Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood
Chapter 12
“Father, what is the meaning of this?” Bridget whispered, her grip on Lord Repington’s hand tightening as she was shot through with fear.
“I’m sorry, girl. There’s nothing else I could do,” he whispered in reply. “Please, don’t judge me too harshly for it.”
“Lady Bridget?” Lord Haskins called from where he still stood in the hallway. “I had rather hoped we could go for a carriage ride now that we’re to be married.”
Bridget glared at him furiously before storming closer. “I do not know what is going on, but I can assure you that you and I are not to be married, and we most certainly will not be going for any carriage rides.”
“Ah, but this document says that we will. It is a marriage contract, signed by your father only a few moments ago,” Lord Haskins replied slowly, holding out the page for Bridget to see. “Pity that you weren’t at home to witness the signing and discuss your dowry.”
“I find that I am at a loss,” Bridget said evenly. “I do not even know your name, and I am already betrothed to someone else. So, if you will excuse me, I fear you have wasted more of my time than I intended to share.”
Bridget turned to go, but the young earl’s hand shot out and caught her arm, wheeling her about viciously and pulling her closer to him.
“Unhand me!” Bridget shouted, causing her father to finally come to his right mind and face them.
“That is quite enough of that!” the older man called out in anger.
Lord Haskins took his hand away and stepped back almost instinctively. The look of fury in his eyes slowly dissolved, replaced by one of victory.
“I expect better manners from my wife,” he said evenly, his dark eyes boring into Bridget’s. “See that you learn the proper way to speak to me before we marry.”
Lord Haskins squared his shoulders and stood taller, pausing to tug the front of his coat into place before striding towards the front door. Mr. Blake stood by the door as the earl approached, then simply stared at him instead of opening the door. Lord Haskins stood silently at the door and watched the butler expectantly, his ire clearly growing when Mr. Blake refused to open it for him.
“Repington?” Lord Haskins asked, turning back to see Bridget and her father standing arm in arm, consoling one another. “Do remember that my contract notwithstanding, I am not to be trifled with.”
He waited, the two men staring one another down. Finally, Bridget’s father nodded to Mr. Blake, who moved forward and opened the door. Lord Haskins sneered at the butler as he exited the house, leaving only confusion and hurt in his wake.
“Father, please. I’m begging you to explain this,” Bridget said, the force of her crying choking her words.
“Dear girl, I do not even know what to say,” Lord Repington replied, clearly defeated. “I don’t know what went so horribly wrong. Haskins came to call, and I received him, and within only moments he produced a letter owning a large portion of my debts. He’d paid them in full in order to force me to be beholden to him.”
“But how can he do such a thing? You did not agree to a new creditor,” Bridget replied, feeling faint.
“Nor do I have to, I’m afraid. That transaction occurs between my creditor and anyone who chooses to conduct business with them.” The earl fell into a chair weakly, dropping his head to his hands. “But it is worse than that, I’m afraid.”
“How can it possibly be worse?” Bridget demanded, pressing a hand to her midsection to keep her stomach from churning.
“The business opportunity that I mentioned to you,” Lord Repington said sadly, looking away and refusing to meet his daughter’s gaze, “was undone by Lord Haskins. After I invested everything we had left, he moved in and bought out the business. I’ve lost it all.”
“All? But surely there is something we can do. Things we can sell, things we no longer need,” Bridget suggested, grasping at any hope that she could. “The house here in London, if that’s what it takes.”
“The house was already mortgaged with my investment,” he explained, and Bridget watched as he fell backwards against his chair, the shame too great to permit him to remain upright. “There is nothing I can do. Lord Haskins has demanded your hand in marriage, and he threatened to ruin me if I did not sign.”
“Ruin you how? You’ve got my dowry, returned to you by the Duke of Lockhart,” Bridget insisted, dropping to her father’s feet, and pleading with him. “He’s also purchasing the school, remember? Surely those funds are sufficient to ease this burden and permit you to refuse Lord Haskins?”
“They are not, I’m afraid.” The earl looked ashamed, his sadness overwhelming him for a moment. “I am too humiliated to tell you how dire the circumstances truly are. Even with what the duke has promised, it is not enough. There is literally not enough money left to put food on the table by this time tomorrow.”
Bridget sat back on her heels, stunned into silence. This couldn’t be real; this could not be her fate. To lose a man she cared for deeply—perhaps even loved—to marry a drunken brute was beyond her comprehension. At that moment, though, she could only think of Patrick. How would he accept the betrayal that he must surely feel when he learned that she would go back on her word and refuse their contract?
“Father, this cannot happen. The Duke of Lockhart has already promised to save the academy. If I go back on my contract to him, he will surely abandon his patronage of the school! It is not for myself that I beg you to reconsider, but for the sake of those children,” Bridget cried at her father’s knee, imploring him in earnest to spare her this terrible fate.
“I’m sorry, Bridget. I’m so very sorry. But I cannot,” her father said softly, looking down at her tear-streaked face, his own eyes moist as well. “I even… I tried to reason with Lord Haskins so that he might consider Harriet, but he insisted that it had to be you…”
“Father, no,” Bridget wanted to shout, but it felt as though the air had been pulled from her lungs, leaving her only to whisper in horror. “That man is a cad, a drunkard of the worst sort. To think that Harriet should be thrown to the wolves in this way… I’ll do it. I’ll marry Haskins if it spares her such a terrible ordeal!”
Bridget buried her face in her hands and wept openly, unable to stem the flow of pain that coursed through her veins. She’d been so happy only moments ago, the sort of elation that she had never before permitted herself to believe in. But now she found herself thrown into the worst sort of nightmare imaginable.
“I truly wish there were some other way,” Lord Repington said absently, as though his mind was already anywhere else but here, bearing witness to his daughter’s misery. “But I cannot think of anything that will prevent this.”
“No, Father. I will do what must be done,” Bridget said, struggling to catch her breath. “Only please permit me to inform the duke myself, to let him know that this had nothing to do with my affections for him.”
“No, daughter, you mustn’t. He must never know the reason,” Lord Repington insisted, coming out of the stupor that had come over him. “I will be ruined in business if anyone learned that I’d lost everything and had to… had to sell my child into marriage to redeem myself! I am the worst sort of fool, but I will learn from this grave mistake.”
Unconcerned about propriety, Bridget fell to her side and cradled her head on her arms, crying openly without care for who might hear. To forsake the man, she had only moments ago confessed her feelings for? And worse, to leave him never knowing the truth behind her betrayal? It was unthinkable, worse than a lifetime of imprisonment in a marriage she did not want.
It was only when she was helped to her feet by Harriet and Miss Glenn, the housekeeper, that Bridget could think to speak again.
“Forgive me, Father. I know you’re only doing what’s best,” she cried before leaning on Miss Glenn and letting the woman lead her to her room.
* * *
“Babette, I fail to see why you are so upset,” Victor said dismissively as his mistress sobbed. “It’s not as though anything has changed.”
“Nothin’s changed, ya say? Yer getting’ married, ya fool! And ‘tis certainly not ta me!” she screeched before grabbing up an item from his bedside table and hurling it at the wall behind his head.
“I would never have told you if I’d known you would act like this,” he stated plainly. “I fail to see how this is even any of your affair.”
“I am yer affair, and that’s all I am so far I can see it!” Babette called back, her angry tears leaving streaks of color down her face. “What’s worse, I had to learn of it after another night in yer bed!”
“I only informed you to give you the courtesy of knowing why I would not be at home much in the coming weeks. I did not mean for it to cause such an uproar,” Victor answered placidly.
“Ya haven’t seen an uproar yet, ya fancy lord. When I’m through with ya, you’ll know what an uproar is!” Babette shouted back before throwing a silver brush from Victor’s dressing table against the wall, causing him to duck.
“I had no idea you would become so childish about this. It’s as though you don’t know what you are, nor what I am,” Victor said, looking down at Babette with a measure of disgust.
“And what am I then? Come on, tell me plain if yer so much better’n me,” Babette said, challenging him as she came closer, balling her fists angrily.
Victor looked around at the mess this woman had already made of his rooms, the aftermath of her unfounded anger evident all around him. Broken mirrors, shattered drinking glasses, overturned chairs… all from this lowly piece of refuse who should have been grateful to even be in his home.
“You are nothing, my dear. You are a diversion, a dalliance, and nothing more.”
Victor looked at her with contempt, watching the reality of his words sink in. He knew they’d had the intended effect when one last tear fell from the corner of her eye and rolled down the fleshy pudge of her cheek.
“You’ve made a complete mess of this room. Are you quite finished now?” he asked. “If so, the butler will show you out.”
“Don’t be callin’ on me again,” Babette spat out, kicking at a pile of bedclothes she’d flung to the floor. “And I’ll be warnin’ all the other girls about ya, too.”
“Warning them of what? That I enjoy having female companionship and I treat those companions precisely as they deserve? I feed them, buy them trinkets from time to time, and make no pretense about why they are in my house?”
“After all this time, I’d a-thought there was somethin’ more to it than just that,” she answered, her anger finally dissipating enough to be replaced by sadness.
“What could you possibly mean to me? Did you think I would marry you?” Victor asked, scoffing. “Or that I would forgo marriage entirely since I had someone like you?”
“Ya don’t have to be so cruel when ya talk to me. I’m a person, ya know,” Babette snapped, her ire raised once again.
“Yes, one who has worn out her welcome… and her usefulness. I had every intention of keeping you despite being shackled to a wife, but now I find that you no longer hold my interest. It’s time for you to go.”
Victor strode across the room, ignoring the remnants of many of his things, and held the door open wide. He waited for Babette to understand his meaning and leave, clinging to whatever remained of her threadbare dignity.
“I had no notion that ya loved me,” Babette said at the door, coming to stand face to face with Victor. “And I didnaw care about that. But after all this time, I’d a-thought you’d at least be a decent man.”
“I am a decent man,” Victor replied coldly, “to those who are worthy of the effort.”
“I’ll see to it that you pay for this,” the woman hissed, her green eyes blazing with fury.
He closed the door in Babette’s face, leaving her to find her way out. For a moment, he thought to watch her go, if only to ensure she did not steal anything as she left. Instead, he fell into a chair and looked around at the mess, fuming. Where was he to find a new mistress in such a hurry?