He caught himself. Eppie was the man he wanted to return to being, wasn't he? Julian was the one subject to inexplicable acts of generosity and kindness. Julian was the one running the risk with his soul, the one most likely to end up dangerously wounded by his emotions.
Yes, Eppie was definitely the one to be. Spoiled and selfish, lost to kindlier impulses, impervious to emotional dependence of any kind. Eppie could cold-bloodedly maneuver and marry a woman for his own purpose, feeling nothing but triumph.
Looking down at Suzette on the bed, he abruptly noticed how posed she seemed. Legs parted in enticement, arms stretching up in a manner designed to thrust her breasts forward, she looked an absolute invitation to sin.
Yet, for the first time, her lush body struck him as overblown and common. Her patently lascivious nature flooded him with distaste.
A smaller, slimmer body imposed itself upon his vision, one full of eager innocent passion and delicate sensuality.
Shaking his head to dispel the image of Izzy beckoning to him from the bed, he tried to focus his passion. He had no desire for Izzy. Suzette was what he wanted, what he had always wanted.
Until now. Until he had spent time with a woodsprite of a girl who made him think, and laugh, and care. Now, the idea of coupling with a well-used article like Suzette left him cold.
"It seems that time has come, my dear," he said at last. He turned away, fastening his trousers. "I shall be sure to send a little something over, a parting gift. You may stay in the house for a month." He did not wish to insult her, for she had been a good mistress, eager to please and discreet in her infidelity.
In his carriage, he was forced to examine his decision. Why had he felt aversion to the same female he had so recently been unable to get enough of? Why had her charms, which were so very much to his taste, left him unmoved?
He finally concluded with some relief that it was perfectly natural to tire of Suzette. After all, she had been with him nearly a year. Since he was soon to be married, this was a good time to end it.
Once he was wed, and Izzy securely ensconced in the country, he would look about for a new mistress. Someone more refined, with a more delicate figure. Perhaps he could locate a woman with an education. Suzette had never been much of a conversationalist, to be sure.
Julian leaned back into the cushions, much satisfied with his plan.
Knocking briskly at the roof of his vehicle, he gave brisk directions through the driver's trapdoor. Now, it was time to put another plan into effect. Relaxing back into the seat, he wondered with some anticipation what Eric would have to say about it.
When Izzy awoke to the morning sun flowing through her chamber window, she was disoriented. Sunlight? Her room never received a ray of the sun until the last hours before sunset. She sat up, confused by the lush surroundings. The room was large and opulent. And warm. Even during her stay at the Calwells', sharing a small room with the untidy Grace, she had never waked to such splendor.
Her linens and bedcovers were lavish and beautiful. Elegant curtains of deep blue brocade surrounded the scrolled bedposts, and rich jewel-tones glowed as the beaming sun caught the colors of the carpet. She sighed in delight at the beauty of the chamber.
Then recollection came crashing in. The memory of her family's betrayal and the destruction of her dreams made her recoil. Closing her eyes against the vision of Hildegard's smugly vicious face, she pulled the covers to her belly to warm the chill lodged there.
Feelings of helplessness and fury fought within her, the conflict enough to roil her stomach. She drew a breath shakily, forcing down her panic.
It could be worse. True, she was destitute, but she was not entirely without resources. She had good friends in Julian and Celia. Although it sat ill with her to depend, for the moment she had a place of refuge. Her tension eased and she was able to think more clearly.
As for her plans for America, she would simply have to be creative. Perhaps she could work her way there as a governess for a family making the voyage.
In truth, she could manage as a cook, or housekeeper, or gardener anywhere in the world she wished. She knew how to work, and she was young and strong. She had many useful skills, and a woman with skills was never helpless. Why, she could even ride and shoot!
As she sat, a knock sounded on the door, followed by a bustling Ellie. Izzy threw back the covers, embarrassed to be still abed at such an hour.
"Don't you stir, miss. You'll still be worn out, I say, from bein' dragged a hundred miles in the night."
Izzy smiled at the exaggeration. Ellie briskly poured a basin of fresh water for her, and arranged the breakfast tray on the sunlit table.
After a quick bath, and the donning of borrowed underthings, Izzy put on yesterday's gown, freshly brushed out by Ellie. Unused to having such attentions, Izzy was shyly thanking the girl when Celia tapped at the door and entered.
"Are you quite recovered, Izzy? Ready for some company?"
Celia seemed reticent, as if she was not sure of her welcome. Extending her hand to her friend, Izzy drew her to sit on the sapphire fainting couch.
"Celia, I do not know how to thank you for coming to my rescue like this."
"No, Izzy, it is I who should be thanking you." With lowered gaze, Celia bashfully fingered the trim of the velvet seat. "You spoke to Lady Greenleigh about me, did you not?"
"I merely mentioned in passing that it was a pity you were so shy, when I found you such delightful company." And had correctly interpreted the maternal gleam in Lady Greenleigh's gaze as she'd eyed the supposedly aloof Lady Bottomly in that new light. Izzy had left the matter at that, fully trusting in Lady Greenleigh's protective instincts.
"Well, whatever you said, it has been most lovely the way they have included me. We have all been shopping together, and had wonderful visits, and now you are here and can join us. It will be such fun!"
Though her eyes brightened for a moment, Celia quickly fell back into her sober mood.
"I cannot thank you enough, Izzy. They are the finest women I have ever known, aside from you. It quite feeds my soul to have such friends."
"Has it been so very lonely for you, Celia?"
"Yes, it has. There are things you do not know, things—"
Izzy waited, not wanting to press her.
"If you are to stay with me for a while, I feel that there are things you must understand. This is not a dependable refuge for you, dear one. My home can be a… battlefield at times."
At Izzy's uncomprehending look, Celia shook her head but was unable to go on.
Izzy felt a trace of alarm run through her at her friend's speechlessness. She moved closer and put her hand on Celia's cold ones. "Celia, what is it that you fear?"
At that, the blonde's chin came up sharply, as if in spasmodic reflex against the word.
"Fear?" Her breathy voice broke. "Fear is my companion. Almost my friend. It is how I know I am still living, after…"
"After? After what?" Izzy's soft whisper barely broke the silence, yet Celia sprang from the sofa as if shot from a cannon.
"Nothing. There is nothing to fear here." Trying to discreetly rub away the tears collecting on her cheeks, she shot a brilliant smile at Izzy. "It is simply that my husband is not fond of house guests. You will only be able to stay until he returns." Looking away from Izzy's worried regard, she gave her skirts a shake and turned to the mirror to adjust her hair.
"Leave it. It is perfect." Izzy came from behind to gaze at her friend's reflection in the mirror. She saw such pain and hopelessness in Celia's beautiful eyes that her heart felt bruised by the discovery.
Her friend was beyond miserable, beyond afraid. She was drowning in a whirlpool of such desolation as Izzy could only imagine. Grasping Celia's hand gently in her own, she brought it away from the shining lock it was adjusting.
"Celia, look at me. There
is
something to fear here." When her friend tried to pull away, Izzy held fast. "No. I will not ignore this. You must tell me, so we can make it cease."
Abruptly, Celia's tattered control broke. Great raw sobs, horrible and throat-tearing in their intensity, poured from her as she stood rigidly, still gazing into the mirror. Only now her eyes were locked with Izzy's, locked with them as if that lifeline connecting them was her only hope of survival.
Anguished for her dear wounded friend, Izzy wrapped her arms around Celia as tightly as she could, pressing to her back as if to hold her up in a hammering wind. Celia's hands were fisted whitely at her sides, her mouth pulled awry by the force of her sobs. The two women stood, locked by eyes and bodies and pain, before the mirror that reflected, in ruthless contrast, the luxurious room behind them.
In the wake of the emotional storm, they sat pressed closely together, hands knotted between them. Though Celia still shuddered from the violence of her tears, her voice was even.
"It is not easy for me to speak of these things, yet I cannot allow you to endanger yourself by not knowing.
"Once you asked if I would like you to re-invent me. Oh, how I wish you could have. I have become everything I never wanted to be."
Celia looked away for a moment, then turned back as if reaching a resolution. "You have never asked about that night. About Eppie—I mean, about Julian and I. I know you must think badly of me, betraying my wedding vows as I did.
"Although I never actually did, you know. We were set quite askew by a little matter of left and right."
With a wry twist of her lips, Celia waited through Izzy's snort of relieved laughter. Then she became serious once more.
"I trust you, Izzy, else I should never share this. It is my deepest shame. I ought not to speak of such things to an unmarried woman, but the blackness of it quite threatens to carry me away sometimes. I have often thought that if I could only unburden myself to someone… May I confess to you, dear Izzy, even though I may shock you?"
Izzy nodded.
Celia drew a shuddering breath, then began.
"I was bartered for a title and fifty thousand pounds when I was seventeen. I had no debut, no courtship. Merely a quick ceremony, and off to Scotland for the grouse season. His lordship is an avid hunter, you see. I had never seen him before that day, never knew of the plan until I was brought before the vicar."
Her voice lowered. "My father told me that I was the only hope for saving the estate, that my mother and sisters would be homeless without this marriage. I was quite terrified but, of course, I consented. I never had thought I might choose my own husband, though I had thought to be older, to have had a season. My new husband took me to the lodge in Scotland, and there he did his best to get an heir on me. For nearly five years, he kept me imprisoned and came to me, every night. Night after night."
An almost imperceptible tremor wracked her and her hands clenched spasmodically.
"I saw no one else but the servants in all that time. He never brought me to town, or allowed me to visit my family. That drafty pile of stone was my dungeon. I had no callers, and the servants watched me at all times.
"Eventually, he decided to have me examined. Like a possession that was malfunctioning. Like a horse that was not breeding properly." She shuddered. "Once in London, he had hordes of doctors inspect me. They investigated my body as if I were a criminal, hiding my fertility from its rightful owner.
"In the end, all the physicians had the same opinion. One of us was incapable. Of course, they all preferred to believe it to be me. Especially my husband."
Sitting very still, Izzy curbed her growing rage. She had guessed at an unhappy marriage, but this tale of subjugation was cruder than she had imagined.
"He gave up coming to me at night, saying I was a waste of his seed. I began to relax, thinking he would leave me alone, having no use for me. Last season, when he began escorting me to all the finest events, I even began to think perhaps he had some fondness for me, outside of breeding potential.
"I was such a fool. Before long, he began hosting small intimate dinners with men he wished favors from, political or financial. I acted as his hostess, of course. There were never any other women there and the men paid me much embarrassing attention.
"Then, one night, late in the season, he left me alone with one of his guests—a lascivious old man, with bad teeth and cold, cold hands." Celia swallowed, her voice failing.
Izzy silently smoothed the icy fingers clenched around hers until her friend could speak again.
"I managed to fight him off and ran to tell Lord Bottomly. My husband… struck me… ordered me back downstairs to 'earn my keep.' I couldn't believe it. He had struck me before, I knew he enjoyed that, but I could not believe he could ask this other thing from me. Of course, I refused.
"He beat me… severely… and locked me in my chamber for weeks, with no sustenance barring bread and water, until I pleaded with him to let me out. He laughed. He made me get on my knees.
He made me beg
…"
Her voice a whisper, Celia clapped one hand over her mouth to halt the silent keening that threatened to erupt from her throat. Izzy could feel her friend's body tense until she was afraid it would shatter.
Grasping Izzy's hand tightly enough to send it to sleep, Celia continued, her voice gradually regaining its strength.
"I agreed to help him promote his undertakings, and he agreed to let me come to London every season, alone. Until he… needs me, of course."
Celia looked up from where her gaze had fastened on the carpet, and met Izzy's eyes for the first time since she had begun her tale.
"I knew that this would be the season I would become his whore. I simply wanted to find something of my own first. Julian was so kind and so handsome. He teased me and made me laugh. I had not laughed in so very long.
"I decided that before I became a tool for my husband's aspirations, I would steal some memories to sustain me through what awaited."