Free Nan Ryan by Kathleens Surrender

… what are you saying?” Dawson was taken aback, stunned at Louis’ harsh words.
    “I’m saying you are crazy if you think I would ever let my precious daughter marry you. Can I make myself any plainer?” He looked at Dawson defiantly. At a loss, Dawson looked at the older man and struggled to find his tongue. Speechless, he just stared. “You are not fit to marry Kathleen, Mister Blakely. You won’t marry her, I forbid it!”
    “How can you forbid it? Your daughter is in love with me; you must have known we were planning to be married.” Dawson’s words came out in a rush. “You have made me welcome here, willingly let Kathleen see me. What has happened to change your mind? You aren’t making any sense.”
    “I never wanted you here, never. I’ve tolerated your presence because my willful daughter was fascinated with you. I thought she would surely get over it, but it seems that isn’t going to happen. She fancies herself in love with you, much to my dismay.”
    “What have you got against me? What have I ever done to displease you? I love and respect your daughter, you know I do. All I care about is making her happy.”
    Hannah lay on her bed upstairs, her tired eyelids drooping sleepily. She heard faint noises downstairs and opened her eyes. Voices grew louder and Hannah sat up. She strained to hear and wondered who was talking. She slowly rose and went to her door and opened it a crack. Puzzled, Hannah shook her head. No one was supposed to be home. Abigail had told her just before she left for town that Mister Dawson was not coming out today, that something had come up and the meeting had been postponed. So who was downstairs talking? Quietly, Hannah slipped down the stairs and what she heard when she neared the closed doors of the library shocked and hypnotised her. Hannah pressed close to the door and listened to the unmistakable, angry voices of Louis Beauregard and Dawson Blakely.
    “I want my daughter to be happy, too, Mister Blakely, and that’s precisely why I’ll never let her marry you.”
    “But why, for God’s sake? What have I ever done but please her?” Dawson was terribly upset, his voice raised to a shout.
    “Will you lower your voice, please! Mister Blakely, my daughter is above you, can’t you understand that? She is descended from the throne of France on my side of the family and from the throne of England on her mother’s. We are aristocrats and members of our family never marry beneath themselves. If you want to better yourself by marrying into a family with an impeccable background, you’ve come to the wrong place. I won’t allow it.”
    “I’m not trying to better myself and you know it. I don’t care about your background. I love your daughter. Nothing else matters to me.”
    “Well, it does to me. I know what you came from and you are not good enough for my daughter! Your middle name is Harpe, Mister Blakely, and the entire South is well aware of what kind of people the Harpes are. Robbers, murderers, the scum of the earth; mean, ruthless, the dregs of humanity!”
    “Mister Beauregard, I’m not like that. Can I help it if my ancestors were Harpes? What has that got to do with me? I’m a decent man and you know it.”
    “I don’t care. You’re a Harpe and I won’t have Kathleen marrying into that family. You are trash, Blakely, you were born and raised under the bluffs. Your mother was a Harpe and your father a worthless gambler. The Harpes are notorious! People still tell of the unspeakable things they did. They were animals; they hacked people to death, they killed whole families, they disemboweled helpless victims and filled their empty stomachs with rocks. So despicable were they that one of them even bashed the brains out of his own child! That’s what you came from! Do you have to ask why I refuse to let you marry my daughter?”
    Dawson’s face grew darker with rage. “I know everything about my family and I refuse to apologize for any of it. Maybe