Panic attempted to freeze her limbs, but she scampered away as if she had not seen the earl. She scanned the ballroom for her father. He and her stepmother typically made a concentrated effort to ingratiate themselves with other lofty guests, and she could spy Lady Margaret’s high purple turban with its peacock feathers making the rounds. But where was Papa? Adel had seen him leaving the card room earlier. He had slipped through the terrace windows. Surely he should have returned by now?
Adel pretended she did not see Lord Vale fighting the crush to reach her. With quickened steps she followed the path her father had taken. There were several guests on the terrace, laughing and chatting. She ignored them and spun to the hot house in the distance. He was a secret botanist and instinctively she knew to where he had escaped.
Oh, Papa. How she wished he would not bend so easily to the demands of his wife. Never would Adel believe it was her father’s wish to rub shoulders with the finest of the bon ton. When her mother had been alive they had been so happy. Life had been wonderful, and they had lived in Somerset, rarely traveling to London or Bath. Her father had remarried only a year after Adel’s mother died, and everything had changed.
Do not dwell in the past, Adel, look to the future.
The gardens and the grounds were well lit by gas lamps and she hastened to the hot house, stepping carefully along the cobbled trail. She slipped in through the entrance, her heart squeezing when she spied him with a magnifying glass, peering at some plant. “Father,” she said softly.
He lowered the glass and faced her. For a wonderful second, pleasure suffused his face, before he became guarded. With a pointed glare behind her, he spoke, “Why have you traveled this far without a chaperone? Where is your mother?”
Stepmother. She bit back the instinctive rebuttal. “It is a short journey here, and I urgently needed to speak with you, Papa.” She moved farther inside. “Lord Vale arrived a few minutes ago and I—”
“Excellent,” her father said, with a wide smile. “I must go and greet him. Come along, I am certain he will want a few dances with you.”
“No!” She gritted her teeth. “Though I miss the pleasure of dancing, I cannot consent to—”
A heavy sigh filled the air. “You are to wed the earl, Adel. He has secured an invitation to Lady Gladstone’s house party solely to court you. It shows me how much he esteems you and wishes to secure your affections.”
“Have you gone mad?” she demanded faintly. Surely her father couldn’t be so cruel? He knew of Lord Vale’s licentious character, of the atrocious way he had behaved toward her. “He attacked me, Papa.” She winced at the pleading note in her voice. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and stepped forward. “I cannot marry a man who has so little regard for my welfare. He left bruises on my arms. He is a despicable cad.”
Her father, Sir Archibald Hays, glared at her. “You will accord the earl the respect that is indeed due to him, young lady.”
How could he have forgotten her tears and fright? It still lived with her, though days had passed. “Papa…Lord Vale attacked me.” It was not that she desired her father to do something frightful like challenge the earl to a duel, but she expected some outrage on her behalf. She expected him to protect her, and his stance now shattered the naive belief she’d held onto that she was the most important person in his world. Her stepmother now had that honor, and as a viscount’s daughter, Lady Margaret’s wish was to see their family’s meager social connections strengthened. It seems Adel’s father was willing to sacrifice his daughter’s happiness to please his wife.
His face flushed in what might have been discomfort, before scrunching into a frown. “Pish… Passion…you are very beautiful, Adel, you look very much like your mother.” For a second his features softened and regret gleamed in his gaze. Then he cleared his throat and continued, “It is expected that as your intended, Lord Vale may have gotten a bit carried away. I visited his estate yesterday before traveling down and he explained to me, apologized for his slight indiscretion. I accepted his generous offer for your hand.”
Slight indiscretion? “You are trivializing my pain.”
He gently placed the magnifying glass on the table. “You are twenty-one, Adel. This is your fourth outing, our coffers are nigh empty and we cannot afford another season for you. The earl is making amends for his actions by offering marriage. I only want what is best for you, my dear.”
She stepped forward, searching his face. “My happiness would be in marrying a man that esteems me…much like you did Mamma. Mr. Atwood has been my friend and our neighbor for years. He has offer—”