In the last few years, I had taken to enjoying outings to satisfy my craving for something more than a luncheon of sandwiches and an afternoon of embroidery. Although he was pleased that my sweet tooth had gained some control, my father would be most displeased if he were to uncover the truth behind my afternoon jaunts.
Marybeth, my chambermaid, was quite happy to provide cover so she could carry on an illicit affair with my uncle, Tobias. He was betrothed to another—a rather arduous ordeal for both parties if one was to read their body language correctly when poor Lady Margaret endured weekly visits to the estate for luncheon of a Friday afternoon.
Tobias and Marybeth thought their rendezvous were discreet. Perhaps anywhere other than the glasshouse would have been a more suitable choice where the pitiful greenery and the calcified ghosts of raindrops on glass provided minimal cover.
Sometimes I’d entertained myself by spying on them through the panes, listening to Marybeth’s high-pitched squeals as the flash of pale, white buttocks clenched and thrusted atop her body. Uncle Tobias grunted like a boar, while the maid’s vocalisations resembled that of a piglet. It was all quite incestuous. And ... amusing.
Tobias always returned to the house first, leaving his mistress to wait an hour or so in the humid, loamy air. Without fail, his coat and the knees of his trousers sported patches of dirt, making a mockery of his cries of innocence when confronted by his sister, my mother. He purported to be extremely fond of gardening.
He did rather enjoy planting his seed, as it were.
If it was a wife’s duty to be rutted upon by a boar, I wanted no part of marriage.
I had finally grown tired of the show and taken to borrowing a horse. Give me the open fields and the wind in my hair, and I was most content. And if the opportunity arose for me to cross paths with Sebastian, my contentment brimmed over into joy.
If my father were to find out, it would surely mean an end to my afternoon rides, and an end to Tobias’s affair. Hence, it was advantageous for all involved if tongues were kept caged behind tight lips. I’d been sure to point this out to my chambermaid, who’d agreed, albeit peevishly.
“I shall be taking my leave earlier this morn.”
“No, miss. Your mother requires your presence in the drawing room.”
I tutted, pulling on a corset cover. “What the devil does she want now?”
Marybeth’s eyes flitted to the mirror, but did not raise to the level of mine. “She has an urgent matter to discuss.” She reached for the crinoline.
“I refuse to wear that ghastly contraption of torture. Let us try layers of ruffled petticoats.” I added a smile to soften my delivery. I would simply remove several of the layers before embarking on my outing.
She bowed her head, fetching the muslin.
“Mother’s urgency is usually another’s trivial passing thought.”
“She was quite insistent, miss.”
But of course. That was Mother’s nature. Should I choose to ignore her request and satisfy my own urgent need, I would surely expose both my own and Marybeth’s deceit.
She brought over a pretty, blue silk dress with white ribbon trim.
It would not do. Not in the least. “Where is my Garibaldi shirt and the dark blue skirt?”
“Your mother has requested that you wear this.”
That could only mean one thing. She was expecting a visitor. Releasing a sigh, I bowed my head for the maid to lower the dress over my head.
It would do. For now.
Moments later, I found myself perched on the edge of the French settee in the drawing room, sipping tea with my mother and Lady Victoria of Pembrokeshire. A severe-looking woman, she wore a deep brown silk dress with the barest lace ruffle at her throat. Her greying hair was pulled back in the style Queen Victoria herself favoured.
Puffy pale grey eyes held me in their piercing stare. “She’s quite the beauty, Lady Olivia. What is her age?”
“I have just turned sixteen years this July.” Why she would not address her question directly to me, I had no clue. I sipped a little too loudly, drawing a disapproving look from Mother.
She cleared her throat. “As you can see, Emmeline is quite mature for her age and equally headstrong.” She flashed her eyes at me in warning.
“Headstrong is not a quality a woman should possess. My Reginald will beat it out of her.”
I lowered my cup, clinking it on the saucer. “May I ask of whom you are speaking?”
Her shoulders rose as she lifted her chin. “My son, Reginald Fortescue the Third, Earl of Pembroke.”
The Third? How alarming. “Why exactly would he feel the need to beat me?”
“As your husband, he will have the right to treat you as he sees fit.”
“Indeed.” I pursed my lips together, my eyes trained on the ornate rug at my feet. I begged them not to water. “When might I be expecting the nuptials?”
“In your seventeenth year, my dear. The earl is currently on a sojourn in India. Upon his return, he shall make you his wife.”
I would prefer a sudden painful death.
“Indeed.” I swallowed against the rising tide of bile threatening to spill. “If you’ll excuse me, I must retire to my rooms. I feel quite unwell. Please enjoy your visit, Lady Victoria.” For you shall surely burn in hell when the devil sees fit.
I gave a curtsey to each of them
