Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama)

by Carole Williams

  It had been like that for all the long, dreary years of their marriage and was what pushed Margaret regularly into the arms of other men; men who could appreciate her beauty, her sense of gaiety, and most of all, her sexual prowess. Charles never had. His sex drive was virtually non-existent and his fumblings never gave her the satisfaction she craved, especially on sultry summer nights when it was impossible to sleep and her body ached for gratification. Charles was so … unexciting … so plain bloody boring … in and out of bed. All in all, theirs had been a soul-destroying marriage but Charles had entered her life at a time when she was in turmoil … and he had rescued her.

  As the train sped through the English countryside, looking particularly beautiful in the early summer sunshine, Margaret remembered her former life before Charles had made her his Duchess. It was a period she normally tried very hard to blot out as it had been a pretty turbulent time. Grieving for her parents, she had been plucked from the home she had shared with them and taken to live with her austere Uncle Arthur and prickly Aunt Sarah. They had two daughters; the ghastly Elizabeth, who was the same age as Margaret and who had inherited Aunt Sarah’s snobbish, standoffish tendencies, and the younger, but much more bearable Beatrice, who did make an attempt to be friendly.

  Following a year of mourning for her mother, Margaret was given a London season to give her a chance to meet a suitable husband. Margaret launched into the frivolities with gusto, thoroughly enjoying the social round … the balls, the dances, the tea parties, the garden parties and the highlight … being presented at court. Charming admirers flocked to her side, tantalised by this beautiful young girl with black hair, olive skin, deep brown eyes and a tall, willowy figure. They clamoured to talk to her, sit with her, dance with her. Margaret was intoxicated by her success. She had been born for such a life. It suited her … and then she met Jimmy Anderson-Watkins.

  Jimmy; he hated being called James, possessed a dreadful reputation for gambling recklessly and no-one had any idea of where he found the money as his family weren’t wealthy and he had no personal means of income. He was good looking, the same height as Margaret so when talking, they looked straight into each other’s eyes. He possessed a ready smile and an intense gaze as he listened with fascination to every word that came out of her mouth. Margaret was smitten and he knew it. He turned up at many of the parties, dances and balls she attended because even though he wasn’t the best marriage proposal on the market, he was immensely popular so invitations were readily made and well received. Margaret made sure she either danced with him or managed a few private words when they attended the same events. She wanted him badly.

  Aunt Sarah, watching Margaret closely, couldn’t help but notice what was going on and gave Margaret strict instructions to ignore the young man. “He is not for you, young lady. He is nothing but a rake and will only lead you into trouble. I don’t want to see you anywhere near him again. Is that clear?”

  Margaret was beyond caring, driven on by her urgent desire to mate. This young man’s kisses sent her wild when they managed a few moments alone in the darkened gardens of Lord and Lady Armstrong’s mansion during their daughter’s eighteenth birthday party … but Margaret wanted more … much more. Arrangements were made to sneak away from a dance later that week, Jimmy hailing a taxi outside and then, in a dimly lit and tawdry hotel room in the backstreets of Soho, Margaret lost her virginity.

  She would never forget the experience. Even with the light off, it was still possible to see clearly as the gay flashing lights from the strip club across the road illuminated the tiny room with alternate pretty colours. The furniture was cheap and basic; a double bed with no headboard, a hard-backed chair, a wardrobe with a door hanging off and a cracked, grubby mirror on the wall. The mattress was old, with a great dip in the middle and the sheets were threadbare and smelled faintly of disinfectant.

  It was all quite revolting but Margaret had ignored it, too desperate to get her clothes off in order to satisfy the urgent need she had endured for weeks. She had loved parading around the room with nothing on while Jimmy lay on the bed ogling her but it wasn’t long before she moved towards him, her body bursting to be released from frustration. He grabbed her. They kissed, they panted, they probed and they tussled and within minutes Margaret was a virgin no longer.

  “Lovely,” she had murmured. “Let’s do it again … but much slower; much, much slower.”

  Margaret came away sore, exhilarated but having learnt a lot. She was now a real woman and no-one could take that away from her. She had seen the stars as her body shuddered in stupendous orgasm. She had touched the summit of the universe. She felt as if she could fly. She wanted to do it again, again and again. Jimmy obliged for a short while but when the meagre funds he did have ran out, he disappeared from London. Margaret wasn’t sorry. She wanted to experiment … see what it was like with others … it could be even better … she had to find out. Over the next few weeks, she became enamoured of three other young men, growing adept at finding excuses to disappear from crowded parties and gradually enticing one after the other to sneak out with her for exhilarating sessions in their cars or pay a quick visit back to the hotel room in Soho.

  Margaret’s frequent indiscretions went unnoticed by Uncle Arthur and Aunt Sarah. Their attention had been diverted by Elizabeth’s engagement, not to someone of high rank as they had wished but to a stuffy American professor, with a drawling accent Margaret found most irritating. George was visiting England for three months before taking up a one-year teaching post at Edinburgh University and during one of his outings to the National Gallery, he had met Elizabeth. It hadn’t taken long for their friendship to turn to love and for George to propose.

  They were well suited, especially in looks, both being small in stature and sturdily built and Margaret, with her newfound knowledge of sexual activity, found the whole idea of them attempting copulation incredibly amusing. Their immense stomachs would keep getting in the way. Margaret teased Elizabeth relentlessly, making her blush and stammer.

  “Oh, Elizabeth … how are you ever going to get your important places to fit together? You’ll both have to give up cream cakes or the marriage will never be consummated,” Margaret mocked.

  “You’re … you’re absolutely loathsome … you’re just jealous because I’ve found a husband and you haven’t,” squealed Elizabeth defiantly, her happiness tarnished by Margaret’s snide comments.

  However, the time drew near to when George had to take up his post in Edinburgh and Elizabeth wanted to go with him, as his wife. The wedding had to be arranged more hurriedly than Aunt Sarah would have liked and Margaret and Beatrice were to be bridesmaids.

  The dress fittings began just as Margaret realised she was pregnant with no idea of who the father of her child could be, although she had a pretty shrewd idea it was Jimmy as her periods had ceased just after he left for pastures new.

  As Margaret was pulled this way and that by the dressmaker, Aunt Sarah’s beady eyes studied her figure with a keen eye.

  “You seem to have put on a considerable amount of weight,” she remarked.

  Puzzled as Margaret ate like a sparrow, an appointment was made to see the doctor and Margaret’s secret was revealed. Aunt Sarah was tight-lipped and silent when her neice, pressed to say who the father was, didn’t dare to say she wasn’t certain but in desperation spoke Jimmy’s name. Uncle Arthur was openly hostile and disgusted.

  “You are nothing but a slut …however there is nothing to be done but sort this matter out. We have discussed the situation with Elizabeth and George. You will remain in this house until they are married and settled in Edinburgh, when George takes up his professorship at the university. You will join them and after a decent interval, it will be made known that Elizabeth is expecting a baby and you are there to assist her. You will remain there until the birth. You will then return here and they will bring up your child and take it back to America when they go. We have discussed this at length and they are quite happy
to do this. You don’t know how lucky you are, my girl. Most families would have turned you out.”

  Margaret was suitably humble, just wanting the whole ghastly business over and done with. She felt ill and uncomfortable and the wonderful life she had been enjoying came to a crashing end. She had to endure the sight and sounds of her cousins, Beatrice and Elizabeth getting ready for the social whirl she had been such a part of. It was utterly galling and Margaret was thoroughly miserable.

  However, the ensuing six months in Edinburgh were even worse, confined to the terraced house in New Town George had rented, with only the disapproving Elizabeth for company during the day, and she made her feelings very plain.

  “I can’t understand how you could do this after all Mummy and Daddy have done for you,” carped Elizabeth daily. “You’re an ungrateful hussy … you haven’t even said thank you to George and me for helping you out of such a hole.”

  Margaret took to thanking her cousin regularly, just to keep the stupid girl quiet … and then the day they had all been waiting for finally arrived. It was a long and difficult birth and it took Margaret nearly two days to produce a bawling, red faced infant son who was immediately whipped away by Elizabeth to the sanctuary of the nursery she had prepared.

  Margaret had no real qualms. She had never been interested in children and was immeasurably relieved that all her responsibilities towards the baby were at an end. As soon as Elizabeth had managed to satisfy the baby with a specially prepared formula and there was no need for Margaret to breastfeed, she journeyed back to London on the train, not looking forward to returning to the custody of Uncle Arthur and Aunt Sarah but heartily glad to see the back of Edinburgh where she had been so wretched.

  Uncle Arthur met her at Kings Cross and conducted her back to Kensington without a word but Aunt Sarah had been busy.

  “We have a number of functions to attend in the next couple of months, Margaret. I have ordered new clothes, which I sincerely hope will fit you properly and I wish to make it absolutely plain that you are to attend these occasions with the sole purpose of finding a husband. The sooner you leave this house permanently the better … Beatrice is very young and innocent and I don’t want you contaminating her mind with your revolting behaviour.”

  Margaret knew Aunt Sarah was right. If she could ensnare a member of the aristocracy, hopefully whose morals were as loose as hers, once she had a ring on her finger it wouldn’t matter what she did … but her future husband had to be someone with serious wealth and position. She wanted security and a title. Nothing else would do.

  For once luck was with Margaret. Charles, the Duke of Canleigh, was in London on a brief visit and hadn’t been able to turn down an invitation to attend a ball held by his friends, Lord and Lady Balantine.

  Margaret had annoyingly suffered a bad headache halfway through the evening and managed to gain Aunt Sarah’s permission and that of their hostess, to slip upstairs to a bedroom for a quick rest and wait for some painkillers to kick in, although Aunt Sarah did insist on accompanying her, reluctant to let the girl out of her sight. Returning down the grand cantilever staircase a while later, Margaret tripped on the last step and literally bumped into Charles who threw out an arm to steady her. She knew who he was of course. He had been the talk of London for a few weeks and there was much speculation as to whether or not he might be looking for a wife. As soon as Margaret took the arm he offered and looked up into his concerned brown eyes she knew that if he needed a Duchess, he would have no need to look further. It was going to be her.

  He was a quiet man, never one to flaunt his status and extraordinary wealth or boast that his family seat of Canleigh Hall was the most prestigious country estate in Yorkshire but it was common knowledge and Margaret smiled now, remembering how it hadn’t taken her long to snare him. Bowled over by her beauty and gaiety, he took every opportunity he could find to be in her company. They walked in the park, attended the theatre, although Margaret would rather have seen a lively show instead of his preferred opera or ballet and they met at dinners held by friends of Uncle Arthur and Aunt Sarah and of course, the endless round of balls and dances. Then, only two short months after they first met, Charles, totally besotted and desperately in love, asked her permission to speak to Uncle Arthur.

  Margaret had looked up at his handsome face; his kindly eyes, his broad shoulders. She thought of how financially stable he was and how she would be able to share in it, be able to spend lavishly on what she wanted instead of having to penny pinch on the tiny allowance Uncle Arthur allowed her, be able to travel all over the world, hold sway at Canleigh Hall in Yorkshire and Canleigh House in London, hold gloriously expensive balls and parties, be the toast of London, be chauffeur driven in a Rolls Royce or drive recklessly around on her own in a sports car … and finally, there was the thought of seeing Aunt Sarah’s face when she heard Margaret was to become the Duchess of Canleigh.

  “Yes, Charles. I should very much like you to speak to Uncle Arthur,” she answered without hesitation. “He’s in the library with Aunt Sarah.”

  There had been no hesitation on the part of Uncle Arthur either. He readily agreed to such a miraculous end to all his tribulations with his niece and just a few short weeks later, a euphoric Margaret travelled up to Yorkshire with Charles and Aunt Sarah in order to prepare for the wedding and to meet his mother, Anne. Both Margaret and Aunt Sarah were highly impressed when Charles, driving them in his Rolls Royce, turned off the Leeds road and through the open wrought iron gates flanked by stone lodges and down the long, winding rhododendron drive. Eventually, it straightened out and the north front of Canleigh Hall came into view. An enormous lawn bordered by dense woods stretched out to the right. To the left, there was a gravelled area in front of the stone steps leading up to the front door.

  Charles smiled as both women looked around wide eyed. “It looked very different during the war. When hostilities broke out the house was turned into a convalescent home for officers and all available ground was used for growing vegetables. All this was dug up,” he waved his hand towards the grass, “the lawns at the back of the house, the cricket pitch and the tennis courts. Thankfully mother has now restored everything to its full glory. I shall have to take you on a tour tomorrow, taking in the stables too, of course … oh, and there’s also an indoor pool … it’s hidden away over there,” he pointed towards a cluster of massive rhododendron bushes to the east side of the house.

  Margaret glanced that way dutifully but she wasn’t interested in the gardens or the pool. Her attention was on the Hall itself. She stared intently at the magnificent house, a sandy-coloured rectangular building, three storeys high, with an ornate balustrade circling the roof and eight stone columns supporting the grand portico above the front steps. There seemed to be dozens of tall sash windows on the lower and middle floors but on the third, they were small and square. Margaret sighed with pleasure. It was perfect and would do very nicely for her to show off her status to all those lucky people who would be invited to her social gatherings.

  To her delight, the front door opened and the house staff filed out and lined up on either side of the front door. A small, thin, balding man with a crooked nose, dressed in a spotless white shirt, black tie, waistcoat, long black tail coat and striped trousers, walked down the short flight of steps, opened the car door and smiled warmly at her and Aunt Sarah.

  “Welcome to Canleigh,” he said pleasantly.

  Margaret couldn’t help herself and threw Aunt Sarah a swift look of satisfaction with just a hint of smugness. Fully aware how her aunt and uncle were desperate to wash their hands of her, it gave her considerable pleasure to know they were incensed their wayward niece had managed to secure the favours of a Duke. No wonder Aunt Sarah looked sick when their own daughter, Elizabeth, a good and decent girl in their eyes, had only managed a mere professor and, to add insult to injury, was lumbered with bringing up Margaret’s by-blow.

  As impressed as Margaret was with the exterior of Canleigh Hall
, the interior was even more breath-taking with high, decorated ceilings and room after room filled with valuable paintings, crystal chandeliers and antique furniture. As she watched Aunt Sarah grow frostier as their brief introductory tour of the ground floor state rooms progressed, Margaret held onto Charles’s arm and smiled with pure delight. Canleigh was absolutely perfect and she couldn’t wait for the day she became its Duchess.

  Directly following the splendid wedding in the village church a month later, situated just across the lawns from the Hall within the estate boundary, and the reception in the ballroom in the Hall, Uncle Arthur stood up and delivered his speech to the fifty guests, most of whom Margaret didn’t know. There was no-one in London she was particularly close to or whom she had wanted to invite so apart from her family which only consisted of Uncle Arthur, Aunt Sarah and their youngest daughter, Beatrice, who was the only bridesmaid, the remainder of the guests were made up of Charles’ mother and friends of the Canleigh family. Elizabeth and George remained in Edinburgh with Margaret’s child.

  Uncle Arthur hadn’t much to say and kept his speech short and to the point, stating how pleased he was about the union of his ‘favourite’ niece to Charles and wished them well. As soon as the speeches were over, the cake cut and the champagne drunk, he rounded up his small family and made a hasty departure. A swift handshake with Charles, an even swifter peck on the cheek for Margaret, the same from Aunt Sarah and Beatrice and they were gone. Margaret knew full well there was little chance they would have contact again. It really was the end of an era but even though her family had washed their hands of her, she had a whole new and exciting future to look forward to.

  However, her expectations weren’t realised. To her dismay, she found she was pregnant not long after the honeymoon and had a niggling suspicion that the child may well not belong to Charles. She felt ill and miserable as her figure changed, and terrified when she discovered she was expecting twins. Her last birth had been bad enough and she dreaded the coming labour. Charles and her mother-in-law were excited and did all they could to allay her fears but she couldn’t tell them about her first child and that she knew what she was in for. Even though she was frightened, wretched, and depressed, the labour couldn’t come quickly enough and then when it did, and she and the twins arrived home from hospital, she was puzzled as to why both Charles and her mother-in-law were so very distant towards her. Anne hardly spoke to her and Charles avoided her company. Seemingly, he found it difficult to talk to her, apart from mere banalities and she was completely mystified as to what had changed. It was all very strange, as she had expected both of them to be delighted with her for producing not only a precious heir but a girl to boot.