The ride home had been quiet, tense. Aunt Hortense had dozed most of the thankfully short distance. Her brother, while never a very talkative sort, had proven especially silent and brooding. And nothing had changed upon their arrival. It wasn’t until the next morning that her new reality began to intrude. The morning papers arrived, and within the gossip columns an all-too-familiar tale played out.

Emily sighed. She had hoped by slipping away from the Landstones’ ball, the gossip would dissipate. Apparently not true. Nevertheless, she would brazen the chattering of bored ladies and lords if it meant retaining her autonomy. Soon enough, she would come of an age where she would no longer matter in Society. She was even willing to consider moving to the country if she could retain her independence. She sighed. Then another piece of gossip caught her eye…

A small shred of hope wiggled in her heart. Could Arthur be making the shift from inveterate gambler to upstanding lord of the realm? Hopeful, though not convinced, she set the rag aside and took a sip of her morning coffee. She found the bitter brew to be fortifying, especially when facing what promised to be a trying day.

No sooner had she set her cup down than her brother strode into the morning room. “We need to discuss this matter of you and Brougham.”

Her spine stiffened, and her lips pressed together. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she looked at Arthur. “There is nothing to discuss. I refuse to marry him.”

His deep brown eyes with flecks of gold held pain as his brow furrowed. For a moment, she wanted to take the words back, if only to ease that pain. Clearly, he was worried about her—and about time, too!

“Please, Emily. Be reasonable, I ask so little of you—”

Anger surged through her. “Ask so little? Perhaps you do not form the words, but you no doubt leave all responsibility for this house and the bloody earldom for me to deal with! For once, I am asking you to do something for me.”

“Do not force me to do something neither of us wishes. You have been ruined, and that must be rectified. Lord Brougham has done the right thing. He’s offered for your hand.”

“No, Arthur. It is a no today, it will be a no tomorrow, and it will be a no the day after. I shall not marry that man. He ruined me in order to force my hand. I’ll not be treated as though I am some prize to be claimed.”

“The story is already in the gossip rags. There will be no more invitations, no more soirees, and no more salons. You will be a pariah. Is that what you wish?” Arthur’s face grew red as he became louder with each word.

“It is my consequence to bear. Dear Lord Brougham will be welcomed back into Society with open arms, I daresay. Men never pay the toll for these affairs.” She sniffed and looked away from her brother.

“Your consequence? What of the earldom? How will I ever find a wife? If you remain a pariah, do you believe I shall be welcome in Society? That the hovering mamas of the ton will allow me two seconds—let alone a dance—with their innocent daughters?” Frustration seethed through every syllable he uttered. “This is not a faux pas you can simply weather. This is the rest of your life,” he bellowed, his anger filling the room.

Emily blanched. All she had ever wanted was for her brother to settle down and find a wife. It was why she had struggled to erase his debts and keep the family afloat. But she had no idea that he held any real desire to wed. It was the first he had ever mentioned a word on the subject.

Could she deny him the respectability he needed to move about Society and secure the future of the earldom, as well as his own happiness? Was her pride worth so much?

She looked back at her brother, whose face wore a mask of surprise. Had he not known he felt that way?

“I was unaware of your desire to find a wife.”

The shock melted into manly disgruntlement, as though having been forced to talk about his feelings was arduous. “I can’t say it is something I have thought about until recently, and even then, it still feels a far-off notion. Certainly, one day I’ll need to marry.”

And so, his backpedaling began.

Renewed fury sent Emily to her feet. “Damn you. How could you use my soft heart against me in such an odious fashion? That is unfair of you.”

“Of course, I shall need to marry one day, but if you have been ruined, that will become far more difficult.” He held his hands up, palms facing toward her in a placating manner. “I only want what is best for you.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts to keep from throwing the creamer at his head. “If I agree to marry Lord Brougham, then you will agree to begin the search for a wife immediately.”

Her brother paled as she waited for his response. If he wanted to use emotional blackmail, then she would do the same. It was all she could do to control her rage over his interference and the utter loss of control of her life, again.

He swallowed once. Twice. “I… I—”

“You’ll need to do better than that. Otherwise, I shall be off about my business.” Emily gave him the steely-eyed look of determination she had perfected as a child when Arthur had turned mulish about doing something.

He huffed out a gust of air and jammed his fingers through his slightly shaggy hair. “Fine. I shall commence looking for a wife if you agree to wed Lord Brougham.”

She took a deep breath. Dear God, what had she done? There was no escape from this.

“Very well. You may tell Lord Brougham that I agree to wed.”

And with that, she strode from the breakfast room before the pit in her stomach bloomed into full nausea.

* * *

Two mornings later, Emily was doing her best to remain calm as she considered what she had agreed to do. Somehow, sneaking around the homes of the ton to steal jewels during a crowded ball seemed less risky, less fraught with danger, than marriage to Cooper. She knew her temper was to blame for this mess. If she could have been more like the ideal Victorian woman, biddable and subservient, perhaps she would not be in this tangle. Of course, then she and her brother would likely have been living in some hovel in Cheapside or worse—on the streets—but at least she would not be facing a lifetime in a gilded cage.

Regardless, she was now faced with not only the prospect of marriage, but marriage to a man who, while desirable physically, clearly did not understand her in the least. With a sigh, she finished her morning toilet and went downstairs to try to eat breakfast.

When she entered the morning room, instead of her brother—who, strangely, had been up and about early in recent days—she was rather surprised to find her fiancé partaking of the morning repast. She supposed his appearance should have been expected at some point. After all, nearly three days had passed since she had agreed to marry the lout.

He looked up and offered a congenial smile. “Good morning. Do come in.”

Feathers ruffled instantly by his proprietary behavior—as though this were his home and not her brother’s—she halted and stared. “Cooper. You are certainly visiting betimes.”

“Is it ever too early to visit one’s betrothed?” He studiously slathered half a pint of preserves on a slice of toast.

Emily realized with a start that she had never taken a meal with him. For all she knew, he could have the manners of a hog at the trough. His plate was laden with food, so clearly there was no chance he would be leaving anytime soon. Of course, she would be partaking in many more meals with him in the future. What was one more?

“Don’t be obtuse. You are well aware this visit is exceptionally early. However, I suppose we are engaged, so I’ll cease my quibbling.”

She crossed the room and took up a plate to fill with her own breakfast choices. Thankfully, he managed to keep quiet as she made her selections and sat down to eat. She was nearly halfway through a pleasantly quiet breakfast when he pushed his empty plate away and sat back.

“In light of things, I think we should be married tomorrow morning.”

She nearly spat her coffee across the table as his words shattered her false sense of serenity. “We have not even posted the banns.”

“No need. I obtained a special license. We could be wed as soon as today if we like.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and then sipped his tea.

“I see.” Though she really didn’t. When she had agreed to marry him, she’d assumed she’d have time to adjust to the notion—weeks, possibly even months to prepare. Clearly that was not to be the case. “I haven’t had time to buy a trousseau, or even a dress.”

“Do you not have something suitable in your closet?” He seemed truly flummoxed by her statement.

“You’re quite right. I shall make do with what I have. After all, this is no love match.”

She took another sip of her coffee and tamped down her unruly and unwelcome disappointment. It may not be a union born of love, but if she was to be forced into marriage, she had at least thought she would get to enjoy some of the usual customs.

Cooper sat still for a few moments, shifted in his chair, and then released a long, slow breath. “Is marriage to me such an awful prospect?”

She didn’t bother to resist the urge to snort. “Marriage, as I said a few days ago, is a gilded cage. With the utterance of a few words and the stroke of a pen, I become chattel. Barely more important than the chair you currently occupy, in the eyes of the law.”

“But have I ever treated you in such a way in the entire time of our acquaintance, or during our more intimate relationship?” There was a distinct strain in his voice, something that indicated that this was important to him.

She considered their history. “Other than occasionally being prone to hauling me about like a sack of grain, no. You have generally been respectful, if a bit high-handed. But that does not change the facts in the eyes of the law.”

“So you’ll punish me for our country’s legal failings?” His voice was a bit hard, edging toward bitter.

“Men just like you—all privileged—fill parliament. They decide things like women not being able to own property or vote. Perhaps you are not solely to blame, but your kind are. Who else should I hold responsible?”

He growled a little and rose, tossing his napkin beside his plate.

She bit her lip, almost regretting being honest with him. “If it helps at all, it’s not just you. I’d feel the same about marriage to any man.”

“It does not help in the slightest.” He strode toward the door but stopped without looking back at her. “We shall wed in four days. See a seamstress about a dress and send the bill to my address. Whatever it costs, just have the damned thing by then so we can marry.”

And then he stormed from the house, the front door slamming shut with a resounding thud heard throughout the house.

Emily flinched but refused to cry. Whatever small connection she’d had with Cooper seemed to have been severed. And, if she were honest, it was mostly of her doing.

The question was, what—if anything—was she going to do about it?

* * *

Emily walked into Madame Le Fleur’s with Aunt Hortense in tow and smiled at the shop girl who was straightening the design portfolios and dusting.

She immediately stopped and curtsied. “Good morning, my lady.”

“Good morning. Is Madame Le Fleur in today?” She ignored the slow roll her stomach took. The proprietor of the shop was one of the most exclusive—and expensive—modistes in London.

“I shall see if she is available.” The girl scurried into the back of the shop.

A few moments later, the ostentatious shop owner and another more circumspect woman greeted her. “I am Madame Le Fleur.” The woman with yellow-blonde hair and bright green eyes smiled as she spoke in a heavy and very fake French accent. Then she indicated the woman by her side. “And this is my assistant, Mrs. Keeling.”

“A pleasure. I am Lady Emmaline Winterburn, and this is my Aunt Hortense. My brother is Lord Dunmere.” She nodded regally.

“How may we assist you, my lady?” The modiste wasted no time.

Emily’s lips tilted up on the right side in a wry half smile. “It seems I am to be married—in four days.”

The modiste gasped as though this was an unusual announcement. Emily was quite certain this was all to bolster the price she—or, more correctly, Cooper—would pay for Madame Le Fleur’s services.

“Non! This is impossible!” She pressed one beringed hand to her breast.

Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the woman’s dramatics. “I am afraid it is true. My fiancé proves impatient. Regardless, I require a new gown for the occasion. I’ve been told you are the best, and my future husband can afford just that.”

The woman preened for a moment at the compliment and then looked at Emily. She stepped up to her and cupped her breasts, then ran her hands down her waist, spanning the distance across, and then she stepped back and looked up and down one last time. “Did you intend to follow the Queen’s example and wear white?”

“That is unnecessary.” And likely inappropriate, if she were asked. “Something in a pale blue or green would be just as good as white.”

The modiste leaned over to Mrs. Keeling, and the two whispered furiously for a moment, completely ignoring Emily and her aunt. After a few exchanged comments, Madam Le Fleur looked back at Emily. “I may have a few dresses that you could select from. But I shall have to inconvenience another customer, so it will not come cheaply.”

“You may send the bill to the Earl of Brougham. He will be happy to pay whatever the cost is to have me suitably attired in time for our wedding.”

Savage satisfaction filled her as she followed the now-eager modiste into her back room. Cooper would learn that while her hand could be forced, her will was not to be trifled with.