Page 10 of All Duke and Bothered

She had thought, deep down, Papa still cared about her. That he was still grieving Mama and she needed to leave him alone to do that.

But marrying her off without even talking to her first? Marrying her off to this horrible, horrible man who would belittle her and humiliate her for the rest of her life?

If Mama were alive, she’d never have allowed this.

“Why are you doing this, Papa?” she asked. “Is it because he told you?”

“Told me what?”

Before she could reply, the duke cocked one eyebrow. “I kissed your daughter last night, sir. And no, Miss Beckett, I did not tell him.”

Papa’s eyebrows drew together, his upper lip crawling up to expose a snarl.

“You’re compromised?” Papa growled. “Penelope, how could you? I had arranged the whole— Ah, it does not matter now.”

How could she? She didn’t kiss the duke—he kissed her! But that was not what was important now. And what did it matter if the duke wanted to marry her anyway—though for the life of her, she did not understand why he wanted to marry someone he despised so much.

She marched across the study and stood in front of Papa. “Then why?” she demanded.

“You need to teach your daughter some manners,” said Grandhampton. “How about, ‘It’s an honor, Your Grace.’ You’re going to be the Duchess of Grandhampton, Miss Beckett. One of the richest women in England. Isn’t this what you wanted all along?”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “You’re terribly mistaken. I never—”

He strode to the desk and lifted the single paper lying there. Under his low, long eyebrows his eyes looked dark and bottomless. “Your father and I signed the marriage settlement. I already have the special license. We’re to be wed in three days. The bishop was a good friend of Spencer’s,” he added somberly.

Three days? Such a short wait was unheard of.

“Of course,” she said bitterly, “the whole of England would run to do the great Duke of Grandhampton’s bidding, wouldn’t it?”

Silence fell on the room as the duke and she stared at each other. How she hated him then. Poisonous, corroding anger gurgled in her veins. How dare he first insult her, then take her life away from her! All her dreams, all her hopes, all her plans to be independent—all that for absolutely nothing.

And, once again, she was alone, so alone. Against Papa, against the duke, against the whole world.

But instead of barking or snarling at her as he had done before, the duke said calmly, “It’s a deal that will save your father’s reputation and possibly his life. Your father signed it. He agrees. But you have the final word, Miss Beckett. I cannot force you to say yes. You must choose it yourself.”

Her mouth opened as she stared at Papa, who pointedly looked at the floor as though he was on the verge of tears. The duke walked to the door and opened it, but before he left, he turned and met Penelope’s gaze.

“You have until tomorrow. I will come in the morning to have your decision.”

And then he was gone.

5

“How could you, Papa?” Penelope demanded.

With the duke gone, her helpless rage grew and expanded like a fire in dry branches.

“Perhaps it’s best I leave you,” said Alex politely, throwing a final glance full of empathy and support to Penelope before she walked out of the room.

When the door closed behind her, Papa turned to Penelope, his mouth twisting bitterly.

“It’s all your fault!” he cried as he marched through the room, waving his arms. “You let him kiss you? You entangle yourself in the company of rakes? Why do you have to be such a flirt that men assume you’re an easy target?”

His words were like a slap. How could Papa think that of her? The duke was bad enough, but her own father? And accuse her of entangling herself with rakes—did he mean Spencer? All she ever did was try to be friendly and kind, nothing more.

“This is quite unfair, Papa!” she said, fighting away the tears.

Papa sighed and stopped walking. He stood by the fireplace, laid one arm on the molding, and looked at the cold grate. She expected him to apologize, to agree with her that he wasn’t being fair.