“Yes, I did,” She had noticed that he was here with a woman that wasn’t his wife.
“That was Annalie, they have been in a relationship for over a decade. Men marry, but they rarely love within the confines of their marriage.” Celeste shuddered, “Matrimony is such an awful thing, giving control to someone you barely know without any recourse—it is really a stacked bargain.” Amelia had never viewed Matrimony like that before, it had been taught to her as the only worthwhile goal.
“The truth of the matter is that men do not have control—they like to think that they do—but they are the ones that get picked, and by you, if you should wish you can take your pick. There are other options, like Sophia who supports herself quite nicely through trade,” Celeste said and refilled Amelia’s wine. Amelia was getting a little affected by the alcohol at this point, but she felt unable to refuse. Celeste looked her over, “This might sound counter-intuitive, but being a chaste girl is a disadvantage at times as it can attract the wrong kind of men.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t. It’s hard to explain, but there are men who prefer to deal with women who don’t know their own minds. It is important for you to know your own mind when it comes to relations with men. Intimacy with men can be the greatest gift in this life, but true, deep intimacy requires that you know yourself and know what you want.” Amelia considered what Celeste was saying. No one had ever informed her in such a way.
“Experience is the only teacher I’m afraid,” Celeste said with a sly smile. “You should practice on someone. Ideally on someone who you will not fall in love with. That is very important. We have a tendency to fall into the first pothole we come across. See, if you went to the theatre with Anton a few times, there would be a good chance that you would fall in love with him in his adorable bumbling ways, but I doubt you are well suited and you would only find that out after you were married. Do yourself the greatest favor and find out what suits you, that is the only way to true happiness and contentment. It is a disgrace what they do to young women in this country; marry them off to whoever offers the most money. You don’t have to conform to that.”
“What about children?” Amelia said.
“Children are a part of life. My son is my heart and he is well adjusted and well provided for,” Celeste said. “There are ways to minimize the eventuality, I will tell you how. Now it is getting late and I must retire,” She said and put down her glass. “I can’t tell you what to do, only my advice. The world is broad and full of possibilities, don’t be afraid of it, but you true job is to find your own mind. And find an attractive man to practice on, but don’t fall in love. Not yet, you are not ready.”
Celeste kissed her on the cheek once Amelia had put her cloak on. “A friend of mine is having a party on Wednesday, would you like to come?”
“I would” Amelia confirmed. The evening had been a complete revelation and she would like to get to know some of these interesting people. It beat sitting in her room—correction, Lord Eldridge’s room—all evening, every evening, except when Edna insisted that they eat in the dining room. That was still mortally embarrassing to her.
If Amelia was to find a future for herself, she suspected that it was with this other society, this less formal, more passionate and curious society. Her thoughts returned to the painter she had met before, with his uncompromising gaze and direct manner. There was something very exciting about him. She couldn’t quite understand what as he dressed badly and he was unkempt in other ways.
She mused over the evening all the way home. It had been both stressful and relaxing, stressful because she didn’t know the rules or how to behave, relaxing because they didn’t seem to care about things like how she held her fork or the required inane polite banter. They knew about the world, and she was sorely oblivious to most of the things they were talking about, but she listened intently. It was different that she came home from an evening out with her mind spinning with new information and ideas.
She returned from this evening with Celeste’s more unorthodox advice, to lose her chastity quickly. She had been told throughout her life that it was her most prized possession, while Celeste implied that it was the means for men to steer her. She didn’t know what to think and she didn’t have time to as the carriage arrived outside her home—no, his house, she corrected herself yet again. She knew full well this situation could only go on for so long before she needed to find her own way in the world. Celeste had opened up a world of possibilities, while the doors were all closed behind her.
“You are late,” she heard Lord Eldridge’s deep tones coming from his study.
“Is it?” she genuinely was surprised as she stepped to the door of his study. “I hadn’t notice the time passing.”
“Was your evening…acceptable?”
“It was amazing,” she said with a large smile. “Interesting people, interesting ideas—I had no idea.”
“You are drunk.”
“No I’m not,” she said, but she conceded that he might have a point. Not that she would ever voice that he was correct. The odious man.
“I recall saying that I will not support another man’s mistress,” he said curtly.
“I am no man’s mistress,” she responded sharply. “I might have attended a social function, but that does not make me anyone’s mistress.” She was offended by his manner, and the fact that he obviously thought she would fall into any man’s arms. Celeste might have had a point about some men, she conceded, and he was a prime example; he was using her chastity to control her actions, she realized.
Chapter 7
Amelia had a slight headache the next morning. There had been an abundance of wine and even though she had tried to restricted herself, someone had kept refilling her glass if she let it be. Her little chat with Celeste highlighted some of the decisions that she needed to make about her life.
She needed to do something; she couldn’t stay here for the rest of her days. Even if Lord Eldridge didn’t throw them out before long, he would eventually marry and she would prove awkward to the new bride—not that she wanted to be dependent on Lord Eldridge’s kindness for any extended period of time, that simply would not do. Surely she was intelligent and creative enough to build a life for herself, but there was still the difficulty with Edna, who was not in a position to be flexible. In the meantime, there may be limited choices. She would have to figure out a solution, and stay here while she did.
Celeste’s thoughts on true happiness were intriguing. She had some extreme views on marriage, but Amelia had to concede that the institution could be viewed in such a negative light. Her thoughts on happiness and knowing what one required were praying heavily on Amelia’s mind, as was the idea that her chastity stood in the way of her knowing herself and knowing if the man she was with was right for her.
Amelia knew very little of love. She had read stories, but suspected that they couldn’t be entirely trusted. She knew even less about physical intimacy; she had gathered the basic mechanics, but she had no idea why Celeste would say it was the greatest gift in life—that seemed a bit strong.
There was nothing for it but to find out, Amelia decided. If it would help her discover herself and the kind of man that would be right for a true and lasting relationship, as Celeste said, then maybe it was the best thing to do. It did sound like an adventure; although she had no idea how one went about such things.
She thought of the painter she’d met the previous evening with his penetrating eyes—it sent a tremor up her spine. She imagined what it would be like to disrobe in front of him, let him touch her with those rough hands, maybe him watching her as he painted her. His name had been Henry; it was the one name she remembered most clearly. She wanted to know more about him.
‘Someone you won’t fall in love with,’ Celeste’s word reverberated in her head. Celeste had implied that she wasn’t ready for love. She wanted love. She wanted to explore the sense of excitement she felt when this man, Henr
y, lay his eyes on her. She suspected that he may not be impressed with polite banter and the rules of society—even a fearful virgin. She suspected he was a man who knew what he wanted in life and in a woman, and it was likely not a girl not far out of her apron strings.
She needed to practice; she needed someone she could start to develop experience with. Ideally a teacher, but she didn’t know of anyone suitable. There was a neighboring boy she’d known when she was younger, but he was married now. She had always been a little bit in love with him, but she wasn’t sure the love of a twelve year old would count.
Someone she wouldn’t fall in love with. The answer hit her with a deep sense of disappointment. There was someone she would definitely never fall in love with—her current benefactor and detractor. He was man, and handsome at least physically, and there was no chance she would like him, let alone love him. She expected he was experienced in the ways of the bedroom, he wasn’t a blushing youth and he’d been off in the West Indies doing heaven knows what for several years. He had even offered the particular outcome in question on the first day she’d met him, which had to signify that he was open to such an arrangement. From a strictly practical standpoint, there would also be a convenience as well with their close proximity.
It just seemed such a stretch to picture herself kissing him. She couldn’t image him kissing anyone. There had been an extremely unpleasant cat that had taken up residence in the stables one year when she was small, it detested being picked up and it hissed, clawed and spat whenever she touched it. Lord Eldridge reminded her of that cat. Perhaps using him to gain experience was not possible. Unfortunately she couldn’t think of anyone else.
Abigail entered her room close to noon. “Miss Hessworth has decided to instruct his Lordship on carriage care,” Abigail said with a sigh. “I tried to stop her, but you know what she’s like.”
Amelia rose from the little desk in her room and strode out her door and down the stairs. She rushed toward the entry way, where her aunt was standing outside pontificating at Lord Eldridge.
“Aunt,” she said as she got to them. “What are you doing outside? You’re not dressed for it.”
“I was thinking we should go for a walk,” Edna said. “It’s such a lovely day and Edward needs his exercise. He has a habit of neglecting himself,” she said and squeezed Lord Eldridge’s arm. Nothing Amelia said with regards to Lord Eldridge not in fact being her father, or Edna’s dear younger brother seemed to set in. She knew she was wasting her breath. She suspected Edna missed Edward and she preferred to believe they were a small family again.
Lord Eldridge did not look pleased. He never did anything to dissuade the old woman, but he wasn’t particularly enjoying being involved either.
“I am sure he has business to attend to,” Amelia said.
“Of course you do,” said Edna and patter him some more. “How silly of me.”
“It is a beautiful day for a walk, aunt, perhaps we should go to the park after lunch.”
“Excellent idea,” Edna said and marched back into the house where she proceeded to order Granson to set the lunch service.
“I’m sorry,” Amelia said turning toward the scowling man next to her. “She is used to having her way; it is difficult to dissuade her.”
“Do try. Perhaps the front door should be locked in the future,” he said quietly before turning toward the door.
The table was set for lunch by the time they got inside and Edna had her place at the other end of the table from Lord Eldridge. “Now tell us about the ball you went to. I was surprised you left Amelia behind, were you not feeling well, my dear?” Edna asked Amelia.
“It wasn’t an event I was interested in,” Amelia said, she had pointed out to her aunt that she didn’t receive such invitations any more.
“Was it lovely?” Edna asked Lord Eldridge.
“It was lengthy,” he replied without seeming inclined to discuss it further.
“I used to love balls, you too Amelia, you look so lovely in your gowns,” Edna reminisced. “Don’t you think?” she pressed him.
“Yes,” he said and didn’t look up from the food he was quickly consuming.
“She has such a lovely figure,” Edna went on.
“Aunt!” Amelia was mortified that she was discussing her figure with him. “Your lunch is getting cold.” It also surprised her that he had agreed that she looked good in a gown, but she realized he was obliging Aunt Edna by playing along. Sadly it was easier to just play along sometimes, as it seemed to distress her when her perception of the world was challenged.
She studied him for a minute. His hands were large and well-shaped—not rough like the painter’s, and he had no dirt of any kind under his nails or on his person. His coat was well made; it showed off the strong lines of his frame. There was no padding in his clothes, as some gentlemen seemed to prefer. There was a look of concentration on his face as he dealt to his lunch. His eyes were blue, she noted. She had never looked that closely at him before.
He must have noticed her gaze as he looked up and frowned as he locked eyes with her. She had never seen him smile; she couldn’t imagine what his face looked like with a smile. She looked away.
It still seemed surreal to think about being close to him, to kiss him. He had very nice lips, they were kissable, she guessed. He was a fair bit taller than her which might make kissing difficult, maybe she would be better off finding someone the same height as her.
She looked back at him when he returned his gaze to his plate. The collar of his shirt stiffly surrounding the skin of his neck. He was well shaven. She wondered if he shaved himself or if someone did it for him—if he had his shirt off when he did it. It was hard for her to imagine that his skin continued under his white shirt. Intellectually she knew it did, she just had trouble reconciling the thought.
His waist was trim—neither skinny nor too thick. She wondered what it would feel like to run her hand over his stomach. She had seen men in the fields with their shirts off and she knew they weren’t soft as women, they were broad with muscles. Her face heated and she stopped her scrutiny. There was a certain thrill imagining him without his clothes, imaging herself touching his skin—and him touching her.
She had seen some of the married men run their hands gently along their wives’ shoulders; it had looked so kind and intimate—she’d had longed for the time when she would be in that position. She had always wondered what it would be like to have a man touch her; thoughts that were both forbidden and not, and she had never successfully navigated the duality of it. It was supposed to happen between man and wife, but it was forbidden between a man and a woman.
The girl was watching him, he noted. He could feel her eyes settle on him when he was looking elsewhere. He wondered what she was thinking; something was going on in her head. He knew something had changed; she wasn’t regarding him with the look of complete contempt she usually fashioned. A look she managed when she was drunk as well, as she had been the other night when she returned from her outing with the demi-monde.
He knew drunkenness and she had been the kind of drunk that one may not be entirely cognizant of. She had been slightly flushed, her eyes sparkled, and her fingers had travelled along her collar bone completely unwittingly. He’d watched the stubbornness in her when he’d angered her, and the way her anger made her breath heavy. He had noticed how well her gown fit her when she’d come down the stairs for the evening. She had looked lovely, but he’d gotten a better appreciation when he’d angered her afterwards. Her chest swelled with indignity, pushing the creamy mounds against the restrictive material encasing her.
There was no doubt the girl was attractive, she would do well in the world of the demi-monde. Any warm blooded male would be happy to have her in his bed. He just didn’t want another man’s bed warmer in his house. It set his ire alight, as would the sight of her flushed body direct from a tumble in her lover’s bed. If she was prepared to serve a man in that capacity, she was ready to fend for herself
.
She was yet unaware of her charms. Her innocence clung to her like a shiny new cloak. The sensuality in her unaware fingertips spoke of what might be a formidable woman one day.
He shook the thoughts off him as he finished lunch and retreated to his study. The women in his house were making more impositions on his life and his peace. Being referred to as Edward Hessworth annoyed him, but he wasn’t about to abuse an old woman, no matter how much he bristled. He did feel sorry for the woman, her age and infirmity could not be easy to endure.
He only had a few hours before the evening’s festivities; it would be another evening of refined company that night, but with Lord Hariston and his acquaintances. There were investment propositions that centred around this group and he wanted in. They tended to save the best investment opportunities for their group and it would do him no harm at all to be affiliated with that circle. He would put up with hours of inane banter to achieve this goal.
These evenings were wearing on him. He had fought so hard to get back into society; it had occupied every waking thought. Now that he had arrived, he was struggling to settle into its routines and attitudes. He was sure that would change. He just needed to shave off some of the rough edges he’d developed over the last twenty years.
Richard nursed the sweet lemon liquor that the host’s son had apparently brought back from the continent on his Grand Tour. It was sickly sweet and tart at the same time. He wished he could dispose of the offending liquid somehow, but he was stuck consuming it all.
“The Marchavens have the most divine set of matching grays.” Lady Futherford said with an elaborate wave of her arms. “I think it’s important to make sure you have an exact matching set of horses, close enough is simply not good enough. I find sibling horses can be good. Sometime they move similarly as well.” Richard stifled a yawn. He wondered if he could ever bring himself to care for these conversations. He wasn’t sure if he’d still tolerate himself if he did. He certainly didn’t like any of the people here—they were cloistered, insipid and plain stupid.
Undoing One's Enemy Page 6