Undoing One's Enemy

by Camille Oster

  “You have been of great assistance and I am grateful.” She stopped walking and turned to him. Her body language didn’t correspond with her spoken sentiment. “I am sorry for the intrusion upon your life, if there were any alternatives that I could foresee working, I would pursue them.”

  “I do not wish to discuss your aunt and her illness,” he stated. She looked him in the eyes trying to figure out what he wanted to discuss. It became clear to him that she had misunderstood his intentions. She believed that he wanted her out of his house, which was true in some respects, but completely the opposite as well. He knew his position was quite paradoxical on the subject.

  “With regards to the other night,” he said and watched her blush, “it was a most pleasurable episode. Evenings which,” he was trying to pick his words, “I would like to continue in a similar fashion. I am wealthy, a continued … association … would be profitable for you.”

  “Profitable?” she said with astonishment. “I’m not a whore.”

  This wasn’t going as he anticipated. He certainly didn’t want to get into a discussion about how she was classified, and the meaning of the relations they’d had the previous night.

  “We seem to have a synergy in that department,” he said feeling intensely uncomfortable. “It is not something that is guaranteed and once it is found one should not give it up.”

  She was staring at him with her mouth open. She really needed to receive attention from gentlemen with better decorum. She wasn’t going to fare well if it was this uncomfortable establishing an understanding with her.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think that is a good idea.”

  Now it was his turn to be astonished—she had just turned him down. “I don’t think you understand, I am offering to support you, provide for you in a way that will set you up for the future. It is a generous offer, you will not receive better.”

  “Well, I am flattered, I guess, but I am not looking for such an offer.”

  “You cannot seriously believe that marriage is still an option for you.”

  “I do, in fact,” she said, her temper was appearing now. “I don’t think I could settle for anything less.”

  “You may well have to; you clearly don’t understand the position you are in.”

  “I understand perfectly the position I am in, Lord Eldridge, I realize full well that I am now beneath consideration for men like you,” she said sharply. “But there are more than men like you in the world, and there are those who are not as caring for position and power as you are.”

  “Then you are delusional. I offer you a future, security, and a means to take care of your aunt.”

  “Are you saying I must be your mistress or I will have to find someplace else for my aunt?”

  That was not what he intended. There was a devil in him that insisted that he say yes, but it was a step too far for his conscience. “I’m not saying that, I am just suggesting that since we live in the same house and we do … function well together, it would be a natural step.”

  She stroked the back of her neck while she regarded him. “I’m sorry. It is not tolerable.”

  Tolerable, what was that supposed to mean, he wondered. “Your place in my house is causing me certain difficulties; it seemed like a perfect answer.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again without looking him in the eyes, ”if I gave you the impression that it was a path for consideration, but it’s not.”

  He now knew she was set against the idea. Somehow he had read the situation wrong. She had not coyly played with him to try to imply that there was competition for her favors. In fact, she’d behaved like she had never been in his bed at all, and that he was completely out of line for assuming that a formal arrangement might be in order.

  He watched as she turned on her heel and walked back toward the town house. She was hugging her arms around her and was walking in firm steps back the way they’d come. He could see her sensible boots lifting the back of her dress with each step.

  He was angry and embarrassed. He wasn’t sure whether the girl was toying with him or just too insensible to understand her new reality. She clearly didn’t understand that she needed support from someone and that he was as good as it was going to get. Secondarily, he was furious because the idea of having a sweet and passionate lover sharing his bed was now out of reach, unless she was still playing some game with him. He knew he didn’t always understand females.

  Amelia returned to her room. She was furious and she was scared—scared for her aunt. Her aunt would not tolerate change, but as much as she loved her aunt, she would not share the bed of that man just to secure a roof over their heads. There was a very great point of distinction between the times she had shared his bed and having to do so in order to secure his support.

  She wasn’t a whore, even though she’d now realized that he expected her to be. They probably all did, the men of his class. It was disgusting and it was foul. Although she might have to pay dearly for her position on the subject, and poor Aunt Edna may have to pay even more so. Her ideals and expectations had landed them in hot water now. They were probably going to have to go back to Hoxton if he hadn’t withdrawn his support completely.

  But she could not continue sharing his bed; she would not be able to look at herself—combined with the fact that the bond between them had grown complex enough as it was. If she succumbed, that would be her future, she would be with him until he tired of her, then she would be passed onto some other man with the ever present hope that she pleased him well enough. She would rather die than exist like that; although she was playing with more than her own future now.

  She couldn’t help the sobs from coming. It was an intolerable situation she was in. Maybe she should just run away. If she deserted Aunt Edna, he would have no choice but to keep her on. She knew he was gentlemanly enough to have to provide for her. Edna would suffer from her absence, even if Edna thought she was her mother most of the time. It was those odd occasions when Edna was lucid. If she had a lucid moment and discovered that she’d been abandoned, it would kill her.

  No, she would just have to face whatever wrath Lord Eldridge felt like wreaking on her. She felt utterly alone.

  Lord Eldridge seemed to be taking his time with his retribution; although it could have been that she’d strictly stayed in her or Edna’s rooms over the last few days. She had taken to reading to Edna, which seemed to sooth her when she got confused.

  The discussion they’d had near Hyde Park still sat fresh in her mind. Part of her knew that it had been a generous offer for someone in her position, and she also remembered that he said that her presence in his house was making things very difficult for him. She had to concede that it might make things awkward; it was an inappropriate arrangement and not one where he could invite guests to his home.

  She also knew that it made it hard for him to marry while she and her aunt were residing in his house. She thought of every possible alternative, but Edna needed familiar surroundings. Maybe if they had a nice country cottage with a garden, Edna would be more accepting, but she didn’t have enough money to rent a cottage for very long.

  That day, a letter arrived that distracted her from the heavy thoughts that plagued her day and night. It was from Henry, the artist. Her fingers shook when she read it. His scribble was nearly unintelligible, but it said that he would be most appreciative if she would sit for him soon and that he would collect her on which ever day was suitable for her.

  The tone was very gentle; she wondered what kind of background he came from, obviously not one that valued a beautiful script. There was a certain dichotomy when she considered him, there was gentleness and then there was passion. She felt it in his eyes when he looked at her, even though she had no idea what was going on in his mind, she suspected that it was more than gauging her up for her worth on the marriage market—not that anyone had been doing that for a while now.

  Just the idea of meeting him again made her feel a bit giddy. She could well imagin
e them together, in a little cottage somewhere away from the city, even with a young family. Even Edna would likely tolerate such a situation. She knew full well that she didn’t really know this man and that he may not fit into her picture of happiness, but someone would. Then again, he just might, she would have to find out.

  Her argument with Lord Eldridge had established something, she did want marriage. It just had to be with someone who didn’t care that she had to live in a man’s house in order to take care of her family. She flatly refused to believe that such men didn’t exist.

  She wrote a reply saying that tomorrow would be fine considering the appropriateness of the weather. She could barely contain her excitement. She was going to spend the day tomorrow, with a man that could potentially be her husband. She suspected they would function well together too, as Lord Eldridge as referred to it. Just the fact that her belly reacted every time he looked at her indicated that his touch would be very invigorating, different from Lord Eldridge, softer and more loving.

  She couldn’t quite define what is was that made Lord Eldridge’s touch so engaging, maybe because it felt … dangerous. His kisses seemed to make her barriers fall; she couldn’t quite understand it. He wasn’t gentle or loving, more fire. There was something in it that was compelling; it was more complex because there were questions in their intimacy related to who she was and who he was. Being with him meant exposing vulnerability with the knowledge that he could very well rip her apart. There was a leap of faith involved, to trust someone who wasn’t entirely trustworthy, and there was a certain exhilaration in doing so. With someone like Henry, she would just be loved and appreciated; it wouldn’t be difficult, it would be easy.

  Chapter 12

  The evening was devolving into the mess that he had learnt to expect with Lord Hariston. They ended up at a gaming hell with card games, whores and drink. Things that had diverted him greatly in his youth, but they held only fleeting interest these days. Although he needed the distraction, sitting at home deliberating on this situation and the girl that trod the floorboards over his head was doing his head in.

  She had rejected him. The girl he had ruined had then turned around and rejected him. It almost made him laugh. It wasn’t as if she was unmoved by him, it was more than clear that she was; she responded to his touch with wanton abandon and he had felt whole being nestled in her thighs. Now she had withdrawn it without recourse. He wondered if she was punishing him, but he had a hard time believing that she was that cold and callous—or that she was that good an actress.

  Now he was stuck, stuck with her in the house. It grated his nerves every time he heard her, even more that she hid herself away. There were points when he wanted to rip her to bits, but she conveniently wasn’t present at those points.

  Now he was here, drunk and miserable. He didn’t really want to be here, it was loud, crowded and the women were fawning all over him for coin. It gave him no peace, but it was preferable to being at home. He considered taking the redheaded whore out the back and having his way with her, but the thought disgusted him too. He was also too drunk or he might give it serious consideration.

  “But you are a lucky sod,” Lord Hariston said leaning back. His eyes were glossy with mirth and whiskey.

  “Oh?” Richard said, curious to see why he was such a lucky sod—he didn’t feel lucky.

  “Don’t think I haven’t heard who you have locked away at your house,” Lord Hariston said languidly moving his arm around the room, spilling slightly from his tumbler as he did so. “Every bastard here envies you.”

  Richard laughed, they wouldn’t be jealous if they knew that he’d been rejected by the floosy who had installed herself in his house. Now he had to support her and content himself with his own cold bed. It was amusing; he had been outplayed by a strumpet.

  “Her father held a tight leash on her, you couldn’t get near her. I bet she can give you a good run for your money.”

  Richard felt like he’d sobered, he hated her being referred to in that way by others. What she had given in bed had not been the practiced passion of some lightskirt, it had been honest and almost stark in its absence of guile, and it demanded the same intensity back. He hadn’t felt like a meal ticket or a purse when she wrapped her arms and legs around him—he’d felt wanted.

  He wanted to punch Lord Hariston in the face, but he knew the instinct was a ridiculous reaction; something a love struck sixteen year old would resort to. Young bucks invariable fell in love with whores—it was the way of things. Maybe they were just prone to falling in love with women who opened their bodies to them.

  “I will be cross if you don’t pass her along this way, when you’re done with her,” Lord Hariston said and took a long drag on his cheroot.

  “I will keep that in mind, but she doesn’t take direction well,” he said with a dark laugh. It was a joke made for himself exclusively, but Lord Hariston mistook the meaning.

  “Needs a bit of breaking in?”

  The idea of someone breaking her displeased him, as did the fact that he had these ridiculously protective feelings toward her. He bristled every time someone said anything distasteful about her, and that being from him, who was in actuality her worst enemy—the one who wished her ill like no one else.

  “She’s a dangerous girl,” he said finally. He’d said it out loud but he hadn’t meant to.

  Lord Hariston seemed to laugh with enjoyment, but he still felt like smashing his face in. “Aren’t they all,” Lord Hariston said and gave the girl sitting down in his lap a slap on the backside, to which she giggled and cooed. “Where would we be without them?”

  Richard wondered the same, where would he be without her. He would be free to marry. Marry some well-bred girl, who he’d quickly install in her own room so he could sit here with some jaded whore on his lap—one that was incidentally trying her best to get him rigid, sadly without any success. Finally the girl left in a huff.

  He bid goodbye shortly after that. He actually walked home that night, it wasn’t overly far, but there were usually perils out on the street waiting for drunken gentlemen such as himself. He didn’t much care that night’ he’d lived in dangerous places before, much more dangerous that Mayfair. The walk proved uneventful, even with the large full moon to tempt the lunatics.

  The house was completely dark with the exception of a candle that Granson had left for him in the vestibule. He only had to wait a minute before Granson was there to let him in. If only women were as dependable as manservants, how happy life would be. He bid goodnight to Granson and proceeded up the stairs, but instead of turning left, he turned right. It wasn’t something he intended to, it just happened and he walked to the door at the end of the hall. He wasn’t going to knock; he just wanted to see if it was open in a wild hope. It wasn’t, it was firmly shut against him.

  He put his hand on the door. Maybe this would be what marriage was like, a shut door when he came home at night, a cold hard barrier with an angry woman behind it. The thought made him smile bitterly. The world swayed a bit, he really was drunk. He reluctantly walked to his room, for some reason he’d felt like standing outside her door philosophising.

  Amelia received word that Henry was coming by at midday. She couldn’t help but be excited. The morning seemed to drag on. She read the newspaper to Edna, to entertain Edna as well as an attempt to gain knowledge in case Henry expected intelligent conversation on current affairs. She had no idea what to expect from a sitting as a model.

  She had taken the newspaper from the dining room. It had been unread which meant that Lord Eldridge was still in bed. She couldn’t help wonder if he was ill, but dismissed it as none of her concern. The conversation they’d had a few days ago still reverberated through her head from time to time; although Henry’s imminent arrival was distracting. Her anger had abated somewhat, but there was still a strong mix of emotions in her. On the one hand, he was acting like any man of his class would, on the other; she seemed to want to hold him to a higher stand
ard, which was ridiculous.

  Intimacy proved to make even very simple things complicated. It was a valuable lesson and she was glad she had taken Celeste’s advice. She would likely be completely lost otherwise—there were all sorts of traps for the unwary, she recognized.

  She heard a knock on the door outside and sprang from the chair, giving her aunt a start in the process.

  “Sorry aunt, I just wanted to see who it is,”

  “It that Edward?”

  “It is not. It is a painter.”

  “Are you having a portrait done?”

  “Something like that.” She hated deceiving her aunt, but out of all things to hate about the situation, the option that didn’t hurt and confuse her aunt was the best—even if it made her a straight out liar. “I won’t be long aunt, maybe an hour or two.” Her aunt usually took a nap at this time, so she it worked out well, unless it took much longer to paint than she expected.

  Amelia ran down the stairs to join Granson who had already opened the door to attend to the caller.

  “He’s here for me,” Amelia said and hastily put on her coat. She stepped out and smiled at Henry. He looked fresh, clean shaven with bright eyes, even though there was a spot of paint on his cheek. She adored his eyes, she decided.

  “Do you have something a bit more feminine?” he asked. Amelia wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “Maybe something white and a bit frilly.” He was talking about her clothes. She looked down and surveyed her stylish dark grey dress. She had picked it because it gave her a particularly flattering shape.

  “I have a white muslin dress with small green dots,” she said and looked him in the eyes. It took a while for him respond, like he was going over things in his head, but he smiled finally.