June Calvin by The Dukes Desire

Author:The Dukes Desire
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

A loud knock followed by raised masculine voices awoke Deborah from a sound sleep the next morning. Groaning, she consulted the clock on her mantel. It was but nine, a most unfashionable hour for anyone to be calling during the season.

Her maid bustled into the room, alarm on her face. “That there Lord Morton be below, demanding to see you instantly. The old reprobate!”

“Let him demand. I do not owe him obedience.” Deborah pulled the covers up to her chin, her defiance masking alarm.

“Nay, my lady.” Her old retainer smiled sadly at her. “You must go down before he causes a scandal with his bellowing. He first demanded to see Miss Jennifer, calling her his bride-to-be. Then he asked for you.”

“Wh-what?” Deborah sat upright, horror washing over her. She threw aside the covers, terror lending speed to her morning toilet, before hurrying down the stairs to enter the drawing room, where Morton paced in front of the fireplace.

“Lord Morton?”

Corsets creaking, Morton hastily approached her, trying to catch up her hands as he asked, “Dearest Deborah! Did you miss me? I returned as soon as I could.”

Pulling away from him and primming her mouth, Deborah responded with asperity, “I had absolutely no idea that you were gone! I am extremely busy this morning, sir. Please state your business and then leave.”

“Hoity-toity, madam. Once you hear what I have to say, you will not be so eager to send me away!” Morton drew himself up, savoring this moment of triumph. “Please be so good as to send for Miss Silverton. I wish to pay my addresses to her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Deborah retorted, trying to affect a laugh, though she was quaking inside.

“Nothing ridiculous about it! I’ve decided to make her my second wife. A charming stepmother she’ll make to my sons, don’t you think?” Morton grinned slyly at her.

Suddenly all of Deborah’s innate caution was overwhelmed by fury at the sheer effrontery of this statement. “You are quite mad, sirrah, if you think I’d let my precious daughter marry an aging degenerate such as yourself.”

“Mind your words, madam.” Morton’s face purpled, and he sprang toward her, fists upraised.

“Oh, yes. You would hit me, wouldn’t you. You and Seymour, just alike, so brave in combat with females and servants. Get out! And never come here again!”

“But soon I shall have every right to run tame in this house, not that it signifies, for you both shall be living in mine.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a folded bit of parchment.

“I have Vincent’s permission to pay my addresses to your daughter. As this letter makes clear, she has no choice but to accept my suit. Now be so good as to have her brought here immediately.” He waved the note under Deborah’s nose.

She snatched it from his hand with trembling fingers and smoothed it to read, in Vincent’s unmistakable spidery hand:

My Dear Sister-in-law:

I know I said you might select Jennifer’s husband this season, but Lord Morton has made a most satisfactory offer in all respects, and I cannot think of any reason why I should not accept it.

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