chair.  Good.  The woman finally remembered her place.  “You will enjoy having her nearby.  In the meantime, you will not mention this to either of them,” he ordered firmly.  “If you are tempted to chatter, recall the advantages of obedience.  We will have a wealthy son-in-law; one with a luxurious town house, who will invite us to London for the Season.”   He flashed a guileless smile. 
    She would never accept such an invitation, of course.  Her continued intransigence did not entitle her to such a reward.  The real goal was to attach a man with bottomless coffers, who would be embarrassed by his father-in-law’s penury.  A man with access to the most powerful gentlemen in the country.  “He will arrive tomorrow, or possibly the next day,” he added, noting that the rain continued.  Travel would be difficult.
    * * * *
    Lady Elizabeth Walton gritted her teeth to control her outrage.  How could even Fosdale hate his own children? 
    But why are you surprised? asked a voice in her head.  You know he cares for nothing but himself. 
    Yet his attitude went far beyond selfishness.  His antagonism was so overt that she could no longer even think of him as her father.  He had become an enemy.  A stranger.  Fosdale.  Childish, perhaps, but she could no longer acknowledge the blood tie.
    She and Cecilia had been in the morning room when their mother entered the study across the hall.  The study door had not latched, allowing them to overhear the entire exchange.  Now they stood out of sight on either side of the doorway, their horrified eyes meeting across the opening.
    Lady Fosdale quietly closed the study door, slinking away like an abused dog.  It was her typical reaction to orders from her husband.  She was miserably unhappy in her marriage but lacked the backbone to stand up to Fosdale.  Sometimes Elizabeth suspected that his sole purpose for denying her wishes was to break any hint of