And so the man took his daughter away, leaving Cedric to stand in the empty galley and fume.
A man adapted? Damn him!
Cedric had refused to adapt his gambling to win all the time. He would not become a cheat.
He had refused to adapt to torturing peasants for opium, and so he had left the East India Company.
And now his only hope—his sisters’ only hope for dowries—was if he adapted to court a woman he did not want. Marry an heiress for her coin. That had been his plan, after all, once he landed in London. So why not begin it here?
Could he make that adaptation? Could he give up Lucy forever?
He had to. And the truth of that cut deep.
He dwelled in that pain as long as he could. He dropped down into his chair and stared numbly at the floor. But in time, he had to move. He had to make a choice. If he could not have Lucy, then he would court her sister because she was the one with the boat and the cargo. That was what a man did to provide for his family.
How he despised himself for it.
But he did it anyway.