She didn’t want that. Her debut had been a disaster. Nobody had taken any notice of her, until they learned how rich she would be, and she left the ballrooms of Mayfair with nothing but relief, vowing never to return.
Her mother had been disappointed, but shortly after that first season, she had died, so Sophia had never returned. And she’d never been missed.
A light approach would work best. “Does the marquess know a suitable candidate?” Her heart beat faster, and she tried to breathe normally. Her laces were tighter than usual, so her bosom would reveal her state of agitation if she didn’t take care.
“He does.” Her father’s sly smile sent chills running through her.
“Papa, I am of a mind not to marry for some time yet. Do we really need to consider it now?”
“What? Yes, we do. I was deeply deceived in Hayes, and I would not have that happen again. It must not.”
Because it diminished her reputation, came close to destroying it? Sophia had worked hard to rebuild her reputation, and she was nearly there. Without compromising and allowing another chaperone into the house. What was she, some society miss who couldn’t go outdoors without a footman?
Sophia had a cordial relationship with her father, one that didn’t lead either of them to vouchsafe their most intimate emotions. Even after John’s attack, her father had been more concerned with her physical condition. In other words, was she still a virgin? She could assure him on that point, although had a few more moments passed, she might not have been.
She would never forget that feeling of utter helplessness as John pinned her legs open and held her hands above her head. That had been the worst, even more than his gloating expression as he loomed above her, his breeches open.
Her heart beat faster, and the breath caught in her throat. With an effort, she forced her mind off that track. Reliving that scene never did any good.
Now her father was talking, and unusually for him, avoiding getting to the point. He was discussing the incident with John as if it were the topic of the conversation. But that was done, and she didn’t want to think about it any longer. As soon as she had controlled her breathing she broke into his monologue. “Papa, I appreciate your concern. I will never allow myself to be in a room alone with a man again.” She offered a smile. “Except for you, of course.”
He shook his head. “No, that will not do. Your potential fortune will increase with this new venture and others I have in mind. So much that few men will find themselves able to resist you.”
She hadn’t thought of that. He was right. The greater her potential fortune grew, the greater temptation she became to fortune hunters. She might have to let Aunt Jane back after all.
“If your mother and I had had more children, that would have helped to dissipate the effect, but we did not.” He regarded her steadily.
She was forced to glance down, using the pretext of tidying a pile of papers. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t remarried. Perhaps he would yet. But after her mother’s death, he’d immersed himself in work. Then they had become comfortable with each other and settled into a routine that did not include another woman. He’d seemed content enough, and so was she.
“As well as signing the original contract, we agreed another. Your marriage contract with Lord Devereaux. You will sign it on Friday, when it has been drawn up properly, and marry on Monday.” He smiled broadly. “Daughter, I saw how you looked at him at the Guildhall dinner. You wanted him. I got him for you.”
No, oh no.
What she didn’t want, what she feared more than anything else, was being married as an object, someone unimportant in herself, whose fortune was more important. She’d so nearly succumbed to that with John. For all his protestations of love he had never wanted her, only what she represented. Every day she remained unmarried was another when she didn’t have to face that fate—to be a thing. Now, with the Marquess of Devereaux, she was confronted with it again.
The world knew how hard his lordship had worked to restore his fortunes after his father had spent it. Of course he’d take her money, even if she went with it. He barely noticed her. He would continue the same way, wife or not.
That gave her an idea. She got up and hurried to the bookshelves ranged against one wall, finding what she needed almost immediately—the book that detailed the peers of Britain, the one she and her father used when some aristocrat came to them, cap in hand. Over the years, she and her father had made notes that they might find useful. Such details could prove immensely useful in negotiations.
Flipping through the pages quickly, she came to the one she wanted.
“Papa, listen to this. If this doesn’t persuade you that I’m unsuitable, nothing will.” She began to read.
“The Devereaux title dates back to the Elizabethan era, and the present holder of the title can trace his ancestry back directly to the courtier who took to the High Seas and brought the queen a fortune. The family’s fortunes have gone up and down, and are currently flourishing. Lord Devereaux owns one of the largest houses in the country, Devereaux Place, which might as well be termed Palace. It is reported to have one room for each day of the year. Despite the magnificent pile, his lordship prefers to spend his time in town. He is unmarried and has one sister. 1753.” She’d made the extra notes last year, after the fateful meeting at the Guildhall.
“I can’t marry someone like that, Papa. What do I know about houses in the country?”
Her father regarded her closely, but said nothing for a moment. When he did speak, it was in that quiet, determined voice that told her she would win nothing by arguing. “You will learn, if necessary. The deal is made, and you should spend your time preparing yourself.”
With another man, she might make something—a relationship, a friendship—but with him, she doubted it. Her feet itched with the desire to leave the room, but if she left now, she’d concede defeat.
Her father’s cold statement filled Sophia with pure rage. Never, ever had she felt so furious with anyone. That it was with her father didn’t surprise her, because he was one of the few people in the world who could affect her mood. Arguing reasonably be damned. At least she’d say what she thought.
Her heart pounded, and heat rose to her cheeks. “Do I have no say in this agreement?” In the circumstances she considered her words calm and collected, but she couldn’t make them warm or prevent the telling tremble in her voice.
Her father watched her. An old trick to use silence against her, but he’d taught her that tactic himself, so she was not affected by it. She waited until she had swallowed down some of her betraying emotion.
“I have nothing but consideration for you,” he said eventually. “You need a husband, and I have obtained the best possible candidate. You should be grateful.”
“Grateful?” However hard she tried, Sophia couldn’t control her trembling. “Should you not have consulted with me first?”
“Since we were at the lawyer’s office, I took the opportunity to request the contract signed with the other. It’s a standard marriage contract. You will not find yourself disadvantaged by it.”
“Not financially,” she snapped. “What about my personal happiness?”
He looked at her. Just looked, until she shook her head.
“I cannot marry him, Papa.”
“Why not? Has he shown you a lack of respect? Or worse?”
“He hardly notices me,” she said bitterly. “We spoke once only.”
“Then it’s your pride that’s hurt?”
He