Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance)
closing the carriage door. "As I said, that was the agreement. Just remember that you are a Kenton and don't allow anyone to intimidate you, Breanna." With those parting words, Fielding tapped his cane on the roof, signaling to the coachman to drive on.
    Breanna stared after the departing coach, knowing she had just been deposited in a world where she would have to fend for herself. Feeling the servants' curious stares, she raised her chin and faced the twenty steps that would take her up to the front door. Her whole future awaited her on the other side of that door, and she trembled in fear at what she might find there. She recalled her brother's words, and oddly enough, they did give her courage. Yes, she was a Kenton, and she would face her adversary with dignity and pride in who she was. No one would make her cower in a corner, not the Marquess, and certainly not the unknown man who was to be her husband.
    From the top of the steps there appeared an elderly woman whom Breanna decided must be the head housekeeper. With a disdainful glance at Breanna's threadbare appearance, the woman smiled tightly. "I am the housekeeper, Mrs. Crowder. The Marquess has asked that you be brought to him immediately upon arrival."
    Breanna was oblivious to her surroundings as she was ushered up twisting stairs to the second floor. She was vaguely aware that the huge green vase she passed was from the Ming Dynasty, and that the paintings on the wall were masterpieces, finer than any that had hung at Kenton, even in its more prosperous days. When Mrs. Crowder stopped before a door, Breanna was overcome with dread. She was about to meet the great man himself, and she hoped she could hold her own with him. Something told her that if she did not establish her independence on this first meeting, she would be lost forever.
    The housekeeper opened the door and stepped back so Breanna could precede her inside. Breanna's nostrils were immediately assaulted with the nauseating smell of strong medicines and other unidentifiable sickroom odors. The room was so stuffy that Breanna could scarcely breathe. She could see no more than a vague outline of the man who was reclined on a big mahogany canopy bed. Even so, she felt her confidence evaporate at the thought of meeting him.
    "Lady Breanna Kenton, my lord," the housekeeper announced without warmth or feeling.
    "Come closer, girl," a raspy voice ordered with irritation. "Why do you dawdle in the middle of the room?"
    Breanna took as many hesitant steps as it required to bring her before the white-haired gentleman. At first, until her eyes became accustomed to the shadows cast by the hanging canopy, all Breanna could see was a gnarled hand, one finger circled with a crested ring. "Closer, girl. How can I see you when you hang back like a frightened rabbit? I want to find out if I got my money's worth in you."
    His whole manner incensed Breanna. She did not appreciate his high-handed, insulting attitude. "You will find, my lord, when you come to know me better, that I in no way resemble a frightened rabbit. As to whether or not you got your money's worth, you will have to judge that for yourself."
    There was silence as the gnarled hand reached out and lit a candle on the bedside table. The candle glow chased the darkened shadows away, and her eyes met with the lightest blue eyes she had ever seen. Bushy eyebrows arched over a wide nose. The Marquess's cheeks were sunken, and his pallor had a yellow cast to it, leaving little doubt in Breanna's mind that Lord Quincy was seriously ill. Steely blue eyes ran over her from the tip of her red-gold curls to the toe of her worn black slippers.
    "I take it from your tone of voice that you are not happy about the arrangement between your brother and myself."
    She gave a proud toss of her head. "That's correct."
    "Did your brother tell you about the wealth I will bestow on you?"”
    "Yes," she said dully, staring into his probing eyes. "If you think to impress me with

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