The Maverick's Bride by Catherine Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

money can only be entrusted to a man with a good head for business.”
    “Do you wish you could take every tuppence with you when you die, Father?” She tried to hold her tongue. “I’m nothing more than a bank to you. If I marry the right man, your wealth will increase—and that’s all you care about. My feelings don’t matter. My future happiness makes no difference. My only purpose is to ensure that your precious holdings continue to grow so that your name may be remembered with admiration.”
    “How dare you speak to me in this way?” Pickering’s voice quivered with rage. He walked toward Emma as he spoke. “You are my daughter and you will obey me. You must marry, or you will never have a farthing to your name. And you will marry the man I select.”
    “I shall not.” Emma took a step backward. She had never spoken her thoughts so freely, but something inside her had changed. “I don’t care if I never see tuppence from you. I shall do what I’m meant to do, and you cannot stop me.”
    “I can stop you and I will stop you.” Her father loomed before her now, his nostrils flaring as one hand gripped his chest over his heart.
    Emma trembled as she faced him. “You can do nothing to me, sir. Nothing—ever again.”
    As her words registered, his hand shot out and caught her across the cheek in a stinging blow. Her head jerked backward. The ceiling spun and went dark. Then she was on the floor, clutching her burning face.
    Her father took a step and set his foot on her skirt, crushing the soft pink roses. “I am telling you now that you will marrythe man I select,” he hissed. “You will have nothing more to do with Miss Nightingale or her nursing school or any other harebrained scheme of yours. Never forget your mother’s wickedness. I shall not allow you to disgrace me as she did. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, Father.” Her head felt as if it had burst and she licked at the blood on her lip.
    “Your behavior tonight was unfortunate, indeed. You embarrassed me, Emmaline.”
    Nodding, she closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sir.”
    She had always tried to do as he asked. These many years she had taken the place of her mother in restraining Cissy, in managing the household, in acting as hostess to her father’s associates. She had done all in her power to prevent his ire.
    Cissy had no idea how often Emma had protected her from their father by blocking the advances of unsuitable would-be beaux. And yet when Cissy fell in love…and she often did…her father lightly reproved her, then hugged and pampered his younger daughter. Emma, who looked and acted so much like her mother, bore the brunt of his rage.
    “Priscilla is in your charge,” he reminded Emma. “You must set a worthy example for your sister. I expect you to take care of her and protect her. I cannot be both mother and father to my daughters. Is that clear?”
    “Yes, Father.”
    “Then go to your room, Emmaline. I shall inform our hosts you were feeling tired.”
    Struggling to her feet, Emma tugged her hem from beneath her father’s foot. At the door, she picked up the lavender gloves and held them to her lips. Her injuries would not look bad now, but she knew it could not be long until her face was blue and swollen.
     
    As she stepped into her room, Emma shut the door behind her and ran to the window. Pushing back the curtain, she pressed her cheek against the cool glass and let the tears flow.
    Her father was right, of course. She could never escape him. She must do as he said. Always.
    Was it possible that her father was more powerful even than God? Although such a thought seemed blasphemous, Emma now knew without doubt that she would never be a nurse. The holy calling in her heart could not be answered. One day very soon she must marry the man of her father’s choosing—a proper man, as her mother had done. She would bear children, her father’s longed-for male heirs. She would live in a fine house in London during the