“Make you! You are not some foolish heroine in a melodrama. There is no question of my making you do anything.” Brows drawn fiercely together, Papa got to his feet. “The law of the land gives me the right to insist you marry any man of my choosing. I am not a despot, however, but a father wishing to do his best by a daughter who should understand her duty to the family by now.” He glowered. “I have found you an eminently suitable husband, whose family interests perfectly complement ours. What I expect from you is compliance and gratitude, not disrespect and disobedience.”

“Papa! I am neither of those things.”

“I beg to differ, Margaret. You are also immature and overly dramatic. To speak so defiantly—”

“No, no, Papa, I would not dream of— I did not mean—” Margaret broke off, tears smarting her eyes. “I am perfectly aware that I must marry, but—”

“I am pleased to hear that.” Her father cut her short. “This betrothal has, for reasons I cannot fathom, come as a surprise to you. You are very young for your age compared to your sister. I will make some allowance for that, and you in turn must trust me when I assure you that you will thank your mother and me when you understand the many advantages of this match.”

“I can already see the advantages, but—”

“As for this irrational dislike you claim, that is stuff and nonsense. You barely know the man. I am convinced you will think very differently when you do. Trust that your mother and I know best. Now, if we are finished, I have other urgent business to attend to.”

“Let me talk to Margaret. There is no need to detain you further,” Mama said, accompanying him to the drawing-room door, where they whispered together for a moment.

“Mama,” Margaret exclaimed as soon as the door was closed behind her father, “please . . .”

“No more. You have said quite enough.” The duchess’s pretty mouth firmed as her expression hardened.

Margaret could almost feel the shackles being locked and bolted into place around her heart. “But you don’t understand. I haven’t explained myself properly.”

“Explained what, precisely? Why you have decided to take an obtuse aversion to a well-respected gentleman of excellent character and means? Are you setting yourself up as a superior judge of character to the duke?”

“No, but . . .”

“Or myself, perhaps? You think that I don’t know you, my own daughter, well enough to judge the type of man who would best suit you as a husband? You have made your mind up without giving Killin the benefit of the doubt. The man is doing you the honour of offering for your hand, and you won’t even consider his proposal. Do you think that fair?”

“No, Mama,” Margaret said, mortified. “I’m sorry for my outburst.”