“Not long.” More than half our lives.
“Who else is aware?”
“Nobody.” I met his bloodshot stare.
“And it shall stay that way.” He set off pacing again. “The earl is furious, as he is well within his rights to be. He has agreed to follow through with our arrangement. You are to be married in our chapel in the morn.”
“The morning? The wedding was to be next month.”
“Do not speak out of turn!” He delivered another slap to the cheek.
I hissed, stretching my mouth against the pain. It would come as no surprise if his discipline resulted in bruising.
“You are to remain in your room until you are sent for. Your chambermaid will be assisting you with preparations. Once you are married, you will be the earl’s concern. He may choose how he deals with you. I pray that he has a merciful hand.” He stomped from the room, slamming the door at his back.
Holding my cheek, I used my elbow to push myself up. Still wearing the shirt and buckskins, I shuffled around the bed and took a seat at the dresser. The sight that greeted me in the mirror was not unexpected: red eyes, cheek aflame with the outline of my father’s hand. Hair in disarray. Tears streaking my face. I picked up a pitcher and poured some water into the washbowl it had been resting in. Taking the cloth Marybeth had set beside them, I wet it before placing it against my sore cheek. The cool provided little relief. I washed my face and brushed my hair before securing it into a braid. I let my hands fall to my lap as I considered the frame of my bed in the mirror. The four poster would certainly be sturdy enough to hold my weight as I hung from a noose. I could easily fashion one from the bed sheet. I was confident with all manner of knots thanks to my visits to the stables.
I spun around at a knock on the door.
Marybeth entered, keeping her eyes lowered as she approached. “I am to watch over you until your nuptials.”
“Are you to sleep in here with me?”
“Yes, miss.”
I placed my hands on my knees and bowed my head. My stomach lodged in my throat. I had successfully been stripped of all free will. I could not even choose how and when I was to die. For the remainder of my life, I was to be shackled to a detestable man for one reason only—I had been born a girl to parents of high social standing. If I were a maid, would I have a choice in whom was to be my groom?
I assessed Marybeth in the mirror. “Do you love Tobias?”
“I do.” She dipped her chin.
“And yet you cannot be with him unless it is a clandestine arrangement. How is that fair?”
“’Tis an injustice of our times, miss.”
“If you and he were of equal social standing, would you have the chance to be together?”
“I imagine so. My sisters have all chosen fine working men.”
Hm. There was hope for this world. “What is it about my uncle that attracts you so?”
“He is a charming, honourable man, despite what anyone may think. He abides by his duties. I cannot resist him, no matter how hard I try. My heart chose for me. My mind had no say in the matter.”
“Indeed.” I pressed the heels of my palms to my cheeks, capturing the tears that fell. “You and I have much in common. Forbidden love is a torturous affair. Though a blind eye is turned to my uncle’s indiscretions, mine are seen as unforgivable.” I smiled a sad smile. “Love does not choose according to suitability of status, morality, or any rules of humanity.” I reached for her hand and clasped it in mine. “Love—true love—is infinitely wiser than we.” This time, my smile was genuine.
“I carry his child.” Her chest rose and held in place as she bit her lip.
My eyes sprang wide. “Is he aware?”
“Yes.” She slipped her hand from mine before locking her fingers together. “He intends to support us, but he cannot acknowledge the child as his own.”
“How will you manage raising a child and attending to your duties?”
“We all band together to raise the babies, miss. We are fortunate that Mr Beauchamp allows us to have our families near.”
How was it that my father could be extraordinarily accommodating with the staff, but deny his only daughter any happiness? My father believed a woman’s primary role was to bear children. Perhaps this was his way of justifying keeping them in his employ.
“Then I am most happy for you, Marybeth.”
If I could not attain any level of joy, I prayed that Marybeth would get my share.
Ben
Rockhampton, Australia
24th of July, 2009
I’d fucked up big time and now I didn’t know how to fix it. It was smoko break on a Friday, and like the sad fuck that I was, I sat alone in my ute listening to Beyoncé singing about angelic headgear. Fucking halos. Andy had one. I had devil horns. What kind of a bastard took his girlfriend’s virginity and then fucked off without a word? I smacked my forehead on the steering wheel, spotting the red mark in the mirror when I straightened. Good. It was like an X-marks-the-spot of where my dick currently was—front and centre on my head. I growled at my reflection.
The passenger door opened and I punched at the stereo to shut off the sappy chick music, switching it to a rock station.
Brad took a seat, apple in hand, chewing as he eyed me sideways. “I think we’ve given you enough time to mope around. I’m surprised you haven’t cut off a finger yet.”
I nearly had about an
