Edgar looked cross. ‘They do not need a whole day. My hunter thrives on a good gallop and Milo’s carriage horse is strong.’
‘But I am not,’ his mother argued.
Edgar looked as though he did not believe her. Neither did Beth for, in spite of her advancing years, Mrs Collins seemed physically strong. Beth guessed than she had not led her ladylike life for all her years.
‘Besides, Milo is kicking his heels in Settle waiting for me.’
‘And is he more important to you than I?’
‘Of course he is not, Mama. But we owe him, both of us. After all, he told us about the girl’s dowry.’
Beth considered briefly how Milo knew about her. Mr Barden had consulted the vicar at Blackstone about her future and she supposed Milo, as a fellow clergyman, was acquainted
with him. Certainly, this match had happened quickly after Mr Barden had informed her that she must marry or be sent out to find paid work.
Edgar continued. ‘You have Milo’s carriage at your disposal. Roberts will drive you and bring you back.’
‘Will you not need his carriage for your journey to Leeds?’
‘We prefer horseback. It’s quicker.’
‘Shall I accompany Mrs Collins to Settle, Edgar?’ Beth asked. If she were to ride in a carriage she ought to have a more presentable cloak and a market town would surely have a draper or gown-maker.
Mother and son turned to stare at her with similar looks of surprise. Edgar picked up his empty plate, handed it across the table to her and said, ‘Your work is here. Clear these pots and bring in the pudding.’
She took his plate automatically and wished she hadn’t. He was effectively dismissing her from the table and the conversation. She stacked it on her own plate in front of her and Mrs Collins added, ‘Did they teach you nothing in the Barden household? Do that on the sideboard.’
Her son responded. ‘A manservant would know better how to behave. He would be of greater use to me, Mama.’
Beth pressed her lips together to prevent a retaliation. They were not so grand that they could afford a footman to wait at table. Silently she cleared the table of dirty pots and carried them out on a heavy wooden tray that she deposited thankfully on the kitchen table.
Roberts was already eating his pudding. His wife took one look at the laden tray and snapped, ‘Take those straight into the scullery.’
She stacked them in the shallow stone sink and returned to collect the pudding. She felt Edgar’s eyes on her the whole
time she unloaded the tray onto the sideboard. She served the pie as she had done the meat, holding the heavy dish in front of them while Mrs Collins and then Edgar helped themselves. She had placed a jug of cream on the table but when she came to pour it on hers, the jug was empty. She sighed and rose to her feet to fetch more, only to be stopped by Edgar’s mother.
‘For heaven’s sake, girl, be still,’ Mrs Collins said irritably.
Beth looked down and tried to quell her anger. She was not a girl. She was Edgar’s wife and deserved to be addressed with the dignity that her position deserved. She took courage from that and said, ‘My name is Elizabeth, Mrs Collins.’
Mrs Collins pursed her lips and flared her nostrils but did not answer. Edgar glared at her and said, ‘Be quiet.’
Beth glared back. ‘I shall not. I am not a servant, I am your wife.’
‘And you will do well to remember that,’ Mrs Collins snapped. ‘You have my son’s name and his home for shelter. It is more than you deserve as an orphan of questionable breeding.’
Beth was hurt by this. She did not know who her mother and father were but they had provided for her education and she protested, ‘One of my parents must have had a family with means.’
‘And neither of them wished to own you!’
The hurt turned to insult, but curiosity for knowledge of her family overcame her emotion and she asked, ‘Were you acquainted with them, madam?’
‘That is enough! You at least should be aware that girls like you are best considered as orphans.’
Beth stifled a sigh. They didn’t know any more than she, or indeed Mr Barden. She wondered what Mrs Collins might do
to her if she ignored her demands. Take her back to Blackstone? She hardly thought so for Mr Barden would want the dowry back and how would she pay for Edgar’s manservant then?
Beth did not begrudge them her dowry for it would never have been hers to spend anyway and the farmhouse obviously needed an indoor servant to fetch and carry. Edgar had not answered her when she had asked him about their forthcoming journey. But there would be time enough to speak with him about her wardrobe when they were alone tonight. Beth felt the colour rise in her cheeks at this thought and she began to feel nervous again. She wanted to get it over with so she would know what Edgar expected of her.
Edgar noticed her discomfort. ‘See, Mama, she has humility.’ He continued to look at her, his eyes darting back and forth as he took in her appearance and added, ‘I think I’ll go straight to my chamber after dinner.’
‘But Edgar, I want you to read to me tonight.’
‘It is my wedding night, Mama.’
‘My dear boy, your marriage is a necessary inconvenience. You do not have to treat her as your wife.’
‘Milo says I must lie with the girl for the marriage to be lawful.’
Beth expected Mrs Collins to admonish her son for such conversation at the dinner table. Instead she turned down the corners of her mouth and said, ‘But no one will question her and we have the dowry. Surely there is no need?’
Beth looked from mother to son astounded by this exchange. Neither even glanced in her direction, and continued speaking as though she were not present.
Edgar sounded impatient. ‘This is a legal necessity, Mama. I do not take pleasure in going against your wishes but I shall do my duty no matter how distasteful.’
Beth could not stay silent any longer and gasped, ‘Sir, you offend me!’
Edgar scowled at her. ‘And your interruptions offend me. If you cannot be quiet, I shall be obliged to beat you.’
Beth was horrified. She had done nothing to deserve such chastisement and she responded firmly. ‘I am not a servant, sir. I am your
wife
.’
‘You are a nobody,’ he said. ‘Be satisfied with your situation here. I have my duty and it is to take my rightful place in society. That does not include you.’
‘Indeed it cannot,’ Mrs Collins added. ‘She has no breeding so we must find reasons to keep her hidden.’
‘I shall need to tell his lordship about her at some point, Mama.’
His lordship? Beth hid her surprise and lapsed into silence to listen.
‘Not unless he asks and he has not even met you yet. The lawyers’ letters have secured an invitation for the shooting only. Make sure that his lordship notices your excellence in the field.’
‘They have told him who I am. He will surely wish to speak with me.’
Mrs Collins appeared doubtful. ‘He has stubbornly refused to acknowledge me, and my mother was his sister. You must be sure to note carefully where he places you at the dinner table. It will indicate his thinking. Speak only of the day’s sport.’
Beth kept her eyes on the table. Mrs Collins was the niece of a lord? No wonder she had so many airs about her. ‘Surely there will be ladies present?’ Beth queried lightly. ‘They may have little experience of sport.’ Her intended irony was lost and rewarded only by impatient glances. She
was not deterred and went on, ‘A wife’s presence is desirable on such occasions.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! You would be an embarrassment to my son. You do not have the accomplishments of a gentlewoman.’
Then why, she thought, did Edgar not choose a different bride? Sadly, Beth realised, a gentlewoman with such capabilities, from a family with status and means, would never have considered a match with a Dales sheep farmer.
‘I have been schooled to be a dutiful wife, ma’am. I should not disgrace him.’
‘Your mother’s behaviour brought disgrace to her family. I shall not risk you bringing the same to mine.’
At the mention of her mother, Beth forgot her growing dislike of Edgar and became anxious. ‘Then you do know who my mother was, ma’am?’ she asked.
‘Of course I do not! Nor should I wish to. One of your parents may or may not have been well-born. I
know
that
my
grandfather was a lord and one day my son – my son will—’
‘Mama! Not in front of the girl.’
Mrs Collins tried to compose herself. ‘No – no, of course not. Perhaps she should take her meals in the kitchen.’
Beth blinked as she absorbed this knowledge of Edgar’s family and addressed him. ‘Is this true, sir? Your great-grandfather was a lord?’
Mrs Collins was unable to conceal her agitation. But, Beth realised, it was not wholly because of her presence. The older woman’s eyes were glassy and a fleck of spittle had gathered in the corner of her mouth. It was Mrs Collins’s own kin who were causing her such distress as she muttered, ‘If it were not for my mother’s foolishness I should be
moving in the highest circles in society. My son will not suffer as I do.’
Beth wondered who their aristocratic ancestor was. She considered that if Edgar was truly related by birth, the fact that he had little money ought not to make a difference to his being accepted by them, unless the family rift ran deep. Beth became curious about his errant grandmother’s behaviour.
Edgar ignored her question about his ancestor. Mrs Collins stood up and said, ‘I am tired. It has been a long day and I have to prepare for Settle.’ She appeared to be talking to the air above Edgar’s head and added, ‘While you are away, the girl will eat in the kitchen with Roberts and his wife. They will show her everything she needs to know to fill her days on the farm.’
Beth rose to her feet and picked up her pudding plate to place on the sideboard. She cleared the other pots and waited by Edgar’s chair for him to drain his tankard. As she took it from him, he leaned towards her and she felt the palm of his hand run up the back of her leg under the edge of her drawers until it found the naked skin of her thigh above her stocking and garter. He pinched the flesh making her jump and she almost dropped the tankard.
‘Finish your chores and go to bed. Wait for me in my chamber,’ he murmured.
Beth padded along the landing to Edgar’s bedchamber in her felt slippers, wearing her new nightgown and robe. She had made them all herself from grey flannel but had had no lace and very little time to spend on adornments. Inside, she wandered around with her candle gazing at the wood-panelled walls, commodious cupboards and chests of drawers.
There was easily room enough for both of them and she resolved to tell Edgar so in the morning. She crossed to the leaded window that overlooked the approach to the farmhouse and fingered the heavy curtains made from the same woven tapestry as the drapes hanging from the bedposts. There was a small fire in the grate. She hoisted herself onto the bed and wondered whether to climb inside.
She decided not. Earlier, Edgar had made a wrong assumption that she was eager for this aspect of her marriage. If the truth be told she was as anxious of what was to come as she had been standing in the draughty church porch waiting for her first sight of him. Hastily, she jumped down and sat on the upholstered couch at the end of the bed. If only she knew more of what to expect. She yawned and pulled at several pins holding the coils of her abundant fair hair, letting it fall in waves over her shoulders. Her head drooped. It had been a long day and she, too, was tired.
The door opened, banged against the wall and a cold draught rushed into the room. Beth twisted around swiftly to see Edgar sway against the jamb. She shivered and pulled the edges of her robe together. She welcomed its warmth and serviceability but realised it did nothing to enhance her appearance.
Edgar sat down heavily on the bed, flopped backwards and stuck out one of his feet. ‘Well, girl, come over here and take off my boots.’
When she did so without question he sat up and watched her, slowly unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat. Her hands shook as she placed his riding boots in the hearth and heard him say, ‘You’ve not done this before, have you?’
‘Of course not, sir!’ She was shocked he even considered such a wicked thought of her.
‘Of course not, sir,’
he mimicked her innocent tones and warned, ‘I hope you are truthful as well as a maid.’
Nervous, she replied hastily, ‘I am, sir!’
He found this amusing and stood up to remove his clothes. ‘Take off that nun’s habit and get into bed.’
She supposed he meant her dressing robe because she agreed with his description of it and obeyed him as swiftly as she could, hiding her voluminously swathed body under the bedding. Her heart thumped in her breast as she waited. He had his back to her as he pulled on his nightshirt and she gazed in fascination at his male form, broad and muscular with lean buttocks that were smaller than she would have imagined – if her thoughts had ever strayed in that way. She began to tremble slightly, but it was from fear rather than excitement. She hoped he would be kinder in this aspect of their marriage than his manner towards her so far had indicated.
‘Every night when I am home, when I tell you to go to your chamber,’ he said as he climbed in beside her, ‘you will wait for me here, like this, in my bed.’
He half crouched over her, breathing heavily. She could smell brandy on his breath and waited for him to kiss her but he didn’t and a mixture of other aromas crowded her senses: sweat and wet wool from his body, stale food and tobacco on his breath. His chin had produced stubble since the morning and some parts of his unclothed body were covered with dark hair.
He pushed her nightgown up around her waist, did the same with his own nightshirt, and straddled her body on his knees. He seemed to tower above her for a few seconds before it happened. Then suddenly he was lying on top of her, her face was muffled by the coarse hair on his chest and
his weight forced the breath out of her body. One of his knees pushed her thighs wide apart and he was prodding and poking her private area with his – not his fingers, for his hands were moving underneath her back to lift her towards him as this hard – hard
thing
– jabbed and poked at her softness. Instinctively she shrivelled away from him trying to shrink into the soft feather mattress. But he would not let her. She was held against him by one of his arms while his other hand descended to her private area to push aside her flesh and guide himself into her. It wouldn’t go in. Why wouldn’t it go in? She had seen animals do this in the fields and it should be easy. Something must be wrong. She tensed against him hoping he would stop. But he did not. He pressed her body against his and rammed into her until she yelped with pain and he was inside her.