How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

Her mother’s eyes widened, and Evie flushed, forcing down the hurt in her heart.

“She is a beautiful child, and I promised her we would be the dearest of friends. I intend to keep that promise because she is quite delightful.”

“What nonsense you speak. Have you no care for your reputation? You will not make a spectacle of yourself and of this family!”

Evie stood and walked to the windows, watching as the gardeners raked the fallen leaves from the grounds. Soon those many limbs on the tress would be bare, seemingly bleak and dreary until they bloomed again. Much like how she imagined life would be for her. The loss of Richard made her feel empty, bleak, but Evie had no intention of wallowing in the sense of despair. She would heal, and eventually, all the dreams she’d had of being his lover and his wife would fade from the dark corners of her heart where she had recently pushed them. One day she would feel happy again. “My reputation has already been broken, Mamma, and I daresay it is not as dreadful as I had imagined.”

“Evie!”

She faced her mother. “I am ashamed to admit to myself that there was a bit of truth in what…in what I had been told by a friend.” It was too difficult to speak his name. Their fight had been so wretched and final. The mere memory had pain twisting its vicious claws through her. A few steady breaths centered her. “In the time since little Emily was found, I’ve nev

er paid a call upon her. Though my lips did not condemn her like those in society did, nor did my heart believe her to be vile and beneath our notice, my indifference and caution, when she is just an innocent child, made me just as callous.”

“That is most certainly not true,” her mother replied, with clear affront.

“I’ll not be persuaded to be unkind because the ton says so. If you do not admit her here, we shall meet in Hyde Park.”

Her mother’s eyes flashed. “You are bent on damaging all your chances of an alliance. We are fortunate society is apt to place blame for your disgrace on Lord Westfall’s shoulders where they belong. The papers are more sympathetic to us, for they understand what a black heart that man has. There is still interest in your hand, and you will not jeopardize that, young lady.”

“I will not be pressured into a marriage with a man whom I do not love. On that score, you beseech me to wed in vain, for I will not succumb to such a life.”

“You ungrateful child,” her mother sobbed. “We are on the brink of ruin, your father’s debts—”

“I will work if need be, and we will still be far better off than many, Mamma.”

Her mother gasped and clutched at her chest, her overwrought theatrics pulling a smile to Evie’s lips. “I will do all in my power to relieve what we are facing, but I will not endure a lifetime of unhappiness for it,” she said hoarsely.

“We are thousands in debt, and we will be made to suffer because of your dreaded willfulness. Whatever did I do to deserve a daughter like you?” She wilted on the sofa, pressing her hand to her forehead as if pained.

“Then Papa, you, Elliot, and I will work to come to a solution without sacrificing each other’s happiness for it. We are not poor. I’ve glimpsed poverty, and this is not it.” She waved toward the open window overlooking their opulent lawns. “There are people at this every moment lying in ditches and alleys without shelter, and winter is upon us. Children on the streets are starving, without food or any type of succor. We are not suffering. We have very expensive art and silver we can sell to settle the most pressing debts. Papa has unentailed property, lands in the country, a castle in Scotland, and a manor house in Cornwall. Mamma, they can be sold.”

Her mother gazed at her as if she was a frightful creature. “Suffer the shame of selling our possessions?”

A knock sounded, and while her mother composed herself, Evie bid them entrance.

“Lady Beechman, Lady Jane, and Miss Dawson have called, my lady,” their butler announced to Mamma.

“See them in.”

Evie rang the bell to summon tea and sat on the sofa to await their callers.

“Have you heard the news?” Lady Jane asked without any preamble, sweeping into the parlor with the other ladies at her heels. “We were just at Lady Fitzhugh’s garden party and heard.”

“What news?” her mother demanded, rousing herself from her prostrate position on the chaise.

“Have you by chance, Lady Evie, heard the news, since it concerns…well…it concerns a friend of yours?” The ladies threw each other a knowing glance.

With a sigh, Evie plastered the required smile on her face and met Lady Jane’s regard. “I’ve not had the pleasure, but I am certain you will inform me.”

“My dear friends, London is all atwitter,” Miss Dawson said with great enthusiasm. “There is to be a ball, and everyone is calling it the ball of the year.”

“No, sister dear, they are calling it the ball of the decade. A most illustrious event and invitations are already being coveted.”

Her mother frowned. “How peculiar. I’ve not heard of this!”

“Yes, for sure,” said Lady Beechman. “It is the most exclusive and well sought-after event.” She made a deliberate pause. “It is being hosted by the Marquess of Westfall.”

Evie barely contained her jolt at that announcement. Richard was to host a ball? She’d never heard anything more preposterous. “Lord Westfall is hosting a ball?”