Page 4 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

“Oh,” Father said, waving a hand. “Lucy doesn’t care for ices, do you daughter?” The smile on his face was false, the command in his eyes clear, the question rhetorical. Lucy wasn’t expected to voice an objection.

I love ices. She looked down at her lap. Lemon is my favorite.

Any doubt that Dufton’s presence tonight was anything other than interest in Lucy faded at his invitation.

Why Dufton would want to pursue her was the real question.

Yes, her pedigree was respectable. She evidenced a high amount of ladylike reserve.

Rarely spoke, which for some gentlemen would be considered a very desirable quality.

But there was little else to recommend her.

Lucy glanced at Father. She’d learned to be leery of his motivations.

The conversation continued once more, hovering in the air around her. She remained still and silent. If Dufton thought it odd she didn’t participate in the discussion, he gave no indication.

Dessert arrived. A lemon torte.

Sally, who knew Lucy adored lemon in any form, threw her an innocent, falsely apologetic look.

The entire table was served, save Lucy. Not the least unusual.

Father hadn’t allowed her dessert in years.

If she wasn’t even permitted cake on her birthday, she certainly wasn’t going to be allowed a slice of lemon torte while being tossed at a suitor.

No matter. Cook would have saved her a generous portion.

She need only make her way to the kitchens after Father went to bed.

Lucy contemplated her father, the lemon torte she must wait for, the sparse meal, and her situation.

Continuing to exist beneath Father’s care was a depressing, suffocating thought, but her options were limited.

Her first choice would have been to find employment as a lady’s companion.

Or possibly a governess, though her lisp would create an obstacle.

Marriage was the only other alternative open to her, but that too seemed impossible with no dowry or suitors.

Lucy eyed Dufton, considering .

“How goes Pendergast, Waterstone?” Dufton drawled in a less than friendly tone as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass.

Not well .

Pendergast was an ironworks, one Father had absolutely no business owning.

He had little experience and absolutely no interest in such an enterprise.

His tastes ran more to horses, railways—because they were fashionable—and imports.

Silk and cotton, mostly. Therefore, the purchase of Pendergast had been completely baffling and out of character for a man who chose his investments based on appearances.

Appearances mattered greatly to Father.

The ironworks had been thriving at the time of Father’s purchase, but now Pendergast languished from his poor decisions and lack of attention despite the growing demand for what it produced.

“I’m—planning to divest myself of it, my lord.”

“Given you’ve run the operation into the ground, some would say purposefully, I would agree.” Dufton’s eyes on Father grew flinty. “I do hope you don’t expect me to purchase the ironworks as part of…our agreement. I know about the contracts, you see.”

Every bit of color fled Father’s cheeks. “I’m not sure I take your meaning, my lord.”

“Yes, you do.” The threat was polite, but there all the same.

Lucy didn’t dare lift her chin or give any indication she was listening. Sally started babbling about a new gown, a tactic meant to deflect Lucy’s attention from Father’s obvious discomfort and the discussion at hand.

“Given our”—Father’s gaze flicked to Lucy—“agreement, my lord, I take offense at your accusation.” He lifted his chin, all pompous authority. “I’ve plans to offer it to another interested party.”

“Ah.” Dufton nodded slowly, his smile returning. “I assume Mr. Estwood, since he still wants it. Oh, the irony.” A short bark of laughter came from him. “Petty of you, Waterstone.”

Estwood .

Lucy’s hands twisted so tightly, the blood flow to her fingers was cut off.

Estwood .

She could still see him, standing before her at the ball Granby had hosted to end the house party at The Barrow. The words she’d been forced to speak, horrible and vile, while Father loomed a few steps away. The only time he had ever requested she not remain silent.

Lucy drew in a slow breath.

She’d trusted her father completely, never questioning his assertion that Estwood’s interest in her was merely a way to humiliate Gerald Waterstone.

Cause him undue embarrassment. Estwood had already done damage to Father’s relationship with Granby, and now, Father had insisted, that baseborn cur meant to use Lucy.

She quite clearly remembered Father’s distressed tone.

How he’d blinked, as if to banish tears, at Lucy’s almost betrayal.

How could she possibly have run off and viewed the ruins with Estwood?

Even with Lady Mildred in tow? Father had insisted she give Estwood the cut direct, in full view of the other guests.

Put him in his place. Thankfully, only Lord and Lady Foxwood had been within hearing when she’d done exactly as Father wished.

What a na?ve little idiot I used to be.

Lucy nodded at Sally’s incessant chatter about Belgium lace, pretending great interest, while keeping one ear cocked to Father’s discussion with Dufton.

“He still wants Pendergast,” Father said calmly. “No matter what state the ironworks is in.”

“And Marsden. I understand he’s made inquiries.”

Father flinched. “He has.”

“Because you’ve given him the impression it is for sale, Waterstone. Is Marsden for sale?” Dufton reminded Lucy of nothing so much as a snake, coiled and ready to strike. On the brink of sinking his fangs into Father.

Marsden .

A misty sort of familiarity settled over Lucy. She should know the name.

“I might have given Estwood that impression, my lord. But…it isn’t true.” Father lowered his gaze, fingers nervously drumming on the table. “I merely enjoy his efforts to gain hold of it.”

Dufton gave a quiet laugh. “I don’t object to you toying with Estwood as long as there is nothing more to it.”

“There is only one way to have Marsden, my lord.” Father’s eyes darted to Lucy. “And an agreement has already been made. I’m a man of my word, after all.”

He was not, as a handful of his previous investment partners could attest.

“Rest assured,” Father continued. “I only seek to rid myself of Pendergast.”

“I hope for your sake he doesn’t find out what you plan to do.” Dufton tilted his head, stroking the stem of his wine glass. “I’ve no desire to be caught in the middle of whatever war you’re waging. My help is restricted to your current situation. Do not drag me into it.”

Two red spots appeared on Father’s cheeks. “I understand, my lord.” He nodded in Sally’s direction which, thankfully, stopped her prattling.

Coming to her feet with a jerk, her stepmother said, “Shall we leave the gentlemen to their brandy and business, daughter?”

Gladly . Lucy stood obediently, mind turning over each word spoken between Dufton and her father as she followed Sally out of the room.