Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Chapter Seventeen
“You will not embarrass this family,” her stepmother seethed, wagging a bony finger in Rosamunde’s face.
Behind the woman, her father watched them, his face impassive. Pain unfurled in Rosamunde’s gut. She’d thought she’d been prepared for it, the lack of love in her own household. However spending the weekend with the St. Martins’ at their house with their friends and family had shown her what she’d craved her entire life. What she still craved.
How a family should be.
Closing the book she had been reading on the lounge in the sitting room, trying to stay warm, Rosamunde blinked and glanced from the finger to the angry gaze of the woman before her.
“I’m not understanding. What are you accusing me of doing now?”
I haven’t left this house in a week, keeping to my room and this room.
“The viscount is going to be here in two days. I’m talking about when he gets here, and don’t think I won’t smack the impertinence off your face.”
“And what, tell my new husband-to-be I’m clumsy because I’m fat?”
Where this attitude came from she didn’t know, but she wasn’t shelving it. She’d been a good girl her entire life and look what it had gotten her. Sold to an old man she didn’t know all so the other people who were supposed to be her family could live a better life.
Blue eyes sparked dangerously and Harriet raised her hand, intent perfectly clear.
“She has a point, Harriet. You shouldn’t hit her. He will wonder what is going on.” Not even a shred of fatherly concern in his tone.
Not wanting to go back to her cold bedroom, Rosemunde settled back into the lounge, enjoying the warmth from the fire. She could handle the cold shoulders she got from family, that wasn’t anything new, but she wasn’t about to give up the heat. If her being there made them uncomfortable, they could leave.
“Something else, or can I go back to my book now?” Tone dismissive, she didn’t even wait for an answer before opening the tome once more.
“I can’t wait until you’re gone.” Her stepmother stomped her foot.
“Feeling is mutual,” Rosamunde replied without heat and without glancing away from the words on the page.
The room warmed considerably when her stepmother exited and Rosamunde tugged the blanket up back over her legs as she remained curled up on the lounge, book on her lap.
“Rosamunde.”
She jumped at Lovell’s voice and glanced up, a sharp gasp leaving her. “What happened to you?” He had a black eye and a split lip. “I thought you had gotten better at boxing.”
His blue eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “Your man did this to me.”
Even knowing he didn’t mean the statement how her body and mind wished it to be, she had no recourse to stop the flush of heat that surged through her at the simple thought of Bryn.
And his touch.
All of them.
All over her.
“My man? I have a man? Or are you perhaps talking about the man who is still on his way here?”
He moved his chin with one hand, like soreness pained him. The injury looked unpleasant.
“You used to care about me.” A slight whine entered his tone.
“Bored with this conversation already, Lovell.” She closed the book and stood. “Come with me, I have something to say to everyone.” Head high, she walked from the room and went to her father’s study. The door was closed but she knocked once and stepped in, not surprised to see both Harriet and her father in there. And the twins.
“What is the meaning of this?” Her father’s demand would have cowed her in the past. Not now. She had nothing left to lose.
“I have something to say to all of you.” She looked each one of them in the eye before focusing on the head of the house. “I get I’m the unwanted child. Because I’m fat, and I’m not hers. You had a dalliance, perhaps more than one, I don’t know and I don’t care.”
“Watch how you talk to me!” he growled.
“I’m not finished.” She took a deep breath. “We all know you are selling me to this Italian count or whatever he is to make sure you can cover your own shortcomings. I’ve accepted it. But I will not put up with you trying to pretend I should do anything for any one of you from here on out because of familial obligations. We’re not a family. I keep to myself and you all continue to pretend I don’t exist. Except now, when you want something from me. No more. Don’t come to me.”
Without another word, she walked out, head remaining high, shoulders back. She made the trek back to the sitting room and reclaimed her seat there, tucked herself in and opened the book once more, heart lighter than it had been in a long time.