“No, you don’t.” Hillbrook grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back. “You’ve done enough damage. In fact, it’s high time you left.”
Tranter was no match for the big, burly man. “You’ve no right to interfere.”
“Of course I have,” Hillbrook said peacefully. “This is my house and you’re no longer welcome.”
Tranter was so pale that the long red scratches down his cheek stood out like fresh paint. “It’s raining bullets out there.”
“You seem to mistake me for someone who gives a rat’s arse for your welfare. You have two choices. Go back to London and face your creditors. Or you can take the rowing boat I’ll put at your disposal, cross the river, and make for France.”
“And if I choose neither?” His tone was sulky.
“You’ll be stuck here until the waters go down. I’ll have a message in London in a few hours, alerting the bailiffs that you’re skulking in Wiltshire.”
“You bloody mongrel!” Tranter tugged vainly to break free.
“Well?” Hillbrook asked, once it was clear the fight had drained out of the man.
“I’ll see you in hell.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Panting like a snared weasel, Tranter’s eyes darted around the room as if somewhere he might find an escape. His gaze, bright with hatred and fear, returned to Hillbrook. “Confound you, I’ll take the boat.”
“Wise decision.” Hillbrook shoved him down into a chair. “Now if you say a word or move a muscle, I’ll lock you in the cellars. It will be good practice for debtors’ prison.”
“Good for you, Jonas,” Sidonie said warmly.
“Marianne, you haven’t given me an answer,” Elias prompted.
“Not one penny, my girl,” her father growled.
“Surely you can’t want her to marry this jackanapes Tranter,” Hillbrook said in puzzlement. “The man’s a cad of the worst sort. Elias must be a better bet.”
“I won’t give her to a bloody Thorne. Tranter’s bad enough,” her father said, clinging to his prejudices to the last. He’d loathe feeling that events backed him into a corner.
Elias smiled, ignoring him. “My darling, will you be my wife?”
“Marianne, our offer of shelter stands,” Sidonie said urgently. “Nobody’s forcing you into a decision.”
“I know what I want,” she said without releasing Elias’s hands. “I want to marry Lord Wilmott.”
“Oh, my dear…” His voice was a whisper, but happiness blazed in his eyes as unmistakable as the fanfare of a hundred trumpets. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them fervently.
Marianne fought the urge to cry, wondering how it was possible to feel so joyful and so wretched at the same time. Although even her aches faded, now that she’d so unconditionally thrown her lot in with Elias.
Sidonie beamed at them both. “I’m so pleased.”
“A quick wedding is the best way to scotch any rumors,” Hillbrook said, taking charge. “Elias, if you go in the boat with Tranter, you can find a mount in the village and go to London for a special license.”
“I won’t attend any wedding,” her father said. “As far as I’m concerned, my daughter is dead to me.”
Marianne made one last try. “Papa, please be happy for me.”
She realized immediately it was the wrong thing to say. His barely held temper exploded and his face turned so red, she feared that he might have an apoplexy. “I’ll see you hanged first. I had a good match set up for you and you throw yourself away on a Thorne. And create an almighty scandal before you do. You’re a disgrace to the Seaton family.”
Her father’s rejection bit deep. Her grip on Elias’s hand tightened. “I told you that Lord Tranter tricked me.”
“You went into that conservatory of your own free will. You’re no innocent dupe, Marianne. I feel like I’ve never known you. Losing Camden Rothermere has turned your mind.”