Page 4 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)

“M-my jacket, yes, well you see, it was becoming—that is…it felt…” Montague trailed off as if he couldn’t grasp his line of thought.

“Hot!” Charity’s voice carried through the library. “It was becoming exceedingly hot in here, so I suggested that Mr. Montague remove his jacket. After all, we can’t have a gentleman sweating.”

Her mother’s head slowly turned toward Charity in a snake-like fashion.

“You suggested? Tell me Lady Woodmere, how is it that you found yourself in the library with my daughter when you were still having tea in my sitting room with the ladies a half-hour after the duchess excused herself to the retiring room?”

Well, bollocks!

Florentia inhaled deeply. She was tired of being treated like a child. Tired of being afraid. She’d lived her entire life hiding from her mother only to land in the clutches of Summerset. After surviving her mother, she’d thought anyone else would be a leisurely stroll in Hyde Park.

She was wrong.

“That’s enough, Mother. I’m not a child. I don’t have to report to you on my actions anymore.” Standing at her full height, Florentia looked down at her mother.

Lady Allendale had not aged gracefully, like other women of the ton. Her insistent love of wine had seen to that. Thin, pale skin littered with aged wrinkles, bloodshot eyes, and sunken cheekbones were all that was left of the beauty of her youth.

“This does not concern you, Lady Woodmere, or you, Mr. Montague. Leave us.” The command was simple, but one that brokered no room for argument.

Montague didn’t hesitate, picking up his discarded jacket from the chaise lounge before practically running out of the library.

Her mother waited for Charity to leave, but the other woman did not move. In fact, she crossed her arms over her small bosom and looked Lady Allendale directly in the eye.

“I don’t take orders from you. I am not your child.” Charity entwined her arm with Florentia’s, the simple act providing a strength she did not feel in the least.

“No, you’re not. My daughter chooses to whore herself out to any man breathing, when her mourning period is barely over. It all ends now,” her mother said, her cold eyes going to Florentia’s father, who stood nervously beside her.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Mother, but I was not whoring myself out,” Florentia stared at her mother refusing to back down. “I believe that is your specialty.”

Slap.

The sting of her mother’s hand reverberated through Florentia’s body. It was nothing new—though it had been nearly four years since she had endured her mother’s abuse. What really caused shame to build in the pit of her abdomen was that her mother chose to do such a thing in front of Charity.

“Lady Allendale, that is enough!” Her friend stepped toward the older woman, pure shock and venom in her brown gaze.

“It’s quite alright, Lady Woodmere.” Florentia hid the shaking in the voice, determined to not show how affected she was by the slap.

Unlike herself, Charity never experienced cruelty, only indifference, which Florentia would take any day.

Charity’s gaze swung to her. “It is not, Florentia.”

“Now let’s not lose our tempers.” Florentia’s father, the Earl of Allendale said in a grave voice. “Your mother and I feel that now that your mourning period is over, and with the new duke returning any day, well, it’s time that you should remarry.” Florentia could see the fear in his green eyes.

She shook her head, unable to fathom being married again to someone of their choosing. She’d barely survived Summerset those first months of their marriage. Until she’d finally had enough.

“I have reached out to Baron Primwood?—”

“Baron Primwood! Whatever for?” Dread filled her as the color drained from her father’s face.

The current Baron Primwood was nearly seventy years old, if she remembered correctly. An unusually healthy man for someone of his age. Her late husband, often complained at how Primwood was in pristine shape, even more than his only son, who was in his thirtieth year.

“He is in want of a wife, not for an heir, of course. He already has an older son who will inherit. He would like someone to provide comfort in his later years. Your mother and I feel that this is an excellent match for you.” He clasped his hands, nodding eagerly as if to convince himself as well as her.

“No! You two gave me to Summerset, and now I have a measly two hundred pounds a year and a dilapidated shack to hide me away for the rest of my life.” She threw her hands up in the air, tired of doing everything they bid of her.

Lady Allendale was not happy with her only daughter for not securing a match after being out for three seasons. Florentia had gladly accepted the betrothal of the late Duke of Summerset after he was jilted by Miss Pippa Price. It was the only way to escape her mother.

She’d never cared much for Miss Pippa Price, who was now the Duchess of St. Clara, happily married with three children, but Florentia could admit that fleeing a marriage to the late duke had been a very intelligent choice.

An option that she herself had not had.

Her mother pointed a thin finger at her. “Summerset was the only man willing to take you. Be glad you got two hundred pounds a year.” The cruel words stung as much as the strike to her cheek. “Is it my fault that you failed to secure marriage proposals for three seasons?”

“No,” Florentia responded through clenched teeth.

The idea of marrying again, belonging to another old man, forced to take his treatment and share his bed, was repulsive. If she ever were to marry again, it wouldn’t be to an old man or a fool. The person would be her choice, her decision, and would match her in strength and will.

In truth, Florentia didn’t know what type of man she’d choose for herself. All her lovers were simply a means to an end, a way to pass the time. An escape, a chance for her to feel anything, to do exactly what she wanted. Not because it was expected or demanded of her, because she chose to do it.

Her.

Not her mother, not her husband, not even her father with his insufferable indifference.

“You will marry the baron and put an end to your whoring around with your servants and anyone else you open your legs too.” Her mother stepped dangerously closer.

Refusing to cower like she had when she was a child, Florentia stood firm, not allowing her mother’s words to shake her resolve.

“You must think of your reputation, Florentia.” Her father took her by the hand. “The Season has just begun, and yet there is already talk of your…behavior. This cannot go on.”

“Is this really the appropriate time to have this conversation?” Charity asked, interrupting the small silence between them.

“You are welcome to leave at any time. This does not concern you,” Lady Allendale snapped, brokering no room for argument.

“Florentia, you will marry now that your mourning period is over. After all, the new duke will eventually claim the title, and you will have nowhere to go, unless you would like to sink yourself even further and become a doxy.” Her mother’s eyes cut to Charity before she turned and marched out of the room.

Florentia exhaled, happy that the scene had not escalated any more than it had. Yet she wished that Montague or Charity had not seen the true nature of the relationship between herself and her mother.

“Please, Florentia, you must see reason. It is the right thing to do for yourself,” her father pleaded, his features so much like her own that she wanted to obey him, but she could not.

Foolishly, she had done what he’d asked by marrying the old duke and tying herself to a man who took joy in cruelty. She would not make that same mistake again. No, the next man she married—if at all—would be someone of her own choosing.

Of that she was absolutely certain.