No, of course not. No, don’t mind my wishes. No, please don’t worry yourself on my account.
“Lucinda?” Her uncle’s voice was sharp, almost jarring.
“No,” she said again, louder this time, as if the volume would give her courage. “I mean yes, there is a problem. And I need to speak with you about it.”
Her uncle gave her a bored look.
“Uncle Robert,” she began, feeling as if she were tiptoeing through a field of hedgehogs, “did you know . . .” She bit her lip, glancing everywhere but at his face. “That is to say, were you aware . . .”
“Out with it,” he snapped.
“Lord Haselby,” Lucy said quickly, desperate just to get it over with. “He doesn’t like women.”
For a moment Uncle Robert did nothing but stare. And then he . . .
Laughed.
He laughed.
“Uncle Robert?” Lucy’s heart began to beat far too quickly. “Did you know this?”
“Of course I knew it,” he snapped. “Why do you think his father is so eager to have you? He knows you won’t talk.”
Why wouldn’t she talk?
“You should be thanking me,” Uncle Robert said harshly, cutting into her thoughts. “Half the men of the ton are brutes. I’m giving you to the only one who won’t bother you.”
“But—”
“Do you have any idea how many women would love to take your place?”
“That is not the point, Uncle Robert.”
His eyes turned to ice. “I beg your pardon.”
Lucy stood perfectly still, suddenly realizing that this was it. This was her moment. She had never countermanded him before, and she probably never would again.
She swallowed. And then she said it. “I do not wish to marry Lord Haselby.”
Silence. But his eyes . . .
His eyes were thunderous.
Lucy met his stare with cool detachment. She could feel a strange new strength growing inside of her. She would not back down. Not now, not when the rest of her life was at stake.
Her uncle’s lips pursed and twisted, even as the rest of his face seemed to be made of stone. Finally, just when Lucy was certain that the silence would break her, he asked, his voice clipped, “May I ask why?”
“I—I want children,” Lucy said, latching on to the first excuse she could think of.
“Oh, you’ll have them,” he said.
He smiled then, and her blood turned to ice.
“Uncle Robert?” she whispered.
“He may not like women, but he will be able to do the job often enough to sire a brat off you. And if he can’t . . .” He shrugged.
“What?” Lucy felt panic rising in her chest. “What do you mean?”