Her mother’s golden eyes flashed with determination. “I will hear no word of you working. You are the daughter of a baron, and you shall act like it until the day you die. Your sister will need to form a suitable connection.”
Exasperation rushed through Livvie. “Ophelia is eight, Mamma.”
“Be that as it may, we will need to lay the groundwork for her, and that will not be done by living in a cottage with a widow’s portion of five hundred pounds yearly,” she said, strolling toward the side doors leading to the gardens.
“We must make our own future and not rely on the goodwill of others. In Derbyshire we—”
“I will not consent for us to live in such squalor, Livvie. You need a husband.”
“I do not need a man to live comfortably,” she snapped, then regretted her harsh tone. “Forgive me, Mamma, but if I marry a man and he passes, then we will be right back where we started.”
“No, if you marry a rich and titled gentleman, when he dies you will be left with a good widow’s portion that will see us comfortable.”
“Mother…”
“It is your duty to this family to marry, and marry well. I will hear no more talk of being independent. It is just not done. Now, let’s say a prayer for your father together and then prepare for dinner.”
When her mother spoke in that tone, there was no point in arguing with her. But Livvie had to find a way to make her mother and stepfather understand. She could not relinquish her freedom to any man and then be made to suffer how her mother had suffered when Papa had left them. The lines of grief and worry now lining her mother’s features indicated how much she had fretted about the death of her second husband and facing the harsh reality of genteel poverty once more. Livvie would much prefer to concentrate on building a comfortable life without depending on the wealth and security of being any gentleman’s wife.
She gritted her teeth and said nothing more. She would not come of age until her twenty-fifth birthday. By then she will have been married off, if her parents had their wish.
How was she to escape this mess?
Several hours later, Livvie was snuggled beneath the warm coverlets, reading the latest volume of Theodore Aikens’s novel of espionage. His stories were powerful, evocative, and usually scintillating. For the past four years, society had clamored to discover the identity of Aikens. Some had speculated that Theodore Aikens was a pseudonym for Lord Byron because of the dark passionate flair he wrote with. The poet, however, had said much to his regret that he could not claim the credit.
Aikens’s hero, Wrotham, bordered on the brink of disreputable indecency with his lewd cutting tongue, and his dangerous patriotic services for the crown made him dashing and admirable. Livvie’s mother had scolded her several times for reading the scandalous books, but she was too enthralled by the stories to pay her any heed.
There was a sharp rap on her door, and before she answered, the handle turned and in walked her brother. Alarm had her closing the small leather volume, dropping it on the sheets, and stumbling from the bed. “Is it Father?” she demanded, tugging her robe from the peg and slipping it on. “Has he taken a worse turn?”
William frowned, then gently closed the door. “No, he is recovering well.”
She rested a palm against her heart, taking even breaths to still its furious pounding. “Then why are you in my chamber?”
“I’ve come to discuss your future.”
Of course, his wife had made her ultimatums, but Livvie did not desire to hear it tonight. She wanted the ability to have a proper night’s rest before facing the uncertainties of tomorrow.
“Can this wait until in the morning, William? It is a bit…unsettling having you in my chamber.” Her brother had never visited her in her sanctuary before. His rooms were, in fact, on the opposite side of the manor.
He lifted the candle high, and for a moment the shadows painted his face in a sinister mold. Her heart lurched, and she silently scolded her imagination for running wild.
“No, it cannot wait. I find I am eager to start…our relationship.”
She blinked. “Is this about Father’s request?”
“It most assuredly is,” he said, walking even farther into her chamber. “Despite our low coffers a few years ago, Father provided money for a Season for you. It was wasted. There should be no expectations now, with you being buried in the country for three years after your spectacular failure, that society will receive you favorably and an offer will come your way.”
She flinched at his blunt assessment. There was greed in his eyes as he gazed at her with shocking boldness. Her heart lurched in acute discomfort. She found it prudent to move away from the bed and toward the door. “William, I—”
“I’ve thought long and hard on this, and I have decided to have you as my mistress.”
She faltered. Mistress? “I beg your pardon?”
He nodded firmly. “Let’s be honest, my dear. Settling a dowry on you will be a waste. No man will have you after your father’s cowardly action and you have no polish. But you are delectable, and after deep consideration, I find the best place for you will be in my bed, where I’ve long wanted you to be,” he ended thickly. “I will settle the same two thousand pounds, and I will let a house for you. You will have servants and carriages and a few pieces of jewelry now and then.”
Her palms grew suddenly damp as alarm shivered through her. They had not been as close as brothers and sisters ought to be, and his regard of late had been somewhat unsettling, but she had simply thought it an aberration.
“How charitable of you,” she said faintly, her heart beating an erratic cadenza in her chest.
He narrowed his eyes. “I could see you turned out without a farthing when Father passes. It is tempting to take you now, but I do not want Louisa to know about us, or your mother.” He walked closer to grasp a loose tendril of her hair. “I will be generous with you, Livvie, and I will take care not to foist any bastards on you.”
Bastards? She recoiled, disgust roiling though her. “I am your sister!”
“Wrong,” he snapped. “We have no blood ties.”
“What you are suggesting is reprehensible.” Her father had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger without hesitation, leaving her and her mother to face debt and society’s derision alone, because of a mistress, and William would dare to suggest she assume such a position? “I have lost all good opinion and respect I once had for you,” she whispered furiously, hating the burn of tears filling her eyes.
He had the temerity to appear puzzled at her rejection. “You will never get a better offer, surely you must see this?”
“You seek to dishonor me after years of friendship.”
“I offer you a life of wealth and leisure.”
Dread swirled like acid through her veins. “How can you so calmly abandon all the wishes of our father?”
“My father, Olivia, my house, my wealth…and the only way I shall part with it to you, is if you are in my bed.”
“Leave my chambers at once,” she growled. “Or I shall scream and bring the household down on us.”
William tugged her to him and slammed his lips against hers with a speed that shocked and terrified her. His breath smelled of liquor, and the fumes almost made her gag. His larger frame dwarfed her, and she struggled to be released from his crushing embrace. Disgust and shock tried to steal her thoughts and when he tried to insert his tongue into her mouth, she bit down hard.