Page 25 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

L ucy’s fork dropped with a clatter to her plate. The roast curdled immediately in her stomach. The cake, which had smelled so delightful mere moments ago, now made her nauseated.

Father was here.

Estwood sat back and crossed his legs, utterly calm, as if Gerald Waterstone wasn’t stomping about his house.

“Well,” he drawled. “That took a bit longer than I anticipated. I expected him to show up during the first course. I was going to flick soup in his eye. Stay where you are, Mrs. Estwood. Eat your cake.”

“How dare you,” Father roared just outside the dining room doors. “Refusing me entrance so I am forced to make my way through the kitchens.”

Estwood bit his lip, looking for all the world as if he might burst into laughter. “The kitchens,” he said more to himself than Lucy. “Goodness. I hope he was mistaken for a tradesman.”

Lucy tried to still her trembling fingers. She clasped them tightly in her lap, fingers twisting against the fabric of her skirts. Breathing became difficult.

The door flew open to reveal Father, chest heaving, eyes wild, cravat slightly askew. Sally was a smaller speck behind him, sharp features contorted into a mask of fury. He pointed at Lucy. “There you are.”

Lucy immediately lowered her eyes, body and mind trained to endure one of Father’s lectures.

No . She carefully and resolutely raised her chin. Not anymore .

“Waterstone.” Estwood took a forkful of cake, chewing slowly while Father fumed. “Please join us. Would you like a slice?” He kicked out a chair. No effort was made to maintain the upper crust accent—in fact, he sounded as if he’d never left that blacksmith’s shop in Yorkshire.

Lucy took shallow breaths, determined to keep her gaze on Father, though she was dizzy at his appearance. It’s possible she could faint, right into the slice of lemon cake before her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Father’s eyes roamed over the cake and the remains of the meal, mustache quivering with rage.

“Dinner.” Estwood shot him a bland look. “Are you unfamiliar with the concept, Waterstone?”

Father ignored him and turned to her. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Lucy’s tongue grew heavy inside her mouth. She sucked in small breaths of air. Father had been in the dining room for less than five minutes, and her defiance was already fading. Reduced to nothing more than a flawed child in his orbit.

“Fa-father.”

“Stop.” Father held up his hand. “My ears ache from your attempts at conversation. I am so disappointed.” He trod forward. “You stupid, stupid girl. What is it you hoped to accomplish Lucy? Well, your little rebellion is over now. Get up before I drag you out.”

“That’s quite enough,” Estwood said in a silky tone and took another bite of cake. “Do not speak to my wife in that tone.”

The silence in the room became deafening. Lucy could hear her own heart, beating in panic within the confines of her chest.

“Wife?” Father snarled, looking down at her. “Lies. His nostrils flared. “Lucy would never do such a thing. She’s agreed to wed Lord Dufton. Be made a countess. Everything is arranged.” Panic, just the smallest amount, bled through his words.

“I did not agree,” Lucy whispered, but Father was so incensed, he didn’t hear her.

“Why else do you think she’s here?” Estwood made a sound.

“For the cake? Although it is delicious.” He pulled a piece of paper from the inside of his coat, waving it before Father.

“The certificate. Completely legal and already filed. Oh, go ahead.” He laid the document on the table. “You may have this copy if you like.”

Estwood is enjoying this.

Father paled except for two bright spots of color on his cheeks as his eyes scanned the document. “What have you done, Lucy?” He reached out, fingers curling around her arm like a vise.

A pained sound left her.

The amicable, teasing look on Estwood’s face disappeared. The storm of his eyes went a deep, brittle gray. “Remove your hand.”

Father wrenched Lucy upright. “Now I must fix this mess, Lucy. An annulment. You were obviously coerced.”

“Remove your hands from my wife.” Her husband’s fist came crashing down on the table, rattling the dishes.

“ Now .” His tone was icy. Controlled. But the look in his eyes—Estwood was no stranger to violence.

Nor brutal behavior. It had always lingered just beneath his expensively tailored clothes.

And he most certainly wasn’t the least afraid of Father.

“If you do not release her I will snap your bloody fingers off.”

Father, for perhaps the first time in his life, was taken aback. “You—you filthy mongrel. No better than a common street thug. Threatening a gentleman.”

“Exactly. So when I say I’ll break every one of your fingers and enjoy doing so, you should believe me.”

The hold on her arm loosened. Then disappeared entirely.

Lucy jerked away from Father and tried to take a deep breath. She looked down at her plate, staring at the delicious slice of lemon cake. Her entire body quivered, though she tried to stop it. Her tongue stayed glued to the back of her teeth.

I can’t breathe. I can’t

“Andromeda Barrington has much to do with this foolishness, doesn’t she?

” He looked down at Lucy, shaking his head.

“Once I realized you’d gone to Madame Dupree’s, I knew she must be involved.

Granby has lost his wits, allowing her to embarrass him and taint his family name.

She is who put you up to this with her brazen views.

” He threw up his hands. “Well, what can you expect, given that her mother, the dowager duchess, is reputed to be a bast?—”

“I would be careful,” Estwood interrupted, “how you bandy about such vile gossip. Leo Murphy and the Duke of Averell will take offense, and you can’t afford to make any more enemies, Waterstone. Not in your current situation. They’ll eviscerate you.”

Father’s complexion took on the hue of spoiled milk.

“Not to mention what the Duke of Granby will do if you malign his wife.”

“You did this.” Father pointed at Estwood.

“You saw an opportunity to take advantage of my daughter and took it. Lucy isn’t bright enough to seek you out on her own.

You seduced her with lies and promises.” He brushed back a wave of hair, the pale skin starting to mottle a deep, bruising purple, as if the veins in his neck might burst. “Come, Lucy.” Two of his fingers snapped.

“The marriage has not been consummated, thank goodness. Dufton will still take you.”

As if he were ordering a dog .