A knock sounded on Breanne's door, causing her to turn away from her bedroom window. "Yes?"
Becky slowly pushed her bedroom door open, taking note that Breanne was curled up atop her bed, hair disheveled, and still in her nightclothes. It was past two o'clock in the afternoon. Becky looked at her nightstand; a breakfast tray still sat there, food untouched. She frowned, but quickly averted her eyes from it to look at Breanne. "The Duchess of Manchester is here, my lady. She's in the drawing room," she added.
Breanne sighed. It wasn't that she did not want to see Alla. She missed her dearly; she always did when they were apart. She just did not feel...happy... not anymore. She didn't want to have to pretend any longer, was tired of doing so. Breanne shook her head, chiding herself. What was she thinking? She never had to pretend with Alla.
"Please send her in, Becky."
Rebecca nodded before leaving the room. She had a small hope that Breanne would take the opportunity to get cleaned up and leave her bedroom. Instead, she was entertaining a visitor inside of it. She wished she could help Breanne. It always hurt her to see the girl in pain...and the occurrence happened more often than it should.
Breanne turned back to the window, staring out at the passersby below. When her door opened, she turned away and looked at her visitor.
"Breanne!" A soft smile lit Alla's face as she came toward Breanne, discarded her hat and cape, and sat on the bed next to her. She grabbed Breanne's cold, pale hands. "How are you?"
Breanne's eyes were glassy as she shrugged and gave a wobbly smile. "I am still here...doing the best I can, I suppose. I have missed you so much, Alla."
"I have missed you as well," Alla confided, embracing her. Breanne paused for a fraction of a second, and then an easy smile lit her face and she squeezed Alla in return.
"I know you aren't supposed to attend, but I ought to tell you, regardless; I've recovered enough that the party we were to host tonight is indeed proceeding as planned."
Breanne sighed. "You'll forgive me for wishing it wasn't? Regardless of how I feel, mother is determined that I attend."
Alla's eyes ran over Breanne's unkempt appearance, her face softening in empathy. "She probably worries about you, Breanne. She doesn't want you to isolate yourself."
Breanne looked at Alla, shrugging again. She didn't feel the need to correct Alla's assumptions about her mother and her 'worries.' Not to mention, her mother knew very well that she was supposed to 'isolate herself.' Silence passed between the two women until Breanne turned to look at Alla. "I am sorry."
Alla furrowed her brows in confusion. "Why are you apologizing?"
"I know I am not myself," Breanne admitted, shaking her head.
"And for good reason," Alla finished. "I would not be myself either if I had to go through what you have, Breanne. Our friendship does not depend upon your perpetual cheerfulness. We share a bond, you and I. You are as my sister in good times and bad. There's no need for you to apologize to me for feeling as you do, or for not wearing a false smile. I have no expectations. I am simply here for you."
Breanne closed her eyes, and as she did, two tears escaped from beneath her lashes, slipping down her cheeks before she could blot them away... "I cannot describe all of the feelings I have. I can only say that I feel a part of me has died, Alla. And not just any part. I feel as if all of the joy, the happiness I had... is gone."
Alla stroked Breanne's arm and took a slow, deep breath. "You will feel that...for a while, Breanne. There is no way to escape such feelings. I know what it is to lose someone you love. I realize that for me it has been slightly more bearable because I have Brandon, but you are not alone either. You have your mother and father...and you have Brandon and I as well."
The corner of Breanne's mouth lifted in a small cynical smile. Her mother could not be relied upon, her father was never around, and when he was, he was tipped half of the time. She'd not been close to Brandon, but had decided to love him because he loved her best friend. He treated her well...very well. Truly, he indulged and doted upon her, though he allowed few to see it.
"What is that smile for?" Alla grinned at Breanne.
"I was just thinking of you and Brandon, how well he treats you."
Alla's smile widened. "Yes, well, it took a while for him to do so. If you remember he wasn't exactly the most pleasant person to be around once upon a time."
Breanne smiled. "I remember that. I also remember some of the things you did 'once upon a time' to provoke his anger."
Alla raised her brows. "It's quite rude of you to bring that up.
Breanne chuckled and then quickly covered her mouth with a hand. Her eyes widened, and in them, Alla saw the guilt, hurt, and pained surprise that sprang up in her heart.
"Breanne, there is nothing wrong with laughing."
Breanne buried her face into her hands, shaking her head. Alla noted how still she was, began rubbing her back, and waited. When Breanne lifted her face and straightened, she appeared perfectly composed, but something wasn't right.
Alla's eyebrows furrowed. "Breanne, what are you—"
"I'm sorry, Alla," she interrupted. "I would rather not talk about it." She shook her head. "Can we speak of something else?"
"Of course," she said instantly, though slightly hurt. One minute she saw the part of Breanne that was broken, but then the next, Breanne covered and hid that part of her away. Why? Alla didn't understand, but chose to go along with what she wished. After all, Breanne stood by her against all others when her own true identity came to be known, and had supported her in all that she did. The least that she could do was to be that kind of friend to her, steadfast, true and strong, especially when Breanne was not truly herself.
"So," Alla began changing the subject. "You are coming to the party tonight," she stated. "I am happy about that, even if you are not."
Breanne's mouth softened. "I am always happy to see you, Alla. That is probably the only reason I have to be happy. Really, though, I only make a spectacle of myself by attending. I wish mother would come to her senses." Breanne shook her head dismissively, changing the subject. "I am pleased that you are well. It seems that you have been ill for some time."
"Yes, I'm glad that it has passed too. I've been impatiently waiting for the chance to tell you the latest about Mable and Godfrey."
Breanne smiled. Godfrey, Brandon's butler, and Mable, a cook that was like a grandmother to Alla; had both been trying to adapt themselves to the idea of living in the same household together. Each week it seemed there was some new turn of events in the household which proved to be a cause for laughter.
Alla's enjoyment at observing Breanne's eyes twinkle was grand, indeed. "What happened this time?" Breanne asked, eagerly leaning forward.
Alla grinned. "Mable made her specialty dish last week."
"And?"
"It's a dish that has many different kinds of peppers. Mable was telling me that she must cook differently for Brandon and Godfrey because Englishmen have weaker stomachs than American men."
At Breanne's smile, Alla continued. "Godfrey happened to overhear her, and I'm sure that he passed the message along because Brandon entered the kitchen soon thereafter, demanding she make her dish."
Alla laughed before continuing. "I tried to warn Brandon. I told him that Mable was right. He wouldn't be able to handle it, and neither would Godfrey if he tried, but Brandon wouldn't listen."
"You knew that if you said such a thing in that way he would take it as a challenge!" Breanne said, accusingly.
Alla shrugged, and burst out laughing again at the look on Breanne's face. "It was the only night Godfrey dined with us. Both of them were sweating while they ate the dish. Godfrey couldn't finish his, and ran from the table. I swear it was the first time I've seen him lose that stiff posture he always holds. I didn't even see him until the next afternoon and he avoided Mable the whole day."
"What about Brandon?"
"Oh, he finished his plate. You know how Brandon is, he had to prove himself, but he paid for it in the end. He didn't talk to me for two days, can you believe that?"
Breanne smiled. "You swindled him into eating it, Alla."
"But I did not force him to eat it. That was his doing," she defended, grinning.
"You knew his weakness and took advantage," Breanne insisted, shaking her head at her friend.
Alla laughed and stood up, grabbing her cape and hat. "I'll let you know what happens next week. There is always something to be amused over," she said chuckling.
Breanne smiled and walked Alla to her bedroom door. She placed a hand on Alla's arm to stay her just a moment longer. "I know that you have a lot of things to do tonight. Thank you for visiting me and sharing your story," she quickly sighed; "it was nice to hear."
Alla laughed. "I'll be sure to tell Brandon you said so."
Something changed in Breanne's eyes, suddenly growing sober with concern. "How is he?"
"Brandon?"
Breanne nodded.
"He is having a hard time of it. If the invitations to this party hadn't been sent out months ago, I doubt it would be happening. Adam Torrington was his closest friend. One evening we simply sat and recounted all of the funny things Torrington used to do. I think it helped, in a small way... reminiscing on our fond memories."
Breanne nodded.
"If you ever want to come and sit in with us...talk about it—"
Breanne shook her head. "I'm not quite ready for that, Alla, but thank you."
Alla nodded. "Well, come over sometime anyway, and we will just sit and talk. I'll see you later tonight, Breanne."
Breanne smiled, nodded and the two hugged. When Alla left the room, Breanne crawled back into her bed and turned towards the window. Becky came in several times throughout the day with food, but Breanne wouldn't eat. She didn't want to. She sighed as she forced herself to get out of bed and began to get dressed for the evening. The only thing I want is to be left alone; to mourn my loss.
Everything evil in the world must have heard that thought because her mother walked into her room as soon as she had finished dressing.
"Breanne, have you seen my— Heavens, Breanne! Whatever are you wearing?"
"A gown," Breanne stated dryly, lifting her arms and letting them fall to her sides in agitation.
"Why must you try to vex me so? You know that I prevented you from going out in that black thing yesterday eve, and still you persist in this affected nonsense!" Mrs. Crabtree rebuked in her perverse and reverse sense of propriety. She immediately walked over to Breanne's armoire, brought out a different gown, and laid it upon her bed. "The black makes you look as dour as a crow, even if it didn't mark you as matrimonially untouchable! It is sure to drive suitors away! Wear this," she instructed, "It's much more becoming on you."
Breanne looked down at the dress she had on. It's perfectly becoming. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. Suitors! Last night Mother merely spoke of it as a mark of emotionalism. I don't want suitors ever again! I am in—mourning—for my—husband! Why should I change into something else to make some kind of impression at a party I do not wish to attend? "Mother, I really wish to wear—"
"You do not know what you want, Breanne. Change into the gown I have instructed you to wear. Since you seem to be taking some time getting ready, I will ride ahead and convene with you at the party when you arrive. I promised a friend that I would meet her there early. We have some matters to discuss, she and I."
"Can you not wait a few moments, Mother? I shall be quick. Please do not make me walk into the party by myself. As it is, I shouldn't even be—"
"Please, Breanne! This is enough. I no longer want to hear about your woes. Torrington is gone! I am sorry that he is. He seemed a very nice sort of person, but now you must focus on what is important. Snap out of this melancholy, or whatever it is you fancy yourself to be going through, and be the adult that I know is in there somewhere. You must find yourself a husband—a great catch. Nothing is more important than that."
When Breanne remained silent, her mother took a step closer to her. "I know it may seem harsh for me to say these things, but I am only thinking of your welfare, my dear." She lifted a hand to touch Breanne's arm, paused in midair, and then lowered it. She searched Breanne's features, as if something hung in the balance; and when she saw nothing more than complacence in her expression, she turned to walk out of the room. "I shall see you at the party. Do not be long, and do not forget to change your gown." She closed the door behind her, leaving her daughter standing in the center of her bedroom.
Breanne's hands shook at her sides as she stared at the bedroom door. Finally, she turned towards her bed, and sat down. Mother is so desperate for a marriage to take place that she is willing to push aside propriety entirely. I'm in mourning; I am supposed to wear black. I should be wearing black for two years, at least! ...And I oughtn't to attend a ball until a year has passed! Her hand landed on the gown her mother had laid out for her. She looked down at it, gently tracing its delicate pattern, whispers of Brussels lace...accents of pearl and cameo...an immaculate travesty. When she looked back up at the door, her complacent expression was wiped clean, and in its place was absolute rebellion.
After twenty minutes had passed, Breanne slowly stood, replacing the ivory muslin gown her mother took out of the armoire. Once her hair was fixed, she calmly walked downstairs and searched out the item she was sure would be of use to her at the party. Covered in black, from head to toe, Breanne ignored Becky's gasp of dismay as she rushed out the front door, "Lady Torrington! Breanne! Please come back!"
Breanne closed the carriage door on any other words that might make her second guess her decision, and leaned against the seat, still fuming.
When the carriage stopped, Breanne stepped down with the item she carried clutched tightly, and marched into the ball. People had been watching Breanne disapprovingly already, since she hadn't been in seclusion as she ought to have been since Torrington's death. Now that she was making a spectacle out of herself, they openly gaped at her. Many of the single men in attendance outright laughed. Young women gasped, hurrying to their mothers, and to each other, to talk about her 'shocking display.'
Breanne progressed into the room, her expression perfectly blank as she continued walking through the crowd, ignoring the gasps, outrage, and laughter. She found her mother with no problem whatsoever, or rather, her mother had found her. News traveled fast in the ballroom. Even if her mother had been in the privy, Breanne had little doubt someone would have told her what her daughter had done before Breanne was two seconds out of the carriage.
The ballroom became eerily quiet as Mrs. Crabtree approached. The crowd seemed to part, almost as if reenacting the account of Moses at the Red Sea.
"I am ready mother," she called out fiercely. "Which unsuspecting victim shall I hook?" Laughter rang out through the room, even louder than before.
Mrs. Crabtree's face instantly turned a brilliant shade of red, and she silently gaped at Breanne. Her eyes watered up, causing Breanne's steps to falter somewhat.
Alla acted quickly, emerging from the crowd of people. She grasped Breanne's arm, signaled to the music players to begin, and dragged her out of the room. Loud laughter followed the women as they disappeared from the view of everyone else.
Alla led Breanne to the nearest vacant hallway, and turned to face her friend, laughter from sheer shock bubbling up.
Breanne stared at her.
"Breanne, what are you doing? Have you lost your senses?"
"I am only doing what my mother asked of me, Alla," she replied, monotone. "She wants me to find a 'catch.'"
Alla looked down at Breanne's fingers grasping the handle of the long rod so tightly her knuckles were white and her hand shook. Alla lost all humor and immediately became concerned. "I don't think that your mother intended for you to bring a fishing pole to the party, Breanne," she retorted, carefully.
Breanne shrugged. "An oversight."
Alla reached out and grabbed the pole, but Breanne's grasp held fast. Alla's eyes met Breanne's. "Breanne. Let go."
Breanne looked at the pole and then at Alla. When she looked back at the pole her eyes widened slightly, and she released it quickly, causing it to clatter to the floor.
Alla slowly reached down, and picked it up.
"What have I done?" Breanne whispered, as the dawning of panic lit her eyes.
"You have proven a point in front of everyone," Alla simply stated.
"I've ruined your party! The duke will be livid!" Breanne cried.
"You have given this party the best entertainment that has been seen by the ton at any other function this year." Alla's eyes sparkled with good humor, laughter coloring her words in reassurance. "Brandon will be fine, let me worry about him."
Breanne cupped a hand over her mouth. "My mother," she whispered again.
"I'm fairly certain your mother and father left," Alla admitted, hesitantly.
"She will kill me," Breanne stated, horrified.
"What did you think would happen, Breanne?"
"That's just it. I wasn't thinking! I was so...so—"
"You were angry," Alla finished. "I'm guessing you were angry with your mother, but why?"
Breanne shook her head and paced the wide hallway. "She expects me to feel nothing for Adam. She wants me to find another person to marry."
"Well, of course in the future you may want to get married again, and—"
"Now Alla!" Breanne yelled. "She wants me to find someone now!"
Alla froze, and could feel the thick tension in the air surrounding them. She'd only seen Breanne lose her temper once before--with Brawna, Brandon's former maid. Other than that, Breanne was the epitome of grace, self-control, and gentility. She never raised her voice, never became upset; never did anything out of the ordinary, except when she had been coached to by Alla.
Tears formed in Breanne's eyes.
Alla suspected she was holding in a lot of anger towards her mother.
"Breanne," Alla began, softly. "You do have a choice. You do not have to marry anyone that you don't wish to marry, even if your mother asks you to. All you need say is 'no.'"
"It is not that simple," Breanne scoffed, crying.
Alla paused. "You loved Torrington with all of your heart...that is why you cannot simply move onto the next person. That is an admirable trait. And Torrington loved you—"
Breanne scoffed again. "Did he? I begin to wonder."
"Breanne! Where is all of this coming from? You know that he loved you! He showed it in everything he did, in how he acted. You were married, for heaven's sake!""He kept things from me Alla, things that I should have known, were we truly close as I believed us to be." Breanne shook her head. "I don't know what is real anymore. I loved him, yes. But did he feel the same for me? I don't know."
"I kept things from Brandon. Remember?"
Breanne looked up at Alla. "Of course I remember, but it's not the same."
"How do you know? What's different, Breanne? Brandon and I were not married, true, but we had ...a relationship of sorts. I fell in love with him, and he with me. Yet, I still withheld information from him. On the day I was going to tell him, I was found out."
"I know," Breanne quietly stated.
"So how do you know he wasn't going to tell you whatever it was he was keeping from you?"
Breanne shook her head, having no answer.
"I only ask that you give him the benefit of the doubt. He deserves no less."
Breanne looked around, defeated. "I'm sorry I raised my voice at you."
"It's perfectly fine, Breanne."
"I should leave," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You intended on staying here, and I think that is what you should do."
"I would rather go home," Breanne said, sniffing and eyeing the pole.
"Because of this?" Alla asked, pointing at it, and raising a dainty eyebrow.
"Yes! I'm embarrassed. I shall never act out my emotions again."
Alla smiled. She doubted that Breanne would follow through on such a vow; and she would be better off if she didn't. Many times Alla made the same vow with regard to Brandon, and was still unable to keep it.
"Breanne, you know very well that if you run out of here you will leave the tongues wagging for days. If you stay, on the other hand, I guarantee they will talk less. All you need to do is adopt your usual grace, the blank and unreadable smile that you employ so well, and everything shall be fine."
"Do you remember what I said to my mother out there?" Breanne asked. "No one will dance with me after that. Everyone shall be frightened off."
"You don't wish to dance anyway," Alla pointedly reminded her, "and you are going out there to show that you don't care what they think."
"Well, if I don't care then why can't I just leave?" she cried.
"Because you really do care," Alla explained, exasperated. "Come," she directed, and took Breanne's hand, attempting to tug her into the ballroom; but she wouldn't budge.
"I will enter, but can you please just give me a moment?"
"I suppose." Alla waited.
"Alone."
Alla gave Breanne a skeptical look. "You have five minutes; and if you even think about leaving I will chase you down and drag you back."
"Yes, your grace."
"Stop that," Alla snapped, offering a fleeting grin. She then turned towards the closed mahogany door, drew in a deep, uneven breath, and pushed it open, disappearing into the ballroom.
Breanne had almost forgotten how nervous Alla became around others. She was constantly fearful over someone finding out her true identity and Brandon being ostracized. It still hadn't happened, and Breanne doubted it would. It helped, of course, that Brandon wasn't the type of person to care about what people thought. He was of the mind that if it came to light, they would deal with it capably. His confidence made it seem that he had already planned ahead.
Breanne stood before the double doors. She could hear the music and laughter of the people inside. Mayhap she should have entered with Alla after all. What if she walked inside and everyone stopped and stared at her, just as they had done before? She took a deep breath and opened the door. The Marquis of Kent, whom his close acquaintances called Addison, stood before her, waiting.
She started in surprise, and immediately curtsied. Addison inclined his head and stepped aside so that she might pass. Breanne paused, looking at him as if something was amiss; and then quickly walked past him.
"My lady."
Breanne paused, turning around. Addison walked to stand before her. "I never had the opportunity to offer you my condolences, allow me to do so now." He inclined his head towards her again. Glancing around, Breanne saw that some were taking an interest in the fact that they were conversing. A rake and a widow; I can only imagine the rumors that could start.
When she returned her attention to Addison, he was smiling grimly. "I know my reputation precedes me. I'll not detain you any longer. My apologies." With that he walked off.
Blast! She had done it this time. Picking up her skirts, she trailed Addison through the crowd, fully aware of the new spectacle she was creating. Her ears burned as she remembered her words to her mother over whom she should catch. Now she trailed Addison, the rake, in front of everyone. Perfect.
"Lord Kent," she called out.
Addison turned around, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise when he saw that Breanne was directly behind him. He cocked his head. "My lady?"
At seeing that they had an audience, Breanne quickly jerked her head to the right, twice. Addison smirked and left the company he had just joined as he followed Breanne to an area away from the crowd.
"Please forgive my rudeness," she said not meeting his eyes. "I have been out of sorts lately. I did not mean to direct anything unkind towards you." When she finally looked up at him, he smiled down at her.
"It is nothing," he returned, surprised. "This is why you pulled me aside?"
"Well...I thought that I...I thought that I might have injured your feelings," she confessed, suddenly feeling like an idiot.
His smile widened. "Not many are concerned with my feelings. I thank you for your apology, but I have learnt to deal with how I am treated. The fault is my own, anyhow."
"Yes, well...I never intended to treat you thus, my lord, regardless of your reputation."
He graciously inclined his head to her.
When music began playing both Breanne and Addison looked out at the couples filing out onto the floor.
"Would you care to dance?"
Curses! She'd hoped this wouldn't happen. Dragging her gaze from the floor, she met Addison's eyes. "I've no wish to dance at all, my lord. It wouldn't be proper. As you know, I shouldn't even be here. I thank you very much for your...willingness to dance with me however, especially after the spectacle I've made of myself."
Addison laughed. "I make a spectacle of myself all the time; that would not deter me from dancing."
"Dancing does not hold very good memories for me right now, my lord."
"You may call me Addison; and I can understand that," he stated seriously.
Breanne nodded uncomfortably.
"There you are!" Alla rushed towards them, much to Breanne's relief. "I was wondering where you had been hiding."
"Yes, well I was just thinking that I should leave."
"No," Alla objected, pleadingly. "You haven't even stayed an hour yet."
"Alla, I must get home to my parents. I am only delaying the inevitable, and I cannot stand it."
"Alright," Alla returned, grudgingly. "Please send word to me tomorrow...let me know what happened."
"Yes, I shall at least let you know if I am still breathing."
Addison and Alla laughed as Breanne curtsied. "I'm sure it won't be as bad as that, Breanne," Alla assured her.
I'm sure it will, she thought. Breanne waved farewell to Addison and Alla as she left the ballroom; and although she made a point to avoid the eyes of everyone she passed, she could still feel all eyes on her. More whispers and suppressed laughter followed her out of the building. She quickly climbed into the carriage and relaxed against the seat as it jostled with their departure. She was dreading going home, and immediately settled within herself that if her mother railed at her, and she would, Breanne would sit silent and accept it. She would offer no excuses. There were none to be had for her behavior, anyhow.
When the carriage came to a halt, Breanne peeked out at the windows of her parents' home. There was only one light on in the drawing room. Breanne sincerely hoped that this was a good sign, that her parents were too angry to speak to her and had gone to bed. She stepped down from the carriage and walked up the steps leading to the front door. After pushing the door open, she gently closed it behind her. The definite click of the door caused her to freeze. When she heard no responding noise, she tip-toed past the drawing room, her eyes focused on the stairs leading to her bedroom. Sanctuary!
"In here, Breanne."
Her hand paused on the polished railing when she heard her father's voice. She reluctantly slid her hand from it and turned to go into the drawing room. Her mother and father sat on the couch... waiting. Although her father's gaze was steady, her mother would not meet her eyes.
"Come, and sit down," her father ordered. Breanne searched the area around her father and saw that he had not touched a drop of alcohol. This was not a good sign, not at all. Her father was not one to interfere into personal matters. Actually, her father didn't interfere with anything that prevented him from indulging in spirits. The fact that he was now involved in this particular situation caused fear to grow inside of her.
Breanne sat in the seat across from her parents, folded her hands into her lap, and waited.
"Breanne, you must know that what you did this evening was beyond unacceptable."
"Yes I do," she rushed out to her father, "I am sorry. I do not know what came over me. I swear that it will never happen again. I—." She closed her mouth when her mother held a hand up.
"I cannot tell you how disappointing you are to me," her mother quietly stated. "You have proven to be a thorn in my side since the moment you could speak. You have never done anything I have asked you to do. You are so headstrong; but all of that is about to change."
Breanne looked on at her mother in surprise. "Mother," she began softly, "in every move I have ever made, save for tonight, I have always tried to please you. Always! I do nothing to please myself. Everything has always been for you."
"Enough!" her mother snapped. "I'll not listen to your lies any longer. You made a complete mockery of this family and yourself. You have proven to be a very irresponsible and witless young woman. With that said, your father and I have come to a decision."
Breanne looked at her father who had just been given a glass of wine by Becky. And now he's escaping. Mr. Crabtree took a swig of his drink and looked at her mother. Breanne followed suit, turning to her mother as well. "What decision might that be?" she asked, hesitantly.
"I arrived at the party early so that I could meet with a friend of mine. We had a conversation and came to the agreement that you would suit for her son, Edgar Wilson."
Breanne's mouth gaped open. "What?"
"Fortunately for you, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson have decided to continue upholding the agreement we've made, though convincing them to do so was difficult, considering the ridiculous spectacle you've made this eve, and the fact that it could make turn their son into the laughingstock of the ton. I daresay, Mr. Edgar Wilson himself, as he was not present to see your disgrace, is very happy about the prospective match."
"Breanne, my dear," her father inserted, taking note of her expression. "I know that Edgar is a skinny chap, and his face appears to be riddled with imperfections, but it is something that he shall soon outgrow. Do not look so horrified."
"He's a ninny, father! He's unpleasant to look at, and when he opens his mouth it becomes very apparent that as a child, he never should have been encouraged to speak!"
"Breanne!" her mother chided over Mr. Crabtree's barely suppressed chuckle. "This decision has been made. I suggest that if you find his wit lacking, you do your best to stimulate it. Although he does not hold a title, we shall have to make do. You two may survive on the small sum Torrington has left you. I am sad to say that this was the best I could do, given the circumstances."
Breanne looked at her mother and father wide-eyed and shook her head. "No," she whispered.
Her mother leaned forward, sure that her ears had deceived her. "Pardon, Breanne?" she enunciated carefully.
Breanne stood up. "No," she reiterated, panicking. "I won't do it."
Her mother stood up as well. "You will, Breanne," she ordered.
"I won't!" she denied again. "You cannot dictate my whole life to me like this. I'll not marry someone I do not love!
"You will come to love him! Honestly, I cannot understand the fascination you have with indulging in petty emotions."
"What are you complaining about? I hide everything from you," Breanne explained a quiet and firm voice, "but on this my feelings cannot be suppressed."
Silence reigned in the drawing room. Mrs. Crabtree's chest heaved with indignation as she glared at her daughter, while Mr. Crabtree took a quick swig of his wine and then set it upon the table.
"Breanne," he said, "hysterics will do you no good, my child. Your mother is right. You should not have gone to such extremes this evening, and you need to face the consequences of your actions."
Breanne's eyes welled with tears as she looked down upon her father, and approached him. "I know that my actions were extreme, father, but please," she beseeched. "Is not forcing me into a marriage because of my behavior just another extreme?"
"It will help this family, Breanne," her mother retorted, scathingly. "After your ploy, this is no doubt the only chance we have to make sure you have a good match. I realize that you are not accustomed to sacrifice, maybe the fault for that belongs to your father and I for indulging you too much."
When had they indulged her? The thought was laughable. "I'm sorry mother. I cannot do it," she said, shaking her head.
"What happened to 'always doing everything for me?' Is that not what you said, miss; that every move you have made has been for me?"
"Yes, but I cannot do what you are asking now, mother. No longer can I live for you and father. I have to try to live for myself, alone."
Her father came to his feet. "You refuse to do what your mother and I ask of you?"
Breanne nodded. "Yes father. I am sorry, but I cannot marry him."
"Then there is nothing else to be done," he announced in annoyance. "Your mother mentioned that you might not follow through with her..." he coughed, "our orders, and so..." he scratched the back of his head, sending a helpless look to her mother.
Mrs. Crabtree shook her head at her husband, exasperated, and finally turned to Breanne. "You are no longer welcome in this house."
"What! Father?"
Sighing, Mr. Crabtree plopped back into his chair, refilling his glass.
"Your father and I have made our decision. You either marry Mr. Wilson, or you will no longer be living under our roof!"
Breanne stared at her father, willing him to say something. He avoided her eyes and directed all concentration onto his drink.
"Where am I supposed to go?" she asked, helplessly. "I cannot even move into the townhouse yet. Please, do not do this to me."
"We are not doing a thing to you, Breanne. Whatever happens, you do it to yourself. If you would but agree to marry Edgar, you wouldn't have to worry about where you should go."
"I cannot, mother! The idea of it is positively revolting to me. Every feeling that I have forbids me to go into such a ridiculous union."
"If anything or anyone is ridiculous, my dear, it is you. It was your actions that made your father and I come to this decision. You don't have much choice. Submit to your father and I, and all shall be well," her mother firmly stated.
"No."
The firm denial caused color to rise in her mother's cheeks, and anger flashed in her eyes. "Then are you ready to leave your family? Because that is what is going to happen! Torrington left nothing to you here, Breanne! So, just what are you going to do? Run off to that dreary old place in Australia? I demand that you to do your duty, miss!"
Breanne's heart hammered in her chest. Australia. She hadn't thought of relocating to a place such as that, even if Adam did will it to her. She didn't want to go there. Why would she?
"No! I don't wish to leave. I want to stay here. Father?" Because he seemed to avoid her, she moved from her chair to the floor, sat at his feet, placed a hand on his knee, and looked up at her father, willing him to meet her gaze. His eyes slowly swiveled to meet hers.
"Please," she mouthed.
Mr. Crabtree glanced away, uncomfortable; and standing up, stepped over his daughter. "I must go to bed."
Don't leave me! It took all of Breanne's effort not to latch onto his leg and beg him for another chance. In the end, she could only watch as the one person who could possibly help her left the room.
"Well?" her mother's voice rang out authoritatively. "What shall it be, Breanne? Will you remain here in England, married, close to your family and friends; or shall you go to a savage, dreary, barren place, alone? The Scottish hate us English, you know, and the 'family' that brutish man spoke of, those you would be living among, housed adjacent to, no doubt—they are not your family, but his—Scotsmen, every one!" When Breanne stared at her in shock and silence, she continued; "The choice is yours. I expect to hear your decision by tomorrow morning."
Breanne slowly came to her feet and turned to face her mother. "There is no need to wait until tomorrow, mother. I have made my decision," she choked out, holding back tears.
Her mother's face lit up and a knowing smile touched one side of her mouth. Positively confident in her success, she clasped her hands in front of her and relaxed her stance. "And what have you decided?"
"I have determined that I shall not rest tonight. I must pack for Australia."