I changed into one of my comfortable gardening dresses and stepped over the corner of the rug on my way to the door, not wanting to litter it with the dried mud crusting the soles of my gardening boots.
Muffled voices sounded from down the hall, in the direction of my father’s study. Making idle conversation with his guests sounded like my personal version of hell, so I turned toward the servant’s stairs leading down to the kitchens. The back door opened to the delivery entrance at the side of the house. I could slip out unnoticed and hide in the gardens until the visitors had gone.
“Ah, Aveen,” my father called the moment my fingers clasped the cold knob. “Just the woman I needed to see.”
Drats. I had been so close. When I turned, I found his eyes narrowed and expression grim.
“What in heaven’s name are you wearing?”
“My gardening dress.” The most comfortable garment, it was utterly shapeless but loose around my hips and chest. The best part: it didn’t require a corset or stay.
“You will change this instant. I’ll not have my daughter looking like a bloody servant. When you’re decent, I want you in my study. Be quick about it. I don’t want our guests kept waiting.”
With that, he and his loud boots retreated.
I felt myself wilt as I drifted back to my bedroom to cinch myself into a soul-crushing stay and a blue day gown embellished with golden thread. The tops of the stockings squeezed my thighs, and the matching blue slippers pinched my poor toes. Were men this uncomfortable in their finery? Probably not. No man I knew would endure discomfort like this.
Knowing better than to delay, I hurried down the hall as quickly as my aching feet would allow. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I rapped my knuckles against the wood.
My father’s low baritone sounded on the other side. A moment later, the door opened. “Come inside and have a seat, Aveen,” he said, ushering me into the room.
When I saw his guests, my feet stilled.
Robert sat ramrod straight on one of the leather chairs, staring grimly toward the shelves of leatherbound ledgers, arms crossed and jaw set. His father stood behind him, lips pinched and disapproving.
My father cleared his throat, reminding me of my manners. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lord Trench,” I said, dropping into a low curtsy and bowing my head.
“You as well, Lady Aveen.” Lord Trench inclined his head. “You’re looking as lovely as ever, isn’t she, Robert?”
“What?” Robert’s hazel gaze bounced to mine. “Oh. Um. Yes. I suppose she is.”
My father gestured to the chair beside Robert’s as he rounded the desk to settle into his. “I have some brilliant news to share with you, daughter,” he began, clasping his hands together and setting them atop the desk next to the inkwell. “Lord Trench and I have been discussing the relationship between our families and how we wish to solidify an alliance. And we can think of no better way to do that than through marriage.”
I couldn’t believe it. Robert had always claimed he would never marry. What had changed his mind? Did he understand what this sort of commitment entailed? Would he remain faithful to Keelynn?
I’d threaten him, just in case.
I offered Robert a congratulatory smile. He kept his eyes on his shiny brown boots.
His father’s face remained impassive.
What if Robert didn’t want to marry Keelynn? What if he was being forced to wed her? Had Lord Trench found out about their tryst? There had to be a way to fix this. Keelynn deserved to marry someone who genuinely wanted to be with her. She deserved love.
“Once the two of you are wed . . .” My father’s voice cut through the haze.
The two of you.
Robert finally raised his eyes to mine.
The dish of yogurt and berries I’d had for breakfast curdled in my stomach. Dread slid an icy finger down my spine. “I’m sorry. I believe I misheard. Who is getting married, exactly?”
My father’s smile tightened. “You and Robert, of course.” He waved a hand at us. “I know how fond you were of one another when you were younger. I’m confident you’ll find a way to rekindle that once again.”
Words came tumbling out of his mouth, but they didn’t make a lick of sense.
“You expect me to marry him?” I couldn’t think of anything worse—and I’d nearly met the Dullahan.
“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” Robert grumbled, tugging on the bottom of his plaid waistcoat.