The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) (5 page)

     Lord
Summerville seemed satisfied with my reply, but I could not help but feel
sympathy for him. He seemed sad suddenly, as though mention of his wife had
exposed him, kept him from hiding his hurt beneath his charm.  I had been
subjected to the most selfish and brutal behaviour by men and here was one of
that
gender
actually concerned that his wife should be
happy.  I had no idea that such a creature existed.

  “I shall take my leave and let you rest.  Think about what
I asked, please.  I would consider it a great service and one more thing;
please do not allow yourself to be hidden away.”  He paused for a moment
before he went on:  “I realise that you do not wish to hear it, but you
really are far too beautiful to hide yourself away.”

   
He left then while I watched him climb into his carriage and wave goodbye to
me.  I waved back, feeling somewhat disorientated.  This had been a
night of firsts for me.  That was the first time anyone had told me I was
beautiful without making me feel uncomfortable.  The Earl had stated it as
a fact, not in an admiring way but as he might have said the sky was blue or
the grass was green.  It was a strange feeling.

   
And I thought hard and long about his odd request.  He had given me a lot
in that one evening, far more than he could ever even suspect, and I felt I
owed him something in return.  Perhaps I could bring myself to speak to
Lady Summerville, to befriend her and learn what troubled her.  I had
little experience of the normal world, but I could try to do it for him.

   
I was half afraid that my new found confidence might desert me after sleeping,
but I still felt it when I awoke and I decided to do what I should have done
months ago.  I knew that one of my servants was robbing me, one of the
senior ones at that who my late husband had placed in a position of
trust.  I determined to speak to her that morning, before my courage fled.

   
“I wish to know, Alice,”
I said firmly when she brought my breakfast, “What you have done with my
diamond bracelet.”

   
“My Lady?
  Have you lost another piece of
jewellery?”

   
“I have not.  Nor have I lost any others.”  I found the anger then to
carry on.  I had been treated like a backward child long enough.  “I
know you have stolen from me.  I do not want someone in my house
whom
I cannot trust with my possessions or my secrets.”

   
I thought she might at least lower her gaze, look ashamed,
ask
forgiveness.  She would have had I been a man or a woman with more
power.  As it was, I was a helpless creature with no money and no male
protection except an uncle who was not allowed to go to the same places as I,
and who did not care for me anyway.

   
She shrugged and put down the tray.

   
“You mean like the handsome secret
who
brought his
carriage for you last night, My Lady?”  She asked impertinently.

   
“Lord Summerville is not a secret,” I replied angrily.  “He was sent by
the King himself to escort me to the ball.”

   
There was a definite smirk on her round face which made me angry enough to
strike her, but I managed to keep myself under control.

   
“He may not be a secret yet,” she went on, “but give him time.”

   
No ‘My Lady’ that time.  The woman was getting bolder and more insolent.

   
“What does that mean exactly,” I demanded.

   
“Let us just say that His Lordship has something of a reputation with the
ladies,” she replied with that same smirk.  “I mean, look at him!  He
would not give me a second glance but if he did, I would not be the one to
refuse him.”

   
I was horrified, both by her implication and by her brazenness.

   
“You have a foul mind, mistress,” I replied quickly, “and I will thank you to
remove it and yourself from my house and from my employment.  You have one
hour to get your things together and leave, and I mean your things, not mine!”

   
“You cannot do that,” she argued.  “I am not employed by you.  You do
not pay my wages.”

   
“My late husband did not employ you to steal from me and accuse me of
adultery.”

   
“Your late husband did not employ me at all!  It is your uncle who pays
for this house and the servants, your clothing and your sustenance.”  She
took a deep breath and looked satisfied that she had shocked me.

    
“My uncle?”
  I replied, shaking my head. 
“No.  You are wrong.  The Earl left this house and pension for me
during my lifetime.”

     “No, he
left you nothing.  He did not care if you starved on the streets.  It
is your uncle who bought the house at auction and keeps you.”

     “Get
out!”  I screamed.  “Get out now, and do not return!”

     I must
have screamed very loudly because at that moment Harry, one of the men servants
opened the door without knocking and appeared with a look of real concern.

     “My
Lady,” he said quickly.  “Is everything all right?”

     “No, it
is not.  Can you make sure that this woman takes her belongings and leaves
my house at once?  Or do you have some objection to my making those
decisions?”

     “No, My
Lady,” he replied quietly. 
“Whatever you say.”

     “Good,
because if you cannot do that, you may go with her and anyone else who feels
they have the right to steal from me.”

     He took
her arm and guided her to the door but I stopped him before he left the room.

     “Have
the carriage brought round, please.  I wish to visit my uncle.”

     I could
hardly believe what the woman had told me.  How could my uncle have
deceived me like this, and what was his motive?  Why did he not want the
credit for his good act?  Did he suppose I might be too proud and want to
move into his house instead?  Just as if I could be too proud for
anything.

     He was
busy writing when I was shown into his rooms.  He looked up with an
irritated frown, as though I had interrupted something much more interesting
and important.  I realised all at once that he still treated me as the
poor little wretched child who first appeared on his doorstep seven years ago
and my newly discovered confidence was not going to allow it to continue.

     “I was
told,” I began firmly, “that it is you who is responsible for my residence and
for my upkeep, not the Earl of
Connaught
.  I was
told that he left me nothing, that the house was to be sold over my head. 
Is it true?”

     He
looked uncomfortable as though I had discovered a shameful secret.

     “Yes, it
is true,” he confirmed quietly.

     “Why? 
And why did you not tell me?”

    
“Why?”  He repeated.  “Because it was my
fault,
that
is why.  He came here, the day he left you.  He was very
angry and he told me he was going to sell the house and your jewels and that I
had better be prepared to take you back here."

    
"Oh, and you did not want that did you?"

    
"No, but that was not the only reason.  It was my fault he had left
you with nothing and I did not want you to know that.  I was the one who
deceived the Earl into marrying you.  I knew his only reason for marrying
was to procure an heir and I knew that you were likely to be barren, but I went
ahead with the arrangement anyway.  I was not likely to find another
titled gentleman to wed you, was I?  I was not likely to find anyone to
wed you, knowing that you could never bear a child.”  He paused and looked
at me with a plea in his eyes.  “I thought it was for the best at the
time, but I was wrong.  I thought he would be bound to fall in love with
you, with your beauty and your modesty, and then the question of a son would be
irrelevant.  I did not understand how important those things are to the
aristocracy.”

     I was
shaking my head, unable to find words with which to reply.  I had been
very angry and now I just felt deflated.  Had he really believed it was
for the best?

     “I loved
my wife, you see,” he went on.  “It would not have mattered to me if the
child had died, my baby son.  It did matter that she died and I will never
understand how a man can put his baby before his wife.  I am not of the
same world, Rachel.  Forgive me.”

     What
else could I do but forgive him?  Perhaps he did have the best intentions,
even though I begged him not to force a marriage to anyone.  If he loved
his wife so much, I would have thought he might have more understanding, like
my new friend who was so concerned for his wife’s happiness.

     It was
the following day that Lord Summerville returned with his Countess, a shy
little thing who curtsied and kept her eyes cast down the whole time, even
after we sat.  This man had filled me with a lifetime’s worth of
confidence in a few short hours and yet I did not know which one to pity more.

CHAPTER
FIVE

   
So I had found friendship in the most unlikely place.  The Earl was so
charming and so good looking, women turned their heads as he passed,
their
eyes followed him wherever he went.  I do not
believe I have ever seen that look in the eyes of a woman before, but his wife
was strange, more like a child than a grown woman.

She sat and stared down at her own hands, not looking up for
anything.  I was the very last person to know how to engage someone in
conversation, but I did my best.  Every question I asked was met with a
nod or a shake of the head and I looked over her head at the Earl in desperation. 
He merely shrugged, as though this scene was not new to him. The afternoon was
dragging when His Lordship said he had an appointment.

   
“It will not take long, My Lady,” he said.  “Perhaps my wife could stay
here with you.”  He turned to her then with a sigh, but also a gentle
smile, like a kind uncle to a child.  “Will that be acceptable,
Rosemary?”  He asked gently.  “You would prefer to talk to Lady
Rachel alone, would you not?”

   
She nodded but still did not raise her eyes, at least not until she heard her
husband depart the house.  Then she looked at me, and there was a
discernible though silent sigh of relief.  She was a lovely girl, dark
auburn hair and beautiful green eyes, but she did not seem to ever smile. She
was staring across the room at a porcelain doll I had rescued from my short
lived childhood.

   
She got to her feet and walked over to the doll, then picked it up and held it
against her as though it were a child.  Then she came back to her seat,
keeping the doll in her arms.

   
I asked her what sort of things she liked to do with herself and had to lean
forward to hear her reply.

   
“I paint a little,” she said. 
“Not very well though.”

   
“I am sure your paintings are beautiful,” I tried to assure her, but she only
shook her head.

   
“How long have you been married?”  I persevered, wondering what I would
say next once that question was answered.

   
“Two years I think, My Lady,” she said quietly.

   
Think?  Did she not know?

   
“And children?  Do you have children?”

   
Suddenly her eyes widened and she looked alarmed.

   
“I do not think I would like that,” she said quickly.  “It is not nice.”

   
Not nice.  What a very odd thing to say, and was she talking about the act
that led to childbirth or the birth itself?  I could well understand her
reluctance for the former, though I had believed that was my own special
burden.

   
A noise outside made her jump slightly but she relaxed again when she realised
what it was.  I reluctantly decided that the only way to find the answer
to the Earl's question was to ask her outright.

   
“My Lady,” I said softly, “
are
you afraid of your
husband?”

   
She looked up at me briefly,
then
nodded.

   
“Why?  Is he unkind to you?”

   
I had a vivid memory of the terrible beatings my mother had endured at the
hands of my father, but although I asked the question, I could hardly believe
that any woman would be afraid of Lord Summerville.  He had always been
kindness itself to me and I could not accept that to be merely a facade for my
benefit.  And if it was, what did he hope to gain from it?  I would
not be his
mistress, that
would never be my role in
life, as a mistress would have needs and desires that were stolen from me.

   
Rosemary was shaking her head.

   
“No, My Lady,” she said firmly.  “He is anything but unkind.  It is
not how he treats me but what he might want from me that I fear.”

   
“Want from you?”

   
This conversation was getting very personal, not subjects that should be
discussed between strangers, not even two women, but I somehow felt a kinship
with her fears if they were what I suspected them to be.

   
“Yes, My Lady,” she was saying.  “I know enough to know what men want from
a wife and I cannot face it.  I am scared that if I do not keep him away,
he might try that again."

   
I did not want to pursue this line of conversation.  I knew precisely what
Rosemary meant but I did not know if he suffered from some sort of brutal
perversion or if she was inhibited.  I guessed the latter, as talking to
this girl I felt that I was talking to a child.  The wedding night must
have been an unparalleled disaster if it had been two years and she still
feared a repeat of it but from the looks that followed him everywhere he went,
I was quite sure that His Lordship was getting satisfaction elsewhere.

   
It was then that the door opened and he entered.  I watched his wife
freeze, as though she wanted somewhere to run away and hide, but there was
nowhere.

   
“Forgive me for keeping you waiting, My Lady,” he said quietly,
then
held out his arm for his wife to take.  She did so
reluctantly.  “We do not want to outstay our welcome,” he went on. 

   
They left, leaving me to ponder what had happened.  I pitied this girl who
seemed to have been pushed into a marriage that she could never be happy with,
but more than that I pitied the Earl. 

   
He called on me the following day, alone this time.

   
“My Lady,” he said immediately.  “I feel I ought to seek your forgiveness
for yesterday.  I had this idea that you might be able to learn what
troubled my wife, since she refuses to tell me.  It was very wrong of me
to take advantage like that.”

   
“No matter,” I replied.

   
For the very first time in my life I felt that someone needed me, needed me for
myself and my opinion and experience, not my body or my beauty.  I was
rather pleased, and intended to answer him, even though the subject was
embarrassing to me. 

   
“Did you?”  He said.  “Did you learn anything?  Is there
anything I can do to help her, or should I abandon the marriage as a lost
cause?”

   
I felt uncomfortable discussing such intimate details with any man and I hardly
knew him or his poor wife.  But he had asked me for a favour and I owed
him that much, owed him an honest observation.

   
 “Forgive me, My Lord, but your wife is a child.”  I paused then,
trying to think of the right words.  It seemed to me that Rosemary was
afraid of what I was afraid of, though I had no idea what to call it. 
Love had nothing to do with it as far as I was concerned.  “She is
terrified of the act of intimacy, if that is what you have done to her, and
will never accept it as normal.  That is what I learned, if it is of any
use.”  I paused and drew a deep breath to enable me to go on. 
"Her parents were cruel to make her marry.  I believe she is one of
those unfortunate people who will always be childlike."

   
His expression did not change and I felt I was not telling him anything that he
did not already know.

   
“I feel I am trespassing on your good nature, but I really do not have anyone
else with whom I can share this.”  He paused thoughtfully, as though
wondering whether to go on.  At last he did and it was an intimate
revelation I could have lived without knowing.  “My marriage to Rosemary has
never been consummated.  She was so afraid I could
not..............................”  He broke off then, leaving me to
wonder whether he actually wanted a reply.

   
“A marriage like that can be annulled, I believe, My Lord,” I said quietly,
wondering why he had not thought of that himself.

   
“Yes, I know,” he said, “but it would require proof, would it not? 
An examination of some sort to confirm that she is still a virgin.”

   
I nodded, suddenly terrified as I recalled that day when my mother and I had
arrived at my uncle’s house, when his physician had examined me after my
ordeal.  I was not about to recommend that be done to any other woman.

   
I looked up at the Earl, blushing, almost sure that he had read my thoughts and
could see what I could see.  And I could not believe that I was actually
having this conversation with a man, especially a man I had known for such a
brief time.  He was shaking his head.

   
“I cannot subject her to anything so invasive,” he said quietly.  “It
would be grossly unfair and it is unfair to be talking about her like this.”

   
“What will you do?”

   
“I will send her back to Summerville Hall, to my mother, and promise not to go
near her again.  That should at least give her some peace even if I do
have to forget any idea of having a son to succeed me.  I was hoping that
you might know of some way I could help her, or someone could help her, but if
what you say is true, she cannot be helped.”

   
His words tore at my heart, he sounded so disappointed, but I could feel his
eyes on me for a few minutes before he took my hand and raised it to his lips.

   
“Thank you,” he said softly.  “And please, please forgive me.  You
have done me a great service this day and with your help I may be able to break
away from her.  We will both be happier, I think.”

   
“My help?
  What does that mean exactly, My Lord?”

   
My mind was full of images, memories of my late husband, of the King and of my
tenth birthday.  My stomach heaved at the recollections.

   
“It means that I have become fond of you.”

   
I tore my hand from his grasp.

   
“No!”  I cried, shaking my head.  “I will never be your mistress, My
Lord, never!”

   
He looked even sadder all at once.

   
“Rachel,” he said soothingly, “that was not what I had in mind.  I
understand, or think I do, that something was done to you, something horrendous
that you would hide your beauty away as you do. How could I not notice how you
flinched when I took your hand that first time, how you stiffen when anyone
admires you? That is why I thought you might be able to talk to my wife.
 I would never ask anything of you, never.”

   
“What then?  Nobody wants me for a wife, thank God, not since I am
barren.  And anyway you are already married.”

   
The concern that crossed his face at that was almost tangible, but he asked no
questions.  He put his arm around me and as we sat down together, he held
me close to him and pressed my head against his shoulder.  For the first
time in my life, I felt loved and valued.  It was a very intoxicating
emotion.

   
The following day he was back again, this time with a gift.

   
“I want you to come for a ride with me, in the park,” he said at once. 
“It is a lovely day and in return for helping me, I wish to get you out in the
fresh air.”

   
“No,” I said immediately.  “I will not be paraded around the park like
some ornament on your arm or anyone else’s.”

   
“I thought you would say something like that,” he replied.  “That is why I
brought you this.”

   
Under his arm he had a rolled up piece of cloth and now he shook it out to
reveal a hooded cloak of black velvet.

   
“No one will even notice you in this, and if they do they will think you are a
widow and pay no attention.”  He stopped talking while he placed the cloak
around my shoulders and lifted the hood over my hair and headdress.  The
cloak was voluminous, designed to cover my skirts and my entire body up to my
neck.  I could not help but laugh.  “Most people, especially
women," he went on, "would be anxious to cover themselves if they
were ugly or had some sort of deformity, not because they are too beautiful.”

   
“Most men would
be wanting
something from me, not
befriending me and helping me to hide.”

   
“Oh, Rachel,” he said quietly, shaking his head, “
do
not think me immune to your attractions.  A man would have to be blind not
to stir at the sight of you.  But you are entitled to do whatever you want
and what you want is of more importance to me than what I might want.  One
day, I hope you might trust me enough to tell me what horrors you have
suffered, but that too will be your decision.”

***

   
So began for me a time of knowing what friendship actually was.  I was
distrustful of the Earl at first, wondering all the time when he would make
some sort of move to change the nature of our relationship, but it never
happened.  While he spent time with me, either riding in his carriage or
playing cards at my house, I know that he had more than one woman who was happy
to give him what he needed.  He did not spend all his time with me.

   
He had not been home to Summerville Hall in Suffolk for a year or more.  He had
promised his wife that he would not go near her and he had not done so, but he
needed to be there in order to run his estate. 

   
“I have had the east wing separated from the rest of the house,” he told me,
“so that I can be in my own house without scaring my wife.  Do you not
find that an amusing state of affairs, My Lady?”

   
He was being facetious, of course, mocking
himself
I
think and my heart went out to him. 

   
“I find it a very sad state of affairs, Richard,” I replied.  “You do not
have to suffer a loveless marriage.  We talked about it before.”

   
“And you agreed with me that it was unfair,” he replied quietly.

   
“I did, but she must understand why it is necessary.  She will be relieved
to have the marriage annulled, surely, and you must remarry.  You must
have an heir.  I did not understand when it was done to me; I was but ten
years old.”

   
There, I had said it and now I wished I had held my tongue.  He looked at
me with a frown of curiosity, and I was very much afraid he was going to ask
questions, want to know why a ten year old should be subjected to such an
examination.  Of course, he did not.  He was far too empathic for
that.