Arthur’s shoulders slumped. “And if I refuse?”
“Well then…I do hope you have all my money ready otherwise I may have to confiscate all of this.” he contemptuously stretched his hand in a circle to indicate Arthur’s home, “And then your precious child will be on the streets. Would you like that?”
Arthur wiped the snot that was running down his nose as he acknowledged that Blackmore had bested him. “You will treat her well?”
“But, of course!” Blackmore lifted an eyebrow as if shocked that he would ask, “she shall be the jewel in my crown.”
Arthur released the breath he was holding. “All right then. You may marry my daughter. She is but twenty years old and very sheltered out here in the country. She has no knowledge of city ways, so I hope you will have patience with her,” he pleaded softly.
Blackmore stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “Never fear, Fletcher. I shall teach her everything she needs to know.”
Arthur dropped his head so that Blackmore could not see his face and blanched. His stomach twisted with fear for his child but there was little he could do about it now.
“Where is the lovely girl?” Laurence smiled wide and smarmily.
Arthur’s breath hitched as something in him protested loudly. “She is gone to collect a pail of milk from the neighboring farm. She should be back soon.”
“Excellent.” He turned and gestured to somebody in his carriage. A door opened and a lady decked in a blood-red gown stepped down, her eyes on her footing. She had chestnut hair tied up in an elegant upsweep at the back of her head and held together with a myriad of pins. Her bosom was substantial in a way that was almost obscene. She had painted lips which smiled beguilingly at Arthur and he had a hard time picturing her as a maid.
She sashayed to Blackmore’s side before executing an elegant curtsy. “Madam Lilly Bainbridge at your service.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
Madam?
Undoubtedly noting the disbelief in his face, the woman hastened to explain. “I am responsible for the uh, school for girls that Mr. Blackmore has begun out of the goodness of his heart.”
Arthur’s eyebrow rose higher. “Mr. Blackmore called you his maid.”
She trilled a laugh that sounded very artificial to Arthur’s ears. “Ah, a slip of the tongue no doubt.”
“Indeed,” Blackmore agreed with a smile, “a slip of the tongue.”
Arthur looked from one to the other. “Well…you may come in and wait.”
He led the way indoors and indicated that the two visitors should seat themselves on the bench. He busied himself with lighting the fire and putting a cauldron of water to boil atop it. Blackmore and his Madam spoke quietly to each other and Arthur ignored them. He was trying to find a solution which did not involve handing his daughter over to the shylock but he could think of none.
If he refused, Blackmore would have them out on the street and that would leave his daughter even more vulnerable than before. At least this way she not only had a roof over her head, but also a respectable position as the wife of a well-to-do merchant. Blackmore was a man four decades old. Undoubtedly he would die at some point, leaving Emily with his fortune. She would be a well-heeled widow and able to live as she wished.
The door opened and his daughter came in, stopping short as she caught sight of the visitors. Arthur summoned a smile for her. “Emily, you have returned. Do come in, there is someone I would like for you to meet.”
He went to her and grasped her hand, looking into her eyes and trying to convey his love and protection in his glance. Her brow furrowed as she followed him to the parlor. “This is Mr. Laurence Blackmore; I believe you met him this morning. And this is Madam Bainbridge, his companion.”
She nodded, curtsying quite correctly but did not utter a word.
Arthur took a deep breath. “Mr. Blackmore is here to formally ask for your hand and I have acquiesced.”
Emily swallowed, reminding herself that there was not much she could do about this. “Is that so?”
“Er, yes, as I said earlier, Mr. Blackmore was very much taken with you when you met this morning and he would like your hand in marriage.”
Emily focused on keeping her face blank of emotion, lips pursed but uttered no protest.
Another deep breath. “You will travel with him and his companion to London, where you will be wed.”
She made a gurgling sound in her throat but uttered no demur. He tried to smile at her but could not quite manage it. Mr. Blackmore clapped his hands. “This is a happy day. Allow me to treat you to dinner at the inn.” His eyes flitted to the empty hearth of the kitchen and then to Arthur. His meaning was clear.
“Th-thank you.”
Arthur turned to Emily. “Come then daughter, go and pack your bags and we shall go with Mr. Blackmore.”
She stared fixedly at him for a few more moments before turning and heading to her room. Blackmore smiled. “I like her obedience.”
Arthur did not know if that was what it was. He suspected that she knew what was at stake or else she might have her own reasons for not uttering a protest. Either way, he knew it was not obedience that made her follow instructions so silently.
He sighed inwardly, wondering how they had all come to this.
Emily’s hands were shaking as she packed her things. Inside, she was continuously screaming but she worked hard to keep her face blank. From what she had observed in the living room, she had confirmed to herself that Mr. Blackmore had her father over a barrel. Whatever he was holding over him must be truly awful to put that look in her father’s eyes and for him to think that marriage to that man was the best option for her.
Wife? He wants me for a wife?
She had no doubt that marriage to Mr. Blackmore was quite possibly the worst thing that could happen to her but until she knew more, she was not going to protest. She would go along with her father and keep her eyes open.
They traveled to the inn in the man’s fancy carriage, her father following on the horse. She would apparently be staying at the inn for the night so that she could leave with Mr. Blackmore and his companion early in the morning. He knew Mrs. Brewster well, the innkeeper’s wife, and felt that she would be safe for the night.
This is not how I wanted to see London, however.
If her heart wasn’t pounding with fear at what her future might bring, she might have been excited to at last be heading for the city. She had heard and read many stories about London and was curious about many things. She had a feeling though, that seeing it in company with Mr. Blackmore might not be enjoyable.
He had apparently told her father that he was taken with her, yet he did not spare her a glance the entire ride to the inn, nor as they ate. He looked with greater appreciation at his companion than he did at her. Try as she might, she could not think of any advantage he would gain by marrying her.
Is he looking for a country bumpkin to mistreat?
His gaze was cold, when he smiled, his lips twisted cruelly as if he did not know any other way to be. He seemed to calculate the value of every person and thing based on some criteria that only he knew. While the woman he was with smiled pleasantly enough, Emily could see the fear in her eyes when she looked at him, how tightly she wound her hands together as if to stop them from shaking. Her father would not meet her eyes, his own shimmering as if he would burst into tears at the slightest provocation.
What should I do for the best?
She clutched her hand tightly together and decided to wait and see. That was all she could do.
The ride to London was largely achieved in silence as Laurence made a point of focusing on his papers and ignoring the tense atmosphere within the carriage. The haul from Whitehaven was light–he flicked his eyes briefly toward the young lady sitting opposite him–but good. She was so fresh-faced, clearly a virgin and wholesomely beautiful.
A veritable gold mine.
He tried not to smile too obviously but could not co
mpletely hide his smug pleasure. The more money that the brothel made, the better for him. Laurence Blackmore was a pragmatic man. He did not put more resources in a venture than he got out of it. So if his girls wanted to eat well, have the midwife see to them should one of them fall pregnant, and sleep in comfortable bedding, they had to make sure that he was earning.
He was already plotting ways to best explore her unique gifts.
Perhaps we should have an auction; sell her virginity to the highest bidder. Or we could make a show of it.
Lily would no doubt have some idea; he aimed a smile toward her as she sat primly beside him, playing the part of Madam to perfection. Laurence would rely on her to make the most of this opportunity and he knew she would not let him down. She looked across at the girl and smiled as kindly as she knew how. The girl’s only response was to furrow her brow and look away.
Not such a green girl then.
It was clear that she knew something was amiss. Laurence was quite sure however, that the girl did not know what that might be or just how much trouble she was in.
Emily watched the scenery pass her by and tried to slow her breathing so that she could calm herself. The further away they got from Whitehaven, the more she felt anxiety take over. She did not like the way Mr. Blackmore’s companion was watching her. The speculation in her eyes was similar to how Farmer John accessed a horse he intended to purchase at the market.
Mr. Blackmore, meanwhile, sat back reading some papers, his face closed and blank. She did not know what these people wanted with her but she was absolutely sure it was nothing good. She tried to focus on the scenery, to pay attention to the journey they were on, and the many other people that they passed on the road, but all she could think was…
What do you want from me?
Her stomach twisted with terror as her instincts screamed that whatever it was, she would not like it.
They came to a stop and she tensed further before peering outside the window to see that they were at an inn.
“Why are we stopping?” her voice was shaking slightly.
Mr. Blackmore ignored her but his companion smiled. “We need to change horses, of course.”
“Oh, of course. May I…may I powder my nose?” she flushed, looking away from them.
“Yes of course. We shall stop here for luncheon before we continue our journey.”
Blackmore made an annoyed sound. He and his companion exchanged loaded glances and then Mr. Blackmore seemed to submit, looking over at her with a smarmy smile.
“Yes, we shall stop here. Make sure you refresh yourself well. love.”
Chapter 4
Duncan had tried to hold his marriage together as best he could. Of course he was devastated, but infidelity was a common thing within the ton. He could not blame Jane if she got swept up in it. He was willing to own his part. He had been distant, traveling too much. He did not pay her enough attention. Of course she sought it elsewhere.
His mistake had been thinking that her patience would be endless. That she would wait for him forever if that is what it took. He had decided to do better. He cut short the number of his business trips. He made sure they went to bed together as many nights as possible and woke up together in the mornings.
He insisted on the family eating their meals together whenever possible, even though the twins were really too young for formal dining. Everything he did seemed to make things worse. He understood Jane’s guilt, he really did. But his forgiveness only seemed to drive her further into it. He watched helplessly as she began to spend time in her chambers, eating opium at all hours of the day or night. He recalled one night, when he had found her passed out in the gardens.
He had stared helplessly at her sprawled out form before he’d bent down to try and revive her.
Jane jerked awake to his large, rough hand shaking her. He hoped she could see how his usually energetic bright-eyed mien was tired, his serious pale blue eyes worried. He wore crumpled, well-worn tweeds that he’d hadn’t changed out of for at least two days.
“Jane?” he called, “can you hear me?”
Eyes fluttering and jumping about as if she still wavered between dream and reality, she failed to reply. She swallowed, running a hand through her disheveled blonde curls, she seemed bewildered as to what had happened.
“Look at me,” Duncan shook her desperately, his eyes intent.
Jane complied, her eyes puzzled as though she wasn’t really sure who he was. Her gray-green eyes met his and suddenly, he could not help but scold her.
“How much have you taken, Jane?”
The sheer idiocy of it!
“How much, Jane?”
“A mere fifty grains,” she replied, trying for nonchalance and failing, as a shiver ran through her.
“You are cold too. Do you need a physician? I shall have Bates call someone,” Duncan made to remove his coat, but Jane stopped him by placing a long, elegant hand on his arm.
“No need, my dear. I have all I need right here at home. Ammoniated tincture of valerian,” she slurred as he worriedly watched.
He sighed, helping her to her feet and then propelling her toward the house. He prayed that Nancy was asleep; there was no need for her to see any of this. He thanked the heavens that at least he was sure the twins were long ensconced in their beds, with no idea how profligate their mother really was.
He sighed, pulling her to their room and digging out the antidote as per her instructions.
“We cannot continue like this, Jane. You cannot continue like this.” he told her softly, avoiding her eyes.
“Oh Sulby…” she sighed softly, sounding defeated. Her hand came around and circled his wrist, soft and carefully. He lifted his eyes to look into hers, which were brimming with so many emotions like a broken mirror that reflected and divided a beloved image into different sharp-edged caricatures of itself. He could not bear to see it and got to his feet.
“I will be back,” he whispered before escaping to his study and the bottom of a brandy bottle. He had his own means of escape. How he regretted that night, his mind always replaying it with a different ending. One where he had not passed out at his desk. One where he was not awoken by screaming. One where his wife did not die in the night.
He jerked upright, instantly alert, this particular memory having haunted his dreams for a long time. It was one reason he preferred to avoid sleeping if he could. He got to his feet, stumbling slightly. His valet had long since finished shaving him and had left him to doze in his chair. He made a note to reprimand him for that although he knew in the back of his mind that Roberts was not to blame for his antipathy toward rest.
He picked up his coat and put it on, ready to start his day.
A governess. I need a new one.
He sighed, shaking his head as he resolved to pass by the agency to request yet another replacement.
Emily’s heart accelerated as they came to a stop on a street somewhere in the West End of London. At least according to what Madam Bainbridge said. She was currently beckoning for Emily to leave the carriage, but something had Emily glued to her seat in absolute terror. Mr. Blackmore glared at her. “Well? What are you waiting for, girl?” he growled.
“I-is this…? Where is this?”
He pointed at the door, “Follow Madam Bainbridge and you’ll see.”
The building they had stopped in front of did not look like a residence. In fact, judging by the number of people streaming in and out, it was either a tavern or some other business which stayed open until very late.
They had reached London in the dead of the night, the streets mostly silent and empty to begin with. The further they’d driven however, the more alive the town became. She had seen scantily clad women beckoning from the shadows, there were mysterious figures flicking from place to place, peering with interest at the passing carriage before going on their way…it was frightening.
She shuffled along until she could put her leg on the carriage steps. Heart pounding frantically
, she tentatively descended them and then came to a stop beside the other woman. Mr. Blackmore followed behind, pushing her along as Madam Bainbridge began to move. She expected that they would enter the establishment through the busy front door and maybe she could ask the burly man who guarded it for help.
Instead Madam Bainbridge turned into an alleyway, lit only by the lamps whose light spilled out of the upper-story windows.
“Please…where are we going?” Emily tried again, her voice shaking.
They both ignored her.
A Wicked Earl she can't Resist: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 3