The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 792

“Grandmother,” Patricia cut in hastily. “You know I already have a boyfriend. He’s a count, he’s exceedingly wealthy, and he told me he’s serious about us. We’re going to be engaged soon!”

“I’ve been hearing that excuse for a year,” the matriarch replied coldly. “It is the only reason you remain in line for the succession right behind Serena. You had better bring him before me soon, or I will marry you off to that idiot prince instead.”

“Of course, Grandmother. But surely you haven't forgotten my younger cousin? Shouldn't she take her turn first?”

…

Lady Honoria Pryce arrived the next afternoon in a green motorcar the size of a boat, a big pink woman in three strings of pearls, bringing her son.

She talked about him the way a farmer talks about a horse at market.

"Look at him, Imelda," she boomed happily. "Go on, look. Good teeth. Good height. A sound temper, never raises his voice, never has. Rides, shoots, dances, reads a little, not too much." She slapped her son on the back. "And the lake shore comes with him. Twelve miles of it. The boathouses, the fishing rights, the hotel at the north end. He's cheap at the price."

Julian Pryce stood by the window with his hands in his pockets, looking at the garden as if it bored him. He was handsome in a smooth, finished way, like a piece of furniture that had been polished every day of its life.

"Mother," he said, bored, without turning round. "You're shouting."

"I'm selling, darling. It's not the same," Honoria said cheerfully, and dropped onto the sofa. "Well, Imelda? I hear you've had a miracle."

"You hear a great deal," said the Baroness dryly.

"Everybody hears everything on this coast," Honoria laughed. "Your doctor drinks at my club." Honoria leaned forward. "Rosalind's girl, cured. Rosalind's nose, they say, and her looks back. And promised to a prince with eleven dollars and no dowry. It's a crime, Imelda. It's a waste. I won't stand by and watch it."

"You'll stand by and watch your boy get the better of the bargain," the Baroness said coldly.

"Naturally," Honoria said, beaming. "So. Shall we talk?"

…

They talked for an hour. At the end of it the Baroness summoned the family to the long drawing room and told them what had been decided.

"On the wedding day there will be two men at the altar," she said flatly. "His Highness, as the pact requires. And Lord Julian Pryce, with his dowry. Serena will choose."

Nobody spoke.

"She'll choose Julian, of course," said Honoria, smug and comfortable. "Any girl with eyes would."

"Does Serena know?" Gideon asked from the end of the room. It was the first thing he had said all day.

"She'll know tonight," the Baroness said shortly.

"And the prince?" Gideon asked, nervous. "What happens to the prince?"

"The pact asks for a Tiffany granddaughter to marry him," the Baroness said. "It doesn't say which one. If Serena chooses Lord Julian, the prince marries the next granddaughter of age."

Every head in the room turned, slowly, to look at Cordelia's daughter.

Dulcie Tiffany was nineteen, small and pale, and she was sitting on a footstool behind her mother's chair, where she always sat, so that nobody would notice her. Everybody noticed her now.

"Me?" she whispered.

"Dulcie?" Cordelia shrieked. "Mother, you can't! Not Dulcie! He feeds the dogs!"

"Then you'd better hope your niece chooses sensibly," said the Baroness, bored.

Dulcie burst into tears.

Honoria Pryce laughed so loudly that the windows rang.

…

In the yard, by the kennels, Julian Pryce found the other groom brushing a hound.

He stood and watched for a while, smoking, with the look of a man who has wandered into the wrong part of a zoo.

"So you're him," he said, bored. "The prince."

"So you're him," Alexander said mildly. "The lake."

Julian almost laughed. He flicked his ash onto the gravel.

"Nothing personal, Your Highness. I'd rather not marry anybody. But Mother has three sons and one lake, and she's been trying to sell me since I was sixteen." He shrugged, and for a second the polish slipped. "On this coast a son's only worth the match he fetches. You know how it is."

"I'm learning," said Alexander, and kept brushing. "Does she ever ask what you'd like?"

Julian looked at him as if he'd spoken in another language.

"Nobody's ever asked me that," he said slowly. Then the smooth face came back. "Don't get ideas, dog boy. She'll choose the lake. They always do."

"Then you'll have a wife," Alexander said gently, "and I'll have the dogs. Everybody wins."

…

That night, behind the locked door of Pauline's study, Patricia couldn't stop walking.

"Twelve miles of prime lakeshore, Mother. Twelve miles. The boathouses, the boutique hotel—she’ll be filthy rich. If she marries into the Pryces, looking like that with Rosalind's nose and her own eyes restored, she’ll lock down the seat within a year. Grandmother is practically serving it to her on a silver platter!"

"Then marry the Pryce yourself!"

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