him my answer. He further tormented me by walking at my side after church and exposing me to the scrutiny and gossip of all my acquaintances.”
“Well!” the duke exclaimed.
“Although the ball that was fired upon us may have been meant for me, Your Grace,” Anne continued, unable to hold her tongue, “it just as easily may have been intended for your son. I have the unwelcome intelligence that the marquess has made many enemies, some of whom would take satisfaction in his demise.”
“Upon my word, you are quick to voice your opinions!”
“At the hand of the Marquess of Blackthorne I have been ridiculed, robbed, exposed, and mortally wounded.” Anne fought back the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. “I am a godly and moral woman, Your Grace. I was made a proposal of marriage. I accepted that proposal, and I intend to see myself wed. Your son has shown no inclination to withdraw his offer, and to my way of thinking, the matter is settled.”
“Good heavens!” The duke stared at the butler. “Mr. Errand, she is eloquent!”
“Indeed, my lord, most articulate.”
“Young lady, what do you mean to gain by this marriage? Surely your motive to wed the Marquess of Blackthorne lies deeper than the redemption of your wounded pride.”
“My motive is monetary.”
“Aha, I thought so! You may claim to be godly and moral, but greed flows through your veins.”
Anne’s eyes narrowed. “I am far less greedy, Your Grace, than any more socially suitable mate. You cannot deny that the family of another woman would demand titles, property, retirement of debt, and all manner of other material advantage.”
“You do not believe my son capable of a marriage founded on love?”
“I doubt Lord Blackthorne would know the meaning of true mutual affection. I am even more certain that no woman could ever find reason to love him.”
“That bad, is he?” The duke dipped his head, attempting to smother a smile. “Well, my dear, if you do not want his affection and you do not expect to live long enough to make use of the social privilege connected to his title, what is it you do want of him?”
Anne squared her shoulders, determined to face this moment with all the poise she could muster. She forced away the agony in her thigh and the feverish heat flowing through her body.
“Your Grace, my father was a Luddite,” she said softly. “He is imprisoned in Nottingham for his activities. Had his trial been conducted earlier, he would have been transported for fourteen years. Now he will surely face execution.”
“A Luddite. I am all astonishment.”
“The Baroness de Winter preferred my father to a small rectory, where he ministered for many years prior to his imprisonment. Now my family is near destitution, and we have no hope of hiring an attorney to speak in my father’s defense. Money to speed my father’s trial and release is all I would ask of your son, my lord. It is the least I can hope for as the wife of a marquess.”
“How very noble.” The duke turned to his butler. “She wishes to save her father. Shall we simply give her the funds and be done with it?”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
The duke leaned back in his chair and studied the young woman seated across from him. Anne tried not to stare back. She had recognized the note of sarcasm in his voice and knew where the marquess had learned it. They were a pair, father and son. Clearly each man had confidence in his own power, each acted with little consideration of others’ feelings, and each enjoyed manipulating people as though they were pawns in a game of chess.
Circumstances might play with Anne Webster, but people never had. She would not allow it. She knew her own mind and had never felt compelled to hide her thoughts. Her father’s sermons had taught her that all men were the same in the eyes of God. His participation in the Luddite movement had illustrated the importance of standing up for right and truth—no matter that one
“Well!” the duke exclaimed.
“Although the ball that was fired upon us may have been meant for me, Your Grace,” Anne continued, unable to hold her tongue, “it just as easily may have been intended for your son. I have the unwelcome intelligence that the marquess has made many enemies, some of whom would take satisfaction in his demise.”
“Upon my word, you are quick to voice your opinions!”
“At the hand of the Marquess of Blackthorne I have been ridiculed, robbed, exposed, and mortally wounded.” Anne fought back the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. “I am a godly and moral woman, Your Grace. I was made a proposal of marriage. I accepted that proposal, and I intend to see myself wed. Your son has shown no inclination to withdraw his offer, and to my way of thinking, the matter is settled.”
“Good heavens!” The duke stared at the butler. “Mr. Errand, she is eloquent!”
“Indeed, my lord, most articulate.”
“Young lady, what do you mean to gain by this marriage? Surely your motive to wed the Marquess of Blackthorne lies deeper than the redemption of your wounded pride.”
“My motive is monetary.”
“Aha, I thought so! You may claim to be godly and moral, but greed flows through your veins.”
Anne’s eyes narrowed. “I am far less greedy, Your Grace, than any more socially suitable mate. You cannot deny that the family of another woman would demand titles, property, retirement of debt, and all manner of other material advantage.”
“You do not believe my son capable of a marriage founded on love?”
“I doubt Lord Blackthorne would know the meaning of true mutual affection. I am even more certain that no woman could ever find reason to love him.”
“That bad, is he?” The duke dipped his head, attempting to smother a smile. “Well, my dear, if you do not want his affection and you do not expect to live long enough to make use of the social privilege connected to his title, what is it you do want of him?”
Anne squared her shoulders, determined to face this moment with all the poise she could muster. She forced away the agony in her thigh and the feverish heat flowing through her body.
“Your Grace, my father was a Luddite,” she said softly. “He is imprisoned in Nottingham for his activities. Had his trial been conducted earlier, he would have been transported for fourteen years. Now he will surely face execution.”
“A Luddite. I am all astonishment.”
“The Baroness de Winter preferred my father to a small rectory, where he ministered for many years prior to his imprisonment. Now my family is near destitution, and we have no hope of hiring an attorney to speak in my father’s defense. Money to speed my father’s trial and release is all I would ask of your son, my lord. It is the least I can hope for as the wife of a marquess.”
“How very noble.” The duke turned to his butler. “She wishes to save her father. Shall we simply give her the funds and be done with it?”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
The duke leaned back in his chair and studied the young woman seated across from him. Anne tried not to stare back. She had recognized the note of sarcasm in his voice and knew where the marquess had learned it. They were a pair, father and son. Clearly each man had confidence in his own power, each acted with little consideration of others’ feelings, and each enjoyed manipulating people as though they were pawns in a game of chess.
Circumstances might play with Anne Webster, but people never had. She would not allow it. She knew her own mind and had never felt compelled to hide her thoughts. Her father’s sermons had taught her that all men were the same in the eyes of God. His participation in the Luddite movement had illustrated the importance of standing up for right and truth—no matter that one
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