Our father studied me over the rim of his wine glass. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry.” There was no point giving him an excuse as to why I was late. He didn’t care.
He looked me up and down, his expression darkening. “Did you take the carriage to town today?”
I couldn’t deny it. I may have changed, but I still smelled like a horse. “No. I took Whinney.”
“You will take the carriage next time or you will not go at all, do you hear me?”
“Yes, Father.”
His expression warmed when he looked at Keelynn. She hugged his shoulders and kissed his cheek before taking her own seat. Grumbling, he clearly fought a smile.
A steady procession of servants entered through a door concealed in the dark wood paneling, carrying trays and dishes with silver lids. Enough food for at least four meals. So much waste, and for what? Who were we trying to prove our position to? It was just us.
The first course consisted of a small cup of vegetable soup and a crusty brown roll. I ate a few spoonfuls, letting the savory warmth slip down my throat. If only it could reach my toes, which had turned into blocks of ice. As much as I loathed the carriage, it really would’ve been the better choice today. I set my spoon aside to reach for my wine. A servant had the dishes cleared by the time I brought the glass to my lips.
A small dish of honeydew cleansed the palate, followed by a plate of chicken and mushroom vol-au-vents. Next came a main course of roast duck, steeped in plum sauce. I could’ve eaten twice the amount on my plate but knew that would only earn a comment from my father. It wasn’t my fault food settled on my hips.
“Have you thought about our discussion earlier?” our father asked, slicing himself some more duck.
Keelynn glanced at me from across the table, her dark eyebrows drawing together.
Discussion? Was that what they called ambushes these days? “I have.”
“Good. Your husband will be the most important person in your life. Your job is to care for him and support him in all things, including the running of this household.”
Why was that my job? Shouldn’t it be his job to care for and support me?
Keelynn’s wine glass froze halfway to her mouth. “You’re getting married?”
I added more wine to my own glass. The more I drank, the easier it was to forget that my life was over. “Apparently so.”
Her cup slammed onto the table, sloshing wine over the white tablecloth. “How did I not know you were courting someone?”
“Oh, I’m not,” I said, watching my sister dart a confused glance at our father. “But Father has graciously given me less than two months to find a husband.”
Keelynn’s jaw dropped. “You cannot expect her to fall in love with someone in a few weeks. Father, be reasonable.”
Our father sawed at a carrot as though the vegetable had wronged him. “I’ll not hear any argument from either of you. As the head of this household, my word is final. Aveen will marry, and that is that.”
“Yes, but in under eight weeks? Please, Father.” Keelynn reached for his hand. “Give her time. This is the biggest decision of her life, and rushing it will only lead to disaster.”
Father slipped his hand from beneath hers to collect his wine. “You women are far too focused on love and feelings.” The deep red liquid in his glass swirled as he spun the stem between his fingers.
“Then think about this estate. Do you really want it to go to the wrong man?” Keelynn pressed. “Someone who may let all you’ve worked to create fall into disrepair or crushing debt?”
The way his eyebrows lowered, as though he were actually considering her suggestion, left hope swelling in my chest. And then he opened his mouth, and it all flew out the bloody window.
“Seven weeks is more than sufficient. You will choose a husband by the end of next month or I will choose one for you.”
“Yes, Father.”
His chair scraped the tiles when he shoved away from the table. Muttering under his breath, he balled up his serviette, dropped it onto the table, and stalked out of the dining room.
“That explains the mood,” Keelynn sighed. “Seven weeks to find love. Impossible.”
I couldn’t agree more. “Thank you for trying.”