George had any obligation to marry her.
As if he should have to marry the girl who had scarred him for life.
Annelise still felt sick about that. Not for defending herself. No one seemed to agree with her on that, though. They all seemed to feel that if she’d given herself to him once, he was right to believe she’d do it again.
But she could still feel the awful jolt of it, the wet, meaty resistance when the blade had plunged into his flesh. She had not been expecting it. She’d only meant to wave the thing in the air, to scare him away.
“It is settled,” her father bit off, “and you should get down on your knees to thank Sir Charles that he has been so generous.”
“You will leave this town,” Sir Charles said sharply, “and you will never return. You will have no contact with my son or any member of my family. You will have no contact with your family. It will be as if you never existed. Do you understand?”
She shook her head in slow disbelief. She did not understand. She could never understand this. Sir Charles, maybe, but her own family? Disowning her completely?
“We have found you a position,” her father said, his voice curt and low with disgust. “Your mother’s cousin’s wife’s sister needs a companion.” Who? Annelise shook her head, desperately trying to folow. Who was he talking about?
“She lives on the Isle of Man.”
“What? No!” Anne stumbled forward, trying to take her father’s hands. “It’s so far. I don’t want to go.”
“Silence!” he roared, and the back of his hand came hard across her cheek. Annelise stumbled back, the shock of his attack far more acute than the pain. Her father had struck her. He had struck her. In all her sixteen years, he had never laid a hand to her, and now . . .
“You are already ruined in the eyes of all who know you,” he hissed mercilessly. “If you do not do as we say, you will bring further shame upon your family and destroy whatever chances your sisters still have at making any sort of marriages.”
Annelise thought of Charlotte, whom she adored more than anyone else in the world. And Marabeth, to whom she had never been close . . . But still, she was her sister. Nothing could have been more important.
“I will go,” she whispered. She touched her cheek. It still burned from her father’s blow.
“You shal leave in two days,” he told her. “We have—”
“ Where is she ?”
Annelise gasped as George burst into the room. His eyes were wild, and his skin was covered with a sheen of sweat. He was breathing hard; he must have raced through the house when he heard that she was there. One side of his face was covered with bandages, but the edges had started to wilt and droop. Annelise was terrified they would simply fall away. She did not want to see what lay beneath.
“I will kill you,” he roared, lunging at her.
She jumped back, instinctively running to her father for protection. And he must have had some shred of love for her left in his heart, because he stood in front of her, holding up one arm to block George as he surged forward until Sir Charles puled his son back.
“You will pay for this,” George railed. “Look at what you have done to me. Look at it!” He ripped the bandages from his face, and Annelise flinched at the sight of his wound, angry and red, a long, diagonal slash from cheekbone to chin.
It would not heal cleanly. Even she could see that.
“Stop,” Sir Charles ordered. “Get a hold of yourself.”
But George would not listen. “You will hang for this. Do you hear me? I will summon the magistrate and—”
“Shut up, ” his father snapped. “You will do no such thing. If you call her up before the magistrate, the story will get out and the Hanley girl will cry off faster than you can say please.”
“Oh,” George snarled, waving his hand before his face in a gesture of grand disgust, “and you don’t think the story is going to get out when people see this ?”
“There
As if he should have to marry the girl who had scarred him for life.
Annelise still felt sick about that. Not for defending herself. No one seemed to agree with her on that, though. They all seemed to feel that if she’d given herself to him once, he was right to believe she’d do it again.
But she could still feel the awful jolt of it, the wet, meaty resistance when the blade had plunged into his flesh. She had not been expecting it. She’d only meant to wave the thing in the air, to scare him away.
“It is settled,” her father bit off, “and you should get down on your knees to thank Sir Charles that he has been so generous.”
“You will leave this town,” Sir Charles said sharply, “and you will never return. You will have no contact with my son or any member of my family. You will have no contact with your family. It will be as if you never existed. Do you understand?”
She shook her head in slow disbelief. She did not understand. She could never understand this. Sir Charles, maybe, but her own family? Disowning her completely?
“We have found you a position,” her father said, his voice curt and low with disgust. “Your mother’s cousin’s wife’s sister needs a companion.” Who? Annelise shook her head, desperately trying to folow. Who was he talking about?
“She lives on the Isle of Man.”
“What? No!” Anne stumbled forward, trying to take her father’s hands. “It’s so far. I don’t want to go.”
“Silence!” he roared, and the back of his hand came hard across her cheek. Annelise stumbled back, the shock of his attack far more acute than the pain. Her father had struck her. He had struck her. In all her sixteen years, he had never laid a hand to her, and now . . .
“You are already ruined in the eyes of all who know you,” he hissed mercilessly. “If you do not do as we say, you will bring further shame upon your family and destroy whatever chances your sisters still have at making any sort of marriages.”
Annelise thought of Charlotte, whom she adored more than anyone else in the world. And Marabeth, to whom she had never been close . . . But still, she was her sister. Nothing could have been more important.
“I will go,” she whispered. She touched her cheek. It still burned from her father’s blow.
“You shal leave in two days,” he told her. “We have—”
“ Where is she ?”
Annelise gasped as George burst into the room. His eyes were wild, and his skin was covered with a sheen of sweat. He was breathing hard; he must have raced through the house when he heard that she was there. One side of his face was covered with bandages, but the edges had started to wilt and droop. Annelise was terrified they would simply fall away. She did not want to see what lay beneath.
“I will kill you,” he roared, lunging at her.
She jumped back, instinctively running to her father for protection. And he must have had some shred of love for her left in his heart, because he stood in front of her, holding up one arm to block George as he surged forward until Sir Charles puled his son back.
“You will pay for this,” George railed. “Look at what you have done to me. Look at it!” He ripped the bandages from his face, and Annelise flinched at the sight of his wound, angry and red, a long, diagonal slash from cheekbone to chin.
It would not heal cleanly. Even she could see that.
“Stop,” Sir Charles ordered. “Get a hold of yourself.”
But George would not listen. “You will hang for this. Do you hear me? I will summon the magistrate and—”
“Shut up, ” his father snapped. “You will do no such thing. If you call her up before the magistrate, the story will get out and the Hanley girl will cry off faster than you can say please.”
“Oh,” George snarled, waving his hand before his face in a gesture of grand disgust, “and you don’t think the story is going to get out when people see this ?”
“There
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