by Janet Woods
She had seen two children huddled together outside a silversmith’s that morning. Gaunt of cheek and hollow-eyed, they’d held out grimy hands to beg for coins. The shopkeeper had set about them with a stick.
Suddenly, Willow hated London—its squalor, its fogs and the poor spilling like rats from the filthy alleys. Her mind drifted back to Coringal Estate, and a childhood free of restraint.
She sighed, longing to feel her horse gathering its muscles together between her thighs as she put it to a jump. She craved the soft Irish mist against her face, damp grass beneath her feet and the experience of coming home at dusk to see Coringal—once the exiled home of her paternal grandmother—waiting with shabby gentility to welcome her home. Summer at Coringal had been a delightful profusion of flowers amongst the green wooded hills, and soft perfumed air. Winter there had brought cold to battle with, and days of hunger. But although her body had often gone without warmth and comfort, her mind had been kept nourished—and she’d never had to beg.
Her tutor had always been by her side offering his guidance. James Langland had filled her mind with knowledge, encouraged her dreams and embellished them with his own as a natural progression of their relationship. Together, they’d created adventures. Coringal was blessed with a library, and James had brought out the maps so they could travel the world together.
When she was not studying they were out in the countryside. She’d learned how to trap and skin a rabbit, and how to catch fish with her bare hands. James had taught her to shoot a pistol. One day, when they’d been bored and restless, he’d introduced her to the art of fencing. She’d proved to be an adept pupil, earning the praise of the laconic James.
A hungry ache gathered in her heart. Dearest James, where are you now—and why have you not written to me in all this time?
‘Willow!’ An urgent hiss brought out of her reverie. Catching a glimpse of a pasty-faced man with a bulbous nose she instinctively followed the older woman’s example and dropped a deep curtsy.
King George the second was older than she expected, at least seventy. She wondered if the rumors she’d heard about his many mistresses were true. He didn’t appear all that attractive to her.
‘Charming. You may rise.’
‘Lady Sommersley, sire. My cousin’s ward, and wife to her grandson, Viscount Sommersley.’
‘Sommersley?’ The King inclined his head towards General Marriot as if trying to remember something and enlisting his aide for the purpose.
‘He’s Earl Lytton’s heir. Lady Sommersley is the daughter of Marquis Lynchcross.’
‘Ah yes. I must exchange a word with him. Bring him and his delightful stepdaughter to me when they arrive.’ The king’s glance absently washed over her. ‘She’s so young and so fresh and pretty. Your husband is a lucky man, my dear.’
Her cheeks dimpled into a rosy blush. ‘Thank you, your Majesty.’ She breathed a sigh of relief when the king turned back to Lady Edwina.
‘The General informs me you plan to travel to Dorset shortly. The roads are hazardous these days. Some of our regiment is travelling to Dorchester before too long. We will advise the General to arrange an escort. It will save you the expense of hiring outriders.’ One nod and he passed on down the line, their faces and names already a fading memory.
‘You didn’t tell me we were going to the country, Grandmother.’ She gently fluttered her eyelashes at Hugh Macbride, who was weaving through the crush with a glass of lemonade clutched in each hand. ‘It will be nice to leave London.’
‘I decided quite recently.’ Crossly, Lady Edwina watched the young officer walk towards them. ‘You’re flirting quite shamefully. Discourage the young man or I’ll box your ears and send him packing myself.’
‘I see no harm in it’ Spreading her fan in a graceful arc, Willow applied her gaze to the crowd. A middle-aged man whose paunch hung low over his breeches winked at her. She stared back haughtily.
‘Lieutenant Macbride is like all soldiers,’ Edwina said softly. ‘His manoeuvres have only one purpose away from the battlefield, and that is to conquer the prize a woman holds between her thighs. That, my dear, belongs to your husband.’
‘Grandmother!’ Willow fanned vigorously at the rosy blush that appeared on her cheeks. ‘You who cite modesty as a virtue should not speak to me of such pursuits.’
‘Bah!’ Edwina exclaimed, quite gratified by the shock in Willow’s voice. It wasn’t often she could get the better of her these days. ‘Tell me you do not lie abed and imagine the time when your husband pleasures you in such a way.’
‘Indeed, I do not know to what you refer.’ Willow blushed even more furiously. ‘I’m ignorant regarding marital relations.’
‘For your own sake, I pray you remain so until your husband returns,’ Edwina said tartly.
Further conversation was forestalled by the arrival of Hugh Macbride, He handed them each a lemonade. ‘Would you care to stroll amongst the trees, Lady Sommersley?’ he said, giving her a dazzling smile. ‘You look flushed. I fear the heat in the marquee is too much for you.’
‘Lady Sommersley is stronger than she looks.’ Edwina glanced over his shoulder and spotted Marquis Lynchcross accompanied by his nephew, Eduard, and Daphne de Vere. She smiled at the misery on Daphne’s face. That would teach her for marrying that Lynchcross whelp and making a fool of her Gerard.
‘Excuse us, Lieutenant,’ she purred. ‘We have our respects to pay to Lady Sommersley’s father.’
Willow began to tremble when Lady Edwina took her arm and led her through the crowd. She’d not met her father since her marriage, and had no wish to. ‘Please do not make me pay my respects, for truth to tell, I have none.’
Edwina ignored her plea. ‘You cannot go through life avoiding the man.’ The girl was as white as a spring snowdrop, and had it not been too late, because the marquis had already seen them, she would have had second thoughts.
‘You need not say anything more than necessary to him. I’d be obliged if you would engage Daphne de Vere in conversation. I hear she gave birth to a child within a year of her marriage. You can enquire about the brat whilst I tackle the marquis about your dowry. The negotiations have gone on too long.’
‘I want nothing from him.’ Willow wished Lady Edwina would drop the matter of a dowry. ‘It’s bad enough that I inherited his bloodline.’
‘Your wants do not come into it. A settlement is due, and I intend to obtain it for my grandson.’ Edwina patted her ward’s hand. ‘And you, my dear child, are entitled to your marriage portion. I intend to be tenacious about the matter. If it’s not resolved soon I’ll petition His Majesty.’
Several people gave Lady Edwina an interested glance and sidled closer when she neared the Marquis. Eyes narrowing, the marquis brushed his lips across the gloved fingers she offered.
The face of the marquis was pitted by pox. His lips twisted into a permanent sneer. A slight deformity in his calf gave the man a twisted gait that added to the legend that he was a dangerous man without conscience.
The legend was not without substance. He’d triumphed on the dueling field, and whispers circulated about certain activities he and his associates indulged in.
Half-hidden by Edwina’s larger form, Willow would have stayed there if her cousin Eduard had not taken her hand and dragged her out. She shuddered when he smiled, recoiling from the stale smell of his breath. Daphne de Vere, whom she’d met briefly before their marriages, deserved her sympathy. Daphne shrugged as they exchanged a glance, her lips twitching into an oddly ironic smile.
‘My little cousin has grown beautiful, has she not?’ Eduard wore a gold waistcoat embroidered all over with green vine leaves. His coat and breeches were scarlet satin. Powder from his high-dressed wig scattered his shoulders.
Brought to the attention of her father, Willow shrank involuntarily from the scrutiny of his astute pale eyes. She managed a strained smile. He couldn’t harm her now, she told herself. She belonged to Gerard, who was honor bound to defend h
er from hurt and insult. Yet she did not want her husband to die on her account. Her smile faded and she briefly curtsied.
‘She resembles her mother, does she not?’ Edwina’s voice adopted a slightly malicious tone. ‘Marietta was about the same age when you took her in marriage, if I recall.’
The marquis’s tongue flicked at his lips. ‘Let’s hope the resemblance ends there. The woman dabbled in the black arts.’
Willow took a fearful step backwards at the hatred in his expression.
‘I have decided the question of dowry. I’ll send round the deeds to Coringal.
‘And her marriage portion?’
‘Five hundred guineas.’
‘The amount is an insult. Fifteen thousand and her mother’s jewelry,’ Edwina said firmly.
‘We will not quibble in public, madam.’ The marquis glanced at the listening bystanders. Recognizing one who was close to the king he capitulated grudgingly. ‘There are one or two trinkets the girl can have and I’ll agree to twelve thousand guineas. I’ll probably win it back at the gaming tables over the next month.’
‘In gold,’ Edwina murmured. ‘I do not trust paper.’
His mouth tightened. ‘I’ll instruct my banker to place both that amount and the deeds to Coringal at your disposal.’
Satisfied, Edwina nodded her head. Willow had told her the Irish estate was unproductive for farming, but that remained to be seen. Given a good manager and the modern farming methods Gerard had constantly talked about, anything was possible.
Having finished the distasteful business to her satisfaction, she gave Willow an exasperated look and turned to Daphne de Vere herself. ‘I hear you have a child, madam.’
Willow caught her breath when love softened Daphne’s eyes.
‘I have a dear little boy who is nearing his third birthday. His name is Edward George.’
‘You name him after his father then?’
There was a merest hesitation, then Daphne said smoothly. ‘And after the King, who was the main sponsor at his christening.’
The King! Edwina gave Daphne a speculative look. The young Marchioness moved in high circles these days.
‘I would love to see him.’ Willow gazed appealingly at Lady Edwina.
‘It will not be possible. We’re leaving for Dorset within the week and have no time to entertain.’
‘Then you must call on me. I’d be most grateful for your company. Tomorrow at three?’
Mindful that Daphne de Vere was a Marchioness in her own right, and outranked her, Edwina’s acceptance was graceful. ‘Naturally, we would be delighted.’
Willow’s smiled bathed her in friendliness. ‘Does little Edward resemble you or his father?’
‘Neither. He has brown eyes and a head-full of dark curls. He is straight of limb and tall for his age. He’s a handsome lad and some say he favors the Lytton connection, in that he has my father’s looks.’
‘Lytton connection?’ She gazed at Daphne in complete surprise. ‘In what way are you related to the Lytton family, Lady Daphne?’
‘My late father was second cousin to Earl Lytton. Our families have always been neighbours and friends and I hope that will continue. I’d like to think my son has neighbours he can respect and trust when he inherits Sheronwood.’ She flicked a faintly damning glance at the marquis, smiling without mirth when he cleared his throat. For a moment her brown eyes conveyed malice.
Edwina warmed to the young Marchioness as they took leave of each other. Daphne de Vere had more spirit than she’ d first thought. She was unhappy, yet had wit enough to insult her husband in public. She’d probably pay for it, the French fop had a vicious look to him.
Had Daphne known her son would be punished for her remarks with a beating she would not have been so forward.
Later, locked in her room, she could hear her son’s screams become sobs, then the sobs become whimpers. When she finally got him back and tended the bruises on his trembling body with witch hazel, rage filled her heart.
Tenderly, she took her son in her arms and cradled him against her heart. Right then and there she resolved that Eduard Lynchcross would never hurt her son again. Her health had been below par of late. It would give her an excuse to take Edward to Sheronwood Estate to visit his grandmother. She would not return to live with Eduard. Placing a kiss on her son’s bruised cheek she whispered in his ear. ‘I will kill him if he does this to you again.’
‘All of London is talking about Sapphire.’ Daphne said the next day as she offered Lady Edwina another sweetmeat. ‘The woman is a mystery. Some say she’s of French birth, others that she was lately an inhabitant of a town called New Orleans in the America’s. It’s said she has a knack of seeing into the past as well as the future.’
‘You would not catch me parting with money to know what’s gone before,’ Edwina scorned. ‘I’m already in possession of that knowledge.’
‘Rumor says her face is so hideous she wears a veil to cover it. Sapphire promised to cure Isobelle Penforth of her barrenness. She gave Isobelle a potion to secretly slip into her husband’s drink, and has promised her a child within a year.’
‘Bah!’ Edwina said fiercely. ‘Her husband can barely mount a horse let alone father a child. He has one foot in the grave. An aphrodisiac will send the other one over the edge. He is too old for such excitement.’
Though she gave a little laugh, Willow blushed. The fact that she’d been married for several years and was still intact was cause of concern to her. Something in her feared her husband’s return and the act that would make her his wife, another part of her longed for a child like Edward to love. She laid her cheek against his silky hair and breathed in the scent of his skin.
‘You’re lucky to have such a handsome son.’
Daphne gave Willow a sympathetic smile. Her state of virginity and her absent husband was common talk in London circles. Certain sections of society were betting over who would overcome Lady Edwina’s tight control of her, and seduce her.
‘Have you heard from Gerard recently?’ she enquired of Lady Edwina.
‘I received word only yesterday. He intends to return before Christmas.’
Willow’s heart gave a nervous jump. Why hadn’t she been told? She wished her grandmother would begin to treat her like an adult. Her finger traced a blue mark on Edward’s hand. Idly, she pushed back a section of his sleeve and gazed in horror. ‘You poor darling,’ she gasped. ‘You have hurt yourself.’
Edward’s lower lip began to tremble. ‘Papa beat me with his cane.’
‘Oh, my poor love.’ Falling to her knees Daphne gathered up her son and hugged him tight. Tears stung her eyes as she gazed from one to the other.’ I beg you to help me. Eduard is insane, and will kill my boy one day. He’s jealous that the marquis favors Edward as his heir. Allow us to travel to Dorset with you.’
Edward began to sob in sympathy with his mother.
All was pandemonium until Edwina took charge in her own indomitable manner. The child was pacified with a sweetmeat, then a maid summoned to clear away the tea things. When they were alone again, she called for Edward’s nurse to take him to the nursery to play. She chose to forget that Daphne de Vere had spurned her dear grandson in favor of the child’s father, and therefore deserved all she got. That was water under the bridge. Besides, she’d grown to love the vivacious Willow in a way she’d never thought possible over the past four years.
‘Now, my dear,’ she said kindly to Daphne. ‘You’ll tell me all about it and we’ll see what can be done to help.’
‘Will this journey never end?’
Lady Edwina had been querulous for the past half hour. No wonder, Willow thought, sighing as their two hired coaches stuck fast in the mud once again. What should have been a two-day journey had stretched into three when a summer storm had flooded the Piddle River just outside of Dorchester. They’d found overnight lodging at a wayside Inn.
‘I swear the bed was crawling with lice,’ Edwina scratched her neck and sighe
d, ‘and you tossed and turned all night. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.’
Nonsense! Willow grinned as she took a deep breath of the country air. The bed had been wonderfully clean and Lady Edwina’s snores had practically raise the thatch from the roof.
She bestowed a smile on Edward, pleased that the excitement of having soldiers as an escort had taken his mind from his mother. Daphne had begged to be allowed to accompany her son to visit her grandmother at Sheronwood Estate. Her husband had agreed the child must go but had spitefully refused Daphne leave to accompany him.
‘It will not be for much longer.’ Gazing out of the coach window she smiled as she beckoned to Hugh Macbride. ‘We will take some exercise whilst the men free the coaches.’
‘And ruin our complexions?’ Lady Edwina grumbled, allowing Hugh Macbride to assist her from the coach to a grassy raised strip. She put out a hand to help Willow herself, bestowing a scowl on the man. ‘You may help the child and his nurse.’
‘My pleasure, ma’am.’ The nurse was a young widow, and handsome enough to turn a few heads. Taking her by the waist, Hugh Macbride lifted her across the gap, his hands still lingering about her waist after he’d set her on her feet.
The smile the nurse offered to the soldier was intercepted by Lady Edwina, who frowned. ‘Get about your business, sir. You are here as escort and you neglect your duties.’
‘Beware of the soldier, Willow,’ she grumbled as he strode away. ‘He is too handsome for his own good, and conquest comes easily to him.’
‘Are all men so free with their affections?’ She laid her cheek against the old lady’s arm as they promenaded on the sun-dappled grass. ‘I wish I’d been born a man. It would be nice to follow my heart and live a life without restriction.’
‘Who says a man has no restrictions?’ Edwina smiled at her naivete. ‘It’s a man’s duty to care and provide for his family. As for following his heart—?’
‘Gerard Lytton would now be married to Daphne de Vere and master of Sheronwood,’ Willow interjected bitterly. ‘Please do not remind me again, Grandmother. It’s hateful to know one’s husband loves another, even if that husband has cause to despise his wife. There is no pride in knowing I’m unworthy of his attention.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘Now I’m to meet his family. They will despise me also.’