For All Eternity Page 4
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?”
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.
Feeling her face flame at the thought of such a fiasco, she replied by well-bred rote, “You’re looking well, too, my lord.”
His hand covered the back of the one he still held, sandwiching it between both of his. “I assume you know the purpose of my visit?”
She nodded slowly. Here it came.
“Excellent. Then, you have had time to consider my offer. Before I ask for your answer, however, there are a few matters I feel we should discuss. Shall we sit?” Oh, botheration! She should have guessed that he would insist on prolonging this miserable business. Seeing no other choice but to grant him the time, she dipped her head in assent and allowed him to lead her to the tete-a-tete by the window.
When they were settled, he again took her hands in his and began, “First off, I want you to know that above all else, I desire to make you my wife.”
She nodded, settling her gaze modestly — and safely — on his fashionable yellow gloves.
There was a beat of silence, as if he were deciding how to proceed, then he cleared his throat and said, “You are young, Miss Barrington. Exceedingly so. And because of your extreme youth, I feel it my duty to explain to you what awaits you as my wife. Marriage is, after all, not something to be entered into lightly or with ignorance.”
Her duties as his wife? Her stomach gave a sickening lurch. Oh, dear! He wasn’t going to talk about dirty verses and feathers, was he? Worse yet, maybe he was going to inform her that he was one of those beastly men who Lydia’s brother had said liked to stand on their heads — naked — while their wives teased them all over with a daisy. It was all she could do to suppress her shudder at the thought of suffering such a trial.
“As my bride,” he continued, “you will, of course, gain the title of countess. Later on, and I pray that it is many years from now, you shall become a marchioness.” Countess? Marchioness? She looked up abruptly and smiled a genuine smile in her relief. That part of marriage she could stomach. Easily.
He smiled in return. “I’m glad to see that that prospect pleases you.”
“Yes,” she murmured, bowing her head again before her gaze could rivet onto his scar.
“As you most certainly know by now, my title comes with an enviable position in society. Indeed, there isn’t a door in England that will be closed to you, should you wish to enter. There is also the advantage of my wealth, which is such that I can promise you that neither you nor our children shall ever want for anything.”
She nodded. She had to admit that his offer was handsome.
If only he had the face to match.
He squeezed her hands. “You also have my pledge that I shall be the most generous of husbands. The allowance I shall allot you will make it possible for you to buy out every shop in the Arcade, should that be your desire. In short, you can expect the best of everything, as will befit your new position.”
The best of everything? Very handsome indeed. If he was as wealthy as all that, perhaps her lack of dowry and debts might not matter much … especially if she could convince him that her deceit was a result of her desperate infatuation with him. Hmm. Perhaps Edgar’s plan might succeed after all.
“Last, but most certainly not least,” he enumerated, “you shall have my everlasting devotion. I promise to treat you with nothing but the utmost respect and kindness.”
Devotion? That word was like a pin to her ballooning confidence. Surely he felt more for her than mere devotion? By the fervor of his courtship, she’d assumed that he was in love with her. Madly so. If she was wrong …
She gave her head a mental shake, pushing away the ridiculous notion. Of course he loved her. How could he not? She was the Toast of the Town, and all the gentlemen desired her.
“Miss Barrington?” Clearly he had just said something of importance, and she had missed it.
“I’m sorry. This is all so … overwhelming,” she stammered, forcing herself to look at him and smile. “You were saying?”
He touched her cheek, and she had to steel herself to keep from flinching away. “It’s quite all right, my dear. I realize that the notion of becoming a wife is somewhat intimidating for one so young.”
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“Somewhat, yes,” she agreed, tearing her gaze from his cheek. Blast. She was staring again.
“In that case, I hope you won’t be unduly alarmed when I tell you that there are as many duties as benefits that attend the title of Countess of Lyndhurst.”
“Of course not, my lord. My aunt taught me that with any title comes responsibility.”
“Very wise of her,” he returned solemnly. “And did she by chance tell you what those responsibilities were?” Sophie nodded. “She said that I must always guard my manners so as not to sully my husband’s name. I am also to keep abreast as to what the ton finds amusing, so that I can entertain in a manner worthy of my position. It is also my duty to manage the servants and make certain that the household runs smoothly.” “Households,” he corrected her. “You shall have three at first, six when you become marchioness.” “Three?” she echoed, praying that his palace-like residence on Pall Mall numbered among them.
“Three,” he confirmed. “There is Ebbatson Hall in Durham, Newlyn Manor in Herefordshire, and Grafford Keep in Leichester. We shall spend most of our time at Newlyn, though we shall visit my other estates for two months each out of every year. As my wife, it will be your duty to see to the cottagers. That includes directing the charities, ministering to the sick, and organizing the village festivities — such as the annual Harvest feast.”
It was all Sophie could do not to gasp her dismay. Not only was she to rusticate, she was expected to fete the local peasants. It was simply too much!
Her face must have reflected her thoughts, for he dryly observed, “I take it that you find those duties distasteful?”
Though she wasn’t normally given to cursing, Sophie cursed herself then for her carelessness. Damn! Damn! Damn! She must learn to school her expression before she ruined everything. Desperate to rectify her faux pas, she stammered out, “Not distasteful, my lord, but … um … perplexing. You see, I know little of country affairs.”
There was a pause of silence, during which she feared the worse. Then he chuckled and said, “Of course you don’t, my dear. I didn’t expect that you would. It is one of the many things I shall teach you once we are married.”