Authors: Beverley Oakley
As Antoinette chattered, Fanny’s brief euphoria gave way to hopelessness. In the morning she would marry Lord Slyther. What choice did she have? Neither he nor her mother would allow further postponement, so what possible hope had she of eliciting anything from Lord Fenton before it was too late?
Anything
that would give her reason to delay her nuptials for a few more days.
After delivering Lady Harwood to her modest lodgings, the carriage deposited the two sisters in front of theirs, but before the jarvey was dismissed Lady Brightwell came hurrying down the front steps dressed in a dark cloak.
“Inside with you, Antoinette—Fanny, we’re going to see Lord Slyther.” She rubbed her hands together as she waited to be assisted up the step, while Antoinette obediently disappeared through the front door. “He’s impatient, Fanny. You did well last night. Perhaps Lord Slyther has the priest and witnesses already waiting.” She squeezed Fanny’s arm as she settled herself on the carriage seat beside Fanny. “Tonight could be your
wedding
night!”
Fanny didn’t know whether to scream, faint or be sick.
“Come, girl, show a little jubilation. You have done well.
Very
well.”
Dully, Fanny stared ahead. After a long silence she whispered, “I don’t know if I can do this, Mother.”
“Whatever is this nonsense, Fanny?” A note of alarm crept into Lady Brightwell’s tone. “Lord Slyther is a
viscount
. He is
rich
. He has promised to be
generous
—”
Despair threatened to undo Fanny. “Provided I become his slave. Oh, Mother, he made me do the most appalling things the other night.” She slumped against the cold window. “You have no idea. I thought I was going to die of shame—”
“Do you imagine you’re the only young woman who has had to barter her body to buy a life?” Lady Brightwell’s dismay turned to anger. Growing anger. “Would you see us cast into the streets, or forced into a grinding, menial existence because you are not prepared to do what
every
other young woman has to do in order to satisfy a man? Yes, men are disgusting creatures and Lord Slyther is probably worse than most. But he has one redeeming feature, Fanny, that you can’t ignore.” Directing the full force of her fulminating glare upon Fanny as the carriage drew up in front of Lord Slyther’s elegant Mayfair address, she comforted her daughter, “He cannot possibly live long. Then, my dear, your reward will be widowhood and, if you play your cards right in the meantime, a sizeable widow’s portion. Now, get out of the carriage and do what you have to do without that long face!”
Terrified, Fanny waited outside Lord Slyther’s bedchamber, where she’d been instructed to see him. Her mother had been ushered to the drawing room.
As the door opened to admit her she nearly gasped at the foetid sickroom air but managed to retain the pleasant and decorous smile demanded by her mother.
And by herself, for her mother spoke the truth. Only careful calculation was going to get Fanny what she wanted.
She curtsied. “I missed you this evening, my Lord.” She made a point of fingering the ring she had been given upon its chain. There had been an uncomfortable moment when Lord Fenton had whisked up Fanny’s handkerchief, in which the ring had been wrapped, in order to assist with some discreet mopping up. Fortunately for her white muslin, she had not bled—her days as a keen horsewoman during the family’s exile in France had seen to that.
When the ring had fallen from the handkerchief into Lord Fenton’s lap, along with Lady Harwood’s retrieved bracelet, he’d but glanced at it. She had hoped the coat of arms would not be familiar to him. He had certainly made no comment as he’d returned the items before resuming his post-coital comforting.
Comforting it had been, and it was all Fanny had to sustain herself with, for now Lord Slyther was struggling up on his pillows, his grimace of pain contorting into one of relative pleasure to see her.
“Missed me, eh?” he repeated, patting the mattress at his side. “Come and tell me
how
you missed me, Miss Brightwell. Such pretty words, but empty unless you elaborate.”
Fanny had resolved not to shrink from him. His odious person, reeking with decay, and his words, foul and disrespectful, would not find their mark. Tonight, Fanny would do what she had to in order to play for the time she so desperately needed.
Sinking beside him, she looked at the hand he placed upon her thigh and said, demurely, “My mother is in the next room so you must not take liberties, Lord Slyther.”
He let out a crack of laughter. “Got your spirit back, have you? My, but I enjoyed our last little session, teaching precocious Miss Brightwell her place. I see you are not so easily cowed as I’d thought. Good, more sport for me—for you
will
learn how to behave in my company, Miss Brightwell.”
Fanny lowered her eyes. He liked her spirit, for he enjoyed breaking her down. She saw that. The issue was how she should play her behaviour so that he would grant her the few days’ delay she needed.
“I am a lady, my Lord, and I will not have my reputation besmirched, even if we are due to wed in the morning. It is late and I am surprised my mother acceded to your unconventional request.”
“Your mother is so eager for all I can confer on her daughter and the benefits to herself that she’d accede to anything.”
It required no play-acting to look as desolate as she felt. Fanny had always been a dutiful daughter, desperate to achieve whatever her mother demanded, but she did not want to hear the truth laid bare in such a way.
He softened at her expression and said, almost kindly, “Let us pay no heed to your mama. You’ll be free of her soon enough and, though you might fear me now, I promise you, I shall be an indulgent husband…provided you are a good girl. Kiss me, Miss Brightwell.”
She could not show the aversion she felt, though it was appropriate to display reluctance at such a great liberty.
“You can kiss me all you like when we are wed, my Lord,” she whispered, holding her ground.
“I shall enjoy your acquiescence, then, and your dutiful enthusiasm”—he tugged on her arm—“but tonight I will enjoy showing you who is master.”
Before she could object further, he had jerked her into his arms and plastered his loose lips upon hers in a revolting, slobbery, grinding motion that made her want to scream and cry. She felt she was suffocating with the horror of it all, and didn’t know what to do that wouldn’t incite his evil desire to grind her down further.
Allowing him sufficient satisfaction before she broke free, she forced her tears into abeyance, saying briskly, almost playfully, “Let us save some surprises for after we are wed. Now, my Lord, your leg looks painful. Allow me to bring you some relief with the unguents I see beside your bed. Shall I remove the dressing and massage it?”
The suggestion took him by surprise. Clearly, even he had thought she would be reluctant at such an obviously disgusting task, for the weeping sores were evident beneath the bandages.
Holding her breath, forcing the smile to remain unwavering upon her face, Fanny unwrapped the stained linen and laid the limb beside her. She’d thought to place it upon her lap but lost courage at the last minute. She couldn’t bring herself to come
that
much into contact with it, for the suppurating flesh would stain her dress and the stink she’d have to carry home with her was more than she could bear.
Oh, dear Lord, she thought, briefly closing her eyes, the sacrifices she had to make. It was a brief lapse. Almost immediately the smile was back in place and she was rubbing in the ointment and murmuring, “I hope this eases the discomfort a little, my Lord. My grandmother said I was a very good nurse when I used to massage her painful old legs.”
Lord Slyther grunted. His eyes were closed and, judging by his expression, he’d all but given himself up to the soothing sensation.
Fanny tried to separate herself from the hateful present and return to the thrilling past. She would not feel shame. Perhaps in the eyes of her mother she’d done a terrible thing but no punishment could take away from her the satisfaction that she’d given her virginity to a man who set her senses on fire. She’d exercised free will and she’d pleased herself.
Please, dear Lord, don’t make it for the last time
.
For so long did she gently knead Lord Slyther’s white, pestilential flesh and rub ointment into the sores that Fanny fervently hoped he’d gone to sleep. But when she paused to return sensation to her aching hands, he opened his eyes.
“You’re more than just the pretty face I thought you, Miss Brightwell,” he murmured. “Your grandmother was right—you have a nurse’s touch and the sooner we’re wed the better.”
Fanny accepted the compliment with a gracious smile. “You are kind, my Lord.” She couldn’t let him see that she was cowed. Bullies preyed on weakness, she knew, and she would display no more weakness in front of Lord Slyther. She definitely wouldn’t cry, though the thought of offering herself up to him as required made her want to break down upon the spot.
She put her hand gently upon his ankle. “How long do your gout attacks last, my Lord? Will you be better in the morning? At least able to walk, I mean?”
“Another two or three days in bed, if previous attacks are anything to go by. The parson arrives in the morning.” He gave her a sly look. “Unless you’re willing to wait and I’ll send for him now. I have a special licence and I can choose for myself.”
“Would it not be better, my Lord, if you were in less pain to enjoy your wedding night”—she lowered her eyes—“so you could be more…yourself?”
He grunted again. “Don’t know I can wait that long, Miss Brightwell.” He struggled upon his pillows and his hand went out to touch the bare skin above her décolletage. Fingering the ring upon its chain, he hesitated as he added, “Though you are right…”
Fanny’s heart lurched at the concession. “In three days’ time, my Lord, you would be well enough to stand by my side and”—she swallowed—“be the bridegroom of my desires.”
For a second he appeared to consider her suggestion. Suddenly, he jerked forward and pulled her to him, though he immediately released her, despite the fact that she had not squealed. He seemed angry when she straightened, staring wide-eyed, shocked by his surprising strength and his erratic behaviour.
“Three days, then, Miss Brightwell. I see the good sense in a short delay. In the meantime, you can stand up and come to my side. You’ve had the pleasure of running your hands over my tender flesh. Now it’s my turn.”
When Fanny was reunited with her mother her recent horrors must have been evident, for, as she rose to greet her in the drawing room, Lady Brightwell hissed, “I hope your smile was pleasanter than
that
for Lord Slyther.”
“Oh, Mama, the things he did to me,” she nearly wept once they were in the carriage. “He put his hands—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” her mother cut in, looking straight ahead as she settled herself. “I’m just sorry he couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, when you’ll be safely wed.”
“The wedding is in three days’ time—”
“
Three
days!” Her mother swung round sharply. “What has happened, Fanny? Why three days?” There was panic in her tone before her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Fanny hurried on. “Lord Slyther’s gout is paining him. He’ll wed me when he is a little more recovered.”
Lady Brightwell rounded on her. “
You
asked for a postponement, didn’t you, Fanny?
You
suggested his manliness would be greater for the fact he could at least walk, when all that matters is that it is legally done and you are Lady Slyther. What possessed you, daughter, after everything I have done for you? How
could
you—”
Fanny was close to tears as she defended herself. “Mama, there is a gentleman, a viscount, handsome and rich, who has taken a fancy to me. I know that with a little time, even three days, perhaps, I can win his regard sufficiently for—”
“Little fool!” Lady Brightwell’s anger was accompanied by another of her stinging slaps across her daughter’s cheek. “I’ve heard that one too many times before, Fanny! Lord Alverley, remember? Oh yes, smitten he might have been, but he was young and tied to his mother’s apron strings. Only you couldn’t see that, could you? Well, what truth have you overlooked this time? You are ruled by your foolish heart, girl. It sweeps away all reason. It’ll be the same story with your latest fancy. Mark my words, he’ll tell you he’ll fly to the moon to make you his, but when his mama hears her son has fallen in love with a baron’s daughter with no fortune—in one night—the same thing will happen. Who is this viscount?”
“Lord Fenton—”