1
Choosinga husband was like selecting the weapon for your execution: your life was forfeit either way. I had been lucky enough to have avoided both until today. If only I had gotten out of bed instead of staring at the canopy for the better part of an hour, not had to slather on cream after cream to hide my freckles, or skipped the toast and sausages cook had served for breakfast.
Then my father wouldn’t have caught me and ruined a perfectly good morning with his nonsense.
“Did you hear me, Aveen?” My father braced his hands against the leather-topped desk cluttered with ledgers and books, his tone that of a man not to be trifled with. He’d slicked his thick chestnut hair back from his forehead with pomade. The man was always dressed in the height of fashion—breeches, shirt, waistcoat, and cravat—even though he spent most of his time alone in this office.
I’d never understood his need for all the pomp. Waste of time and effort, that’s what it was.
“I heard you, Father.” My nails bit into my palms when I squeezed my hands into fists behind my back. “You believe it is time for me to marry.”
His mouth flattened beneath his trimmed mustache. The kind and gentle man I had known as a child had died alongside my mother, replaced by a dictator who refused to listen to reason. He wanted neither input nor conflicting opinions, only someone to parrot his words back in a feminine voice. “That’s correct. You need a husband.”
“I thought I was here to collect funds. Not a husband.”
The following Saturday was my little sister’s birthday party. Every last coin would be spent on her. Keelynn would love a new frock—something bright and festive for the start of spring. With her rich, dark hair, she looked good in almost any color. Except black. She was far too lively for the color of death.
I’d always been envious of the flawless alabaster complexion she’d inherited from our mother, rest her soul. I took after my father’s side. Pale and fair, with freckles I painstakingly covered every morning. If I didn’t spend so much time outside, the freckles would’ve faded. But if I didn’t spend so much time outside, I would’ve faded as well.
“You’ve had almost twenty-one years to make a match.” My father’s eyes narrowed over the rims of the spectacles he refused to wear in public. “I don’t understand why no one has asked for your hand. You’re a comely woman. What is wrong with young men these days?”
Everything.
That was the problem.
None of the suitors who’d called had been worth forfeiting my life, my freedom, or my happiness.
Why would a woman in her right mind want to tie herself to some man anyway? Storybooks spoke of love that transcended time and death, and kisses that stole one’s breath. If love like that existed, I hadn’t experienced it. And as far as kisses went, they were fine.
Chocolate cake was better.
In the window between the massive mahogany bookshelves, ominous clouds rolled in from the sea. If I didn’t leave soon, I’d end up a drowned rat by the time I reached town.
“Can we discuss this at dinner? I was just on my way to the market to pick up Keelynn’s birthday present.”
“We will discuss this now.”
Men were more likely to listen if you appeared pleasant so I pasted a placid smile on my lips. “I have already told you that I am perfectly content to remain on my own. I know how to run a household, do the finances, and manage the gardens.” The other day, I had helped our coachman Padraig birth a foal. Not that I’d ever tell Father that. With proper guidance and training, I could do anything as well as—or better than—any man. “I do not need a husband.”
There were fates worse than matrimony. The plague. Being hung, drawn, and quartered. Being buried alive. Although, one could argue that marriage was its own brand of death. It certainly was more drawn out.
Thick, dark eyebrows slammed down over faraway blue eyes. “I’ve indulged that fantasy for long enough.”
He thought living in this mausoleum until the day I died was my fantasy? The place could burn to the ground, and I would dance around the flames. This house meant nothing to me, and if marrying was the only way for me to keep it, then someone else could have it.
“If you didn’t think I could do it, then why did you teach me?”
“Your mother died before she could give me a son. And when your husband inherits my fortune, he will need a partner to help keep this place afloat.”
My husband would inherit, not me. Women were pawns in a game of wealth and power. And yet without us, there would be no men.
“We both know Keelynn has no head for such things,” he went on, “and she is nowhere near ready to settle down.”
Keelynn. A beautiful wildflower, growing free, whimsical and full of dreams. She had hope for love. For the future. For happiness.
I had learned a long time ago that there was no point in wanting any of those things. What a woman wanted played no part in what she received.
Still, I owed it to myself to try.