Authors: Heather Cullman
It was no lie, she thought, studying her reflection in the mirror. Despite the fact that she hadn’t slept a wink all night, she looked as fresh and rested as if she had just spent a quiet fortnight in the country. And a blessing it was, too. If she were out of looks, his lordship might have second thoughts about marrying her. Then she would end up in prison, where she’d heard a girl’s beauty faded in less than a day.
Shuddering at the horror of such a tragedy, she rose and stepped into the gown Heloise held. With no reason to continue her pretense of either cheer or goodwill toward her aunt in the absence of her maid, she settled into a brooding silence.
She had just sunk into a dark yet satisfying fantasy in which she feigned death to escape Lyndhurst, when her aunt grasped her arm and towed her to the cheval mirror.
“See, dear?” she said. “That gown is just the thing for a girl to wear for a proposal. Charming yet sophisticated; youthful but womanly enough that you look of an age for marriage.”
Sophie gazed at her reflection, though for the first time in her life she had no interest in her appearance. The gown in question was a new one, one which had arrived only two days earlier. Though she had been thrilled with it then — how could she not with its scalloped ruff and slashed Spanish sleeves? — today she saw it as a depressing symbol of her need to marry Lyndhurst.
“Poor dear,” her aunt murmured, awkwardly patting her arm. “I know this is a blue day for you, and I’m sorry. Truly I am. If there were something I could do, you know I would do it.”
When Sophie didn’t reply but continued to stare stonily into the mirror, Heloise tried again. “Please believe me when I say that I never wanted anything but the best for you. I — I — ” Her voice quivered, then choked completely as if she fought tears.
Sophie stole a glance out of the corner of her eye in time to see a fat tear roll down her aunt’s cheek. That rivulet of distress paired with Heloise’s woebegone expression instantly crushed her resolve to never forgive her.
Ah, well. In all fairness her current fix was Edgar’s doing, not her aunt’s. Why, the poor dear probably hadn’t known a thing about it until it was too late.
Having thus absolved the other woman’s guilt, Sophie turned and gathered her in her arms for a hug. “There, now, Auntie. Don’t cry,” she crooned. “There is nothing to forgive. Truly. You didn’t lose my fortune, Edgar did.” Him, she would never forgive.
Heloise clung to her as if she were the last hope of redemption on Judgment Day. “You mustn’t be too hard on Eddie, dear,” she said, punctuating the word dear with a loud sniffle. “He feels as badly about all this as I do.”
Sophie just bet he did. Especially in light of his parting remark the previous night: “You do anything to jeopardize your marriage to Lyndhurst, girl, and I swear that I shall take my mother and flee to America, leaving you behind to pay the piper.” By his harsh tone, it was clear that it wasn’t an idle threat.
Still rankled by his words, she opened her mouth to dispute his alleged remorse. One look at Heloise, however, and she closed it again. Her aunt was peering at her so earnestly, with such naked faith in her son’s goodness, that she hadn’t the heart to crush her motherly illusions. So she bit her tongue and murmured instead, “What is done is done, and there’s nothing we can do about it now. I must marry Lyndhurst, and that is that.” “Yes, you must marry him,” Heloise conceded. “But your marriage doesn’t have to be intolerable, you know.”
Sophie eyed her skeptically. “Oh?”
Her aunt nodded and pulled from her embrace. Frowning at Sophie’s sleeves, which were now quite crushed, she elaborated, “Lyndhurst is very wealthy, and he clearly adores you. That means that his pockets shall no doubt be open to you. Why, just imagine the fun you’ll have spending his money.”
“True. But I can’t shop all the time,” she pointed out, lifting her arm to allow her aunt to puff her undersleeve through the slashed outer one. “I shall eventually have to go home to his lordship and suffer his tedious company.”
“Not if you attend entertainments every evening. Most married couples I know never so much as glimpse at each other while at
soirees
and balls. Best of all, as a married woman you shall be free to speak, flirt, and dance with whomever you please.”
Sophie considered her aunt’s words for a moment, then nodded as she recalled how married men seemed to all but disappear the instant they arrived at any function. The idea had promise …
Unless, of course, Lyndhurst was one of those men who shunned the gaiety of the ton the second they left the altar. When she voiced her concern on that account, her aunt merely chuckled and circled behind her to tame her other sleeve.
“Then, you must invite guests to dine with you every evening,” she advised.
“And if he turns out to be one of those tiresome creatures who insists on rusticating at some remote estate?” “There are always house parties. Why, Lady Barberry has them so frequently that she hasn’t been without at least five guests for over fifteen years now.”
“That takes care of the problem of the days and evenings,” Sophie murmured, bowing her head to hide her sudden blush. “But what am I to do about afterward, when — ” She swallowed hard, fighting her rising terror at the thought of what came next. “When he insists on coming to my bed.” The sentence came out as little more than a panicked squeak.
Heloise left off her fussing to wrap a consoling arm around her distressed niece’s waist. “You must do what other women in your situation do,” she replied in a soothing tone. “You must think of something else … something pleasant. Like all the new gowns you can buy with your husband’s money.”
“I doubt I shall be able to concentrate on gowns during …
those
acts,” she whispered brokenly, remembering Lydia’s youngest brother’s whispered accounts of the ways between men and women. Why, just the thought of reciting lewd verses while tickling Lyndhurst’s bare backside with a feather …
Her knees buckled in horror at the thought of what that tickling led to, and she would have crumpled to the floor had Heloise not grasped her beneath her arm. Helping her to a chair, her aunt feebly suggested, “If you can’t think about gowns, perhaps it might help if you pretend that he’s someone else. Someone you desire. Oxley, perhaps?”
“There is no way I could ever imagine Lyndhurst to be Oxley. Lyndhurst is so … well … big!”
“It might work if you close your eyes.” When Sophie remained unconvinced, Heloise sighed and said, “Well, if Lyndhurst is like most men, it shouldn’t take him more than a moment or two to spend his desire. Then you shall be left in peace. Once you give him an heir or two, he will no doubt lose interest in you altogether and take to spending his lusts on his mistress.”
“If the marriage lasts long enough for him to get me with child,” Sophie reminded her, voicing the most troubling of her concerns. “What if I don’t conceive right away, and Lyndhurst’s pride isn’t what we suppose? He could dissolve our marriage, you know. Then what is to become of us? Everyone knows that the courts favor men of wealth and power, like Lyndhurst.”
Her aunt’s expression grew grim. “Then, you must try extra hard to get in the family way from the very beginning.”
“You mean …” Sophie broke off, too appalled to voice what she was certain her aunt was suggesting.
Heloise nodded at her unspoken query. “Yes. You must engage in relations frequently, before he learns the truth. You’re young and healthy. You should have no problem getting with child if you but try.”
At Sophie’s mew of distress, her aunt kneeled before her and took both her hands in hers. “I know the prospect of all that trying is troubling, but I see no other choice. Truly I don’t. Besides, it should be tolerable enough if you remember my advice.”
“Yes,” Sophie responded in a toneless voice. “Close my eyes and think pleasant thoughts.”
Chapter 3
The moment she was dreading had arrived.
“Smile, dear,” Heloise chided, pausing before the closed drawing room door.
Sophie tightened her lips, commanding the corners to curl up. When she’d feigned joy to the best of her present ability, she looked to her aunt for approval.
Heloise eyed her efforts critically, then shook her head. “No. No. That shan’t do at all. You look like you’re suffering a bilious complaint. You’re supposed to be happy, not ill.”
“But I am ill,” she grumbled. And it was true. Her head ached, and her stomach churned so fiercely that all she wanted to do was lie in a darkened room with a cool cloth on her forehead.
Her aunt made a soft tsking sound. “A slight touch of vapors. Nothing more. Perfectly normal under the circumstances.”
“This is hardly what I would call normal circumstances,” she muttered, feeling sicker by the moment.
“No. Which is why you must put on a cheerful face.” Her aunt demonstrated what she meant by grinning like a lunatic in the throes of a pleasurable dementia. Patting Sophie’s chin to encourage her to follow suit, she coaxed, “We can’t have his lordship seeing you out of sorts, now, can we? He might have second thoughts and decide to seek a more amiable bride.”
Sophie sighed and tried hard to adopt a like expression. Her aunt was right, of course. She really must make more of an effort to look thrilled by his lordship’s proposal. How else was she to convince him of her desire for a hasty marriage?
After a moment of toiling toward that end, when she was certain her smile could get no more radiant, she asked, “Better?”
Heloise cocked her head to one side, studying her. “Hmm. A bit, though you’re still hardly what I’d call radiant.”
She parted her lips to display some teeth. “How is this?”
It was her aunt’s turn to sigh. “If that’s the best you can manage, I suppose it will have to do. Hopefully his lordship will attribute your brittleness to maidenly reserve.” With that less than encouraging verdict, she opened the door and all but shoved her reluctant niece into the room.
Lyndhurst, who sat military straight on the edge of a chair, jumped to his feet the instant they appeared and sketched a courtly bow. “Lady Marwood. Miss Barrington.”
Heloise nodded in acknowledgment, while Sophie stood powerless to do more than display a fraction more tooth.
For several interminable moments the parties gazed from one to the other, waiting for the other to proceed. Then, in a frantic burst of pleasantries, both Lyndhurst and Heloise began to speak at once. With Heloise blushing and Lyndhurst clearing his throat, they abruptly fell silent again.
After a few beats in which neither ventured to speak again, his lordship nodded. “Please, Lady Marwood. Do go first.”
She nodded back. “I was saying that I believe you came to see my niece, and that you wish to speak with her alone.”
“Indeed I did,” he replied with a smile.
Not that Sophie actually saw his expression. She was staring at the knot of his neck cloth, avoiding, as she always did, the trial of looking at his scar. She just assumed that he smiled by the warmth of his voice.
“Well, then — ” Heloise jabbed Sophie in the back with her fan to urge her forward ” — I shall bid you a good day.”
Sophie opened her mouth to protest the poke, but mercifully caught herself in time. Sealing her lips with another strained smile, she obeyed her aunt’s prodding and advanced forward. Remembering her manners, she offered her hand to Lyndhurst.
In a flash he loomed before her, taking it in his. Behind her she heard the door slam as her aunt exited. Lucky Heloise, she thought enviously. What she wouldn’t give to escape his lordship’s tedious presence as well. With much effort she stifled her urge to sigh. Hopefully this proposal business wouldn’t take long.
And even if it did, it was better than the alternative.
Remembering that alternative was enough to prompt her to glance at the man before her. If she was to avoid prison, she must remember to pretend that she fancied him and behave accordingly. That meant casting him an adoring gaze or two.
As she attempted to do exactly that, he kissed her hand and all she saw was the back of his head. For several beats she stared at the hair that grew there, shocked to discover that it was quite nice. Lovely, in truth, with its lustrous burnished brown waves. In the next instant he straightened up again, and all favorable thoughts vanished as she found herself faced with his scar.
Though she wanted nothing more than to look away, she commanded herself to hold steady, suddenly determined to see beyond his disfigurement. If she was to be his wife, she must know the shape of his nose and lips, learn the curve of his brow and the color of his eyes. Who knows? She might find something besides just his hair to like.
Thus resolved, she tried to force her gaze a few inches higher to peer into his eyes. But, alas, it was no use. As always happened, it remained morbidly fixated on the long white line that ran from cheekbone to jaw.
As she stared in grim fascination, she heard him say, “You’re looking exceedingly lovely this morning, Miss Barrington.”
She started at the sound of his voice and self-consciously dropped her gaze to the floor. Confound it! She had to be more careful. It wouldn’t do at all for him to catch her gaping at his scar like it was a hanging spectacle at Newgate Prison. Especially since there was always the danger of her forgetting herself and grimacing her revulsion.