ROSE HAD GONE over her arguments repeatedly last night. She knew what she wanted to say to Mr. Hamilton and how she wanted to say it. She’d thought of counterarguments and reasons and examined it from every possible angle she could think of.
When Mr. Hamilton came calling, she planned to lay everything out and explain, in precise details, exactly why marrying her based on a single two-minute conversation was a terrible idea. She’d propose a courtship. Rose wasn’t so unreasonable, and more importantly she wasn’t so naïve, that she couldn’t see the advantages of marrying him.
But she preferred to have a say in the matter. And possibly know her intended.
She’d stayed up half the night rehearsing her words, and even now, in the gray morning light, couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Rose tore her gaze from the curtains and turned over in bed. Again. She tried to quiet her thoughts, the nervous anticipation rolling through her stomach. She tried to go back to sleep.
The door opened, but she ignored it. No doubt the maid had come to stoke the fire. Dishes jostled on a tray, and Rose frowned but didn’t move.
“Miss Rose,” Sally said sharply and shook her awake.
Rose opened one eye and blearily looked at the woman. She looked frantic, and a thread of unease coiled through Rose.
“Your father has instructed that you dress and meet him downstairs,” Sally said in a rush. “Mr. Hamilton will be here within the hour. I’ve brought you a breakfast tray.”
“Tell my father I won’t be joining him. It’s far too early for a gentleman to pay a call,” she said.
It was a weak excuse and she knew it.
“Miss Rose,” Sally said, effectively ignoring her, “you must do as your father says. You know how he is. And I don’t want to see one of the other maids pay for you not obeying.”
“Sally, get out,” Rose ordered. “Get out of my room and tell my father to go to hell.”
The staff feared her father far too much to help her, and Rose had no desire to let slip any of her plans.
Dread settled heavily in her belly as Sally scurried out. Mr. Hamilton would be here within the hour. Perhaps this was better. Now she could discourage him from this marriage or, at the very least, discover why he wanted it without even knowing her.
Yes, this was good. The sooner she discussed this ridiculousness with the man, the better.
Rose yanked open the door of her night table and pulled out her key. She ran to her bedroom door and locked it. Even now, she knew Sally told her father of her disobedience. He’d be up to confront her shortly, but she did not have to make it easy for him.
Quickly dressing in a plain, cream-colored dress, she pulled her hair back into a severe bun. She’d no interest in appearing as a woman Mr. Hamilton desired. Smoothing her hands down her unadorned gown, Rose studied herself in the looking glass.
She looked like a spinster governess. Good.
Turning, she spied the breakfast tray, but her stomach rolled in disgust. Instead she sipped her tea and tried to organize her thoughts, remembering her very reasonable, very valid arguments.
“Rose!” Robert shouted and pounded on the door. “Come out of that room!” he bellowed. “Now! I have no problems breaking this lock.”
She took one last swallow of tea and set it back on the tray. She walked to the door and yelled through the heavy wood, “Stop it! I don’t want to see that man nor do I want to marry him!”
Robert pounded on the door again, but she didn’t flinch. She glared at the wood as if her father could see her from the other side.
“Leave me be, Father!”
The door rattled on its hinges. That was not Robert pounding with his fist. That was him ramming it with his body.
“Open this door now!” he bellowed again. “Sally! Fetch me a fireplace iron,” he ordered.
For one terrible minute, Rose wondered if he’d use the iron on her. Her heart skipped a beat and her lungs seized. She wasn’t sure he wouldn’t, and that terrified her.
Raising her chin, she crossed to the door on legs that wanted to shake—badly. The tea settled heavy in her stomach and her fingers fumbled on the key, but she opened the door and kept her defiant glare in place as she looked at her father.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly.
“Why are you dressed this way?” he demanded. He either hadn’t heard her or ignored her question. “You look like a shuttered servant.”
“What does it matter?” she snapped. “You’re selling me as if I were a slave! Not even the stature of a servant.”
“If you do not do this,” her father snarled, “if you don’t marry Mr. Hamilton, he’ll destroy us. He has the means and the influence. He’ll tear down my business and bury us. Is that what you want? For this family?” her father demanded, his voice rising once again.
“For me? There’s a choice to be made here, Rose,” he added. “Marry a very wealthy gentleman and live the life of a royal, or be thrown into the streets with me. What will we do then when we have nothing?”
Rose swallowed. She’d seen it happen all too often. A businessman crossed the wrong person and had his business ruined, their house taken, their clothes sold to pay for debts, what little jewelry they had taken at a fraction of the value.
Her fingers shook and she buried them in her skirts. She didn’t want her father to see her weakness.
“You’ve seen it happen to others,” he said as if he’d read her thoughts. “Do you want it to happen to us?”
“Sir,” Sally said, breathless. She clutched the fireplace iron with white knuckles and bobbed quickly. “Mr. Hamilton is downstairs.”
“It’s too late,” Robert said and closed his hand over her arm. “Come.”
He pulled her along but didn’t hurt her. It was something, she supposed, that his meaty hands didn’t dig into her arm. Nonetheless, he yanked her with him until they reached the top of the steps.
Hamilton waited in the foyer. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he looked impatient. Nausea rolled in her stomach, but Rose swallowed it down. She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes at him.
He didn’t look at her but rather at where her father’s hand closed around her arm. Hamilton’s face darkened, and he took a step forward. Robert must have seen it as well, for he abruptly released his hold on her.
Silence hung in the foyer, an oppressive heaviness that followed them into the front parlor. Hamilton hovered next to her, but Rose sidestepped him and put as much distance between her and Hamilton, and her and her father, as possible in the small formal room.
“Mr. Hamilton,” Robert began in an overly jovial voice, “you’ve arrived earlier than expected, but welcome! Rose has been informed of her betrothal. Would you care for anything? Tea? Whiskey?” Robert trailed off at the continued glare from Hamilton.
Rose had no idea what to make of this new twist on her situation. Hamilton glared at her father as if he cared how Robert treated her. She wanted to laugh, but it lodged in her throat. How Robert treated her was entirely Hamilton’s fault, the devious bastard.
“No,” Hamilton said easily. “No, I simply wish to have a few moments with Miss Kendrick.”
“Of course,” Robert agreed readily. “Of course. Whatever you wish.”
He stepped out and deliberately closed the pocket doors. Rose’s eyes widened then narrowed. Both of them were devious. And certainly not subtle. She returned her gaze to Hamilton, who had ignored her father’s departure.
With her chin high and clasped fingers hidden in the folds of her plain gown, she waited. All her arguments from the previous night came back to her, and she forced herself to order them in her head.
“Why do you want to marry me?” she demanded in a far less ordered tone than she wished. “I’m not the type of woman you should want like this. It makes no sense; we met only briefly a day ago.”
She paused, but he made no move toward her or to speak. She pressed her lips into a thin line and resisted a scowl.
Finally, he released a breath. “Miss Kendrick, many in London would be only too happy to tell you I’m an odd sort, but a decisive one.” His dark gaze held her in place, and his words pinned her to the spot. “I know my mind the first moment I met you. And I knew what I had to do.”
“I do not possess your same swiftness,” she said coldly. “I require more than a conversation about nothing to know if I wish to marry.” She swallowed and gathered her arguments to her. “Perhaps,” she said softly, slightly warmer, “if there were a courtship between us, some time taken, this would be easier to accept.”
Hamilton stepped closer to her, but did not attempt to touch her or crowd her. But he looked so intently at her, she wondered what he saw. “Often daughters are not given much time when these types of arrangements are made. When gentlemen agree—”
“My father is no gentleman,” she interrupted hotly. “Our family is not of your station. This is not common practice among those I know.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Kendrick,” he said softly. “I understand your reservations.”
And he spoke so sincerely, looked so genuine, she almost believed him.
“Under other circumstances, I’d agree with him,” he added.
Rose jerked at his words. “Different circumstances?” she asked faintly. “I don’t understand. What circumstances compel you to do this?”
“I’ll do my best to explain once we are wed,” he said cryptically. “I’m no ogre from deep in the forest,” he promised with a faint smile.
She did not return the grin.
“I will protect you from the ogres,” he continued with that same frankness.
Puzzled, Rose cocked her head. Before she could say a word, there was a quick knock at the pocket doors right before they slid open. Her father stood beside a well-dressed gentleman, handsome if reserved, and a priest.
Rose’s stomach dropped.
“Miss Kendrick,” Hamilton said formally, “this is the Duke of Strathmore.”
Though her stomach protested, she curtseyed. “Your Grace,” she managed.
Hamilton suddenly stood beside her and offered his arm. Stunned, her earlier numbness spreading, Rose slipped her hand through his arm.
“You intend a ceremony now?” she asked through lips that barely moved.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Rose felt as if her world tilted. She wanted to run. She wanted to make an excuse, feeble though it may be. Claim she needed to change gowns then run with her packed valise—anything. But all she could do was stare at the priest.
Shock made her lips numbs, and her mind whirled with half-formed thoughts and protests.
The duke watched her impassively—he’d certainly be of no help as a friend of Hamilton’s. And naturally the priest acted as if naught was amiss. Her father—he’d already told her the reasons for marrying Hamilton. And if Mr. Hamilton truly blackmailed them, then not going through with this ceremony meant ruin for Robert, his business and employees, and the household staff.
Her legs moved; Rose knew that because she suddenly found herself standing in an entirely different area of the parlor in front of the priest, with her father standing on one side of her and Hamilton on the other.
Her stomach rolled and she swallowed quickly. She refused to be sick.
Rose licked her lips and took a deep breath. She didn’t care about whatever riches Hamilton offered her or the grand townhouse he no doubt lived in.
Why would he blackmail her father into marriage? Why was it such a mystery? What was he thinking? Why did he want marriage when he could’ve blackmailed a woman like her into being his mistress?
It made no sense, none of it. Yet that seemed to be the case. So she stood there, in her plainest gown, before a priest who smiled as if naught were amiss, and agreed to love, honor, and obey James Robert Hamilton.
She hadn’t even known his first name was James.
She felt a jostle from her right and tore her stunned gaze from the priest to her father. He looked at her expectantly; they all did, Rose realized.
“Tell the man you do,” Robert hissed.
“Do you take this man?” the priest asked, presumably again.
Rose licked her lips. She couldn’t feel them, but that seemed so very unimportant at the moment. She closed her eyes and nodded.
“Yes.”