by Edith Layton
“Then I shall have to find a place for myself,” she said stubbornly, lifting her chin. “And I shall not be a charge upon your hospitality any longer. No, no,” she said, brushing away his protests, “even my uncle would not have expected you to take charge of me forever. And enough time has passed, I have battened on you long enough.”
“You forget Torquay,” he said cruelly.
“No,” she said, “I do not. But I cannot make you responsible for my condition any longer. You owe me no further obligation, My Lord, your debt to my uncle has been paid. You have been a friend when I have needed one, but it has been but a stopover. I must travel onward now.” She turned to go, but he held her arm.
“Regina,” he said softly, “then forget my debt to your uncle, though I never can. Do you not know that I now have an interest in your fate which transcends that of mere obligation?”
She looked at him with amazement. He had been gallant to her in the past, but never outright in an loverlike fashion, but now his softened expression and warm look confused her.
“Oh, I know,” he said ruefully, “that I have played mock-uncle to you, been the soul of discretion in your presence, but do you think I have not noticed your face, your figure, your smiles and fears with more than an uncle’s interest? It was only that I did not wish to presume upon your distress. I did not want to add to your confusions. I am not, after all, a man such as Torquay. There is such a thing as consideration for the fact of your youth and ignorance. And what I have to say now may come as a surprise, but I cannot contain it any longer,”
She looked at him with growing astonishment. They had spent many long hours in each other’s company, and though she had wondered at times at some of his gallantries, she had never thought, or allowed herself to think of him, in the role of a lover. Their conversations had always been remote, and erudite and unemotional. He was, she thought irrelevantly, an exceedingly imposing and handsome man, but for some reason, none of his grace or charm of manner had ever touched upon her heart. It was difficult for her to think of him in the manner in which he now seemed to wish to be thought of.
“I only speak now,” he said, “because our time is so quickly running out. Soon my sister will return home for her confinement, Amelia must leave for her own establishment, and it would not do, you know, for you to remain behind here at Fairleigh with me, unchaperoned. There would then be talk that would be unpleasant for both your, and my own, reputation.
“Regina,” he said urgently, taking both her hands in his, “you do not know me too well yet, but you do know that your uncle both knew and trusted me. Indeed, he trusted me with his most precious possession…yourself. And I mean to continue to take care of you, for your own sake—not out of any debt of honor any longer—and for my own sake. For you delight my heart, Regina. I can speak with you with ease and intelligence, and, although I don’t wish to shock you, I find that I can even understand that…creature…Torquay’s desire for you as a woman. For you are very beautiful Regina, surely you know that. But you may not know how very much I desire both your mind…and your…womanly qualities.
“I ask you to give me the right to continue to look after you, for both your own and my sake,” he breathed, looking at her intently.
She found a breath to speak, shaking her head.
“But…but what about Amelia?”
“Amelia?” he said. “What about Amelia? She is an old friend, a very dear and old friend, what about her?”
“But,” Regina protested, “I thought she…and you…that is to say….”
“Oh, no,” he laughed. “Nothing of the sort, we are only old friends.”
Poor Amelia, thought Regina sadly, but seeing that Sinjin was waiting for her answer she said quickly, in a little low voice,
“But Sinjin, although I like you very well, I don’t, I cannot, oh dear, I am grateful to you, but I hardly really know you at all. And I know that I do not love you, Sinjin, no, not at all in the way one is supposed to.”
“That will come in time,” he said smoothly. “At least do you admit the possibility of its someday occurring?” he asked, growing impatient with her reluctance.
“I suppose,” she began, and found to her embarrassment that he was drawing her closer. “But Sinjin,” she protested, drawing back a little in his arms, “I have no family, no fortune, no background, and you are—”
“I am only a man,” he said, gazing at her. “And I want only a woman, not her background and history. I can protect you, Regina. I can give you comforts, security, and love. Can you not accept my offer, if only out of pity at first, and then allow other emotions to grow?”
Comfort, she thought, security, and love, and the flickering vision of that other mocking face with its offer of desire and entrapment rose before her. She looked into the strong face before her and thought, he is so good, indeed I don’t deserve such a good man, only a monster could refuse such a good man, and allowed him to draw her close.
She remembered to part her lips, as Torquay had insisted, and, feeling his mouth upon hers, she relaxed against him. But she was surprised to find no answering thrill, no seduction of her senses, only a peculiar sense of herself standing outside of his arms, watching the kiss that was transpiring between the elegant tall young man and the woman close in his arms, the woman who saw another face before her closed eyes and heard other laughter in her ears.
He is such a good man, she thought desperately, clinging to him now, trying to blot out the other face, as the chill wind cut at her.
He held her to himself and kissed her deeply, a growing sense of need overpowering him. God, he thought, she was a bewitching armful, if only he could take her somewhere and go farther, she was in such a yielding mood. He fumbled with the buttons on her pelisse as he held her, and insinuated his hand through the opening he had created to stroke at one of her warm breasts. She did not back away, and he cursed his luck at finding her this acquiescent in this location. He held her close and looked over her shoulder at the abandoned summerhouse. Too exposed there, and someone might happen by. He knew he could not take her into the house for any purpose, because Mary and Amelia were walking about in search of amusement. Lord, he thought, his hand caressing her awakening breast, what luck to have no place to carry her to now. He thought of the warm, straw-filled stables, and his spirits rose.
“Regina,” he whispered, his hand becoming bolder, holding tightly, taking care to breathe deeply into her ear, “come with me now.” She looked at him with surprise, she was having a hard time resolving the whirling train of her thoughts. He stared down at her with an avid expression, and she withdrew from him. He was about to take her back in his arms, when a slight movement of a white curtain in one of the lower windows of the house caught his attention. They had been observed. He wanted to curse, but only sighed heavily. “Forgive me,” he said, releasing her, “I lost my head, but you have made me very happy. I understand that you are agreed?”
She turned from him and hastily buttoned her coat securely. Her mind was in an upheaval. Why had she felt nothing? Nothing but perhaps a sense of shock when he had caressed her. When surely, she owed him so much, and he was so very kind. But how could he be so stiffly formal, and yet so ardent at the same time? And all while he was asking her to be his wife? But no, she thought, she was not a fool. He could give her protection from all the cold winds of this world and he could protect her both from the Duke and from herself. She nodded.
“Good,” he said briskly. “You understand, though,” he continued, “that you are to say nothing? I cannot wait to have you to myself, to avoid this subterfuge, this…slipping about. But now, you understand, it is necessary.”
She turned back to him, her eyes wide with amazement. “Say nothing?” she asked hesitantly.
He nodded. “We will simply tell them that your cousin found you a position in her house. You will leave, with appropriate farewells, in a hired coach, and then you can join me in London. I must go there at once,” he went on, half t
o himself, his mind seething with plans, “to make arrangements…suitable house for you…near to my own, suitable clothes, all the arrangements. I will settle an adequate sum on you, Regina, although I know you will want to spend it more on books than on jewels and gowns.…” He paused, looking at her. She stood, stock-still, staring at him with an incredulous expression on her face. And then she began to laugh.
Her laughter rang out across the frozen landscape and brought tears to her misted eyes. “Oh, forgive me,” she said, her voice curiously unsteady, caught between tears and laughter. “Oh, Sinjin, Torquay is right. I am a fool. A proper little fool.”
He did not like the tone of her voice and, glancing quickly toward the house to see if any within had heard her peal of unseemly laughter, he asked her harshly, “Where is the joke, Regina?”
“It’s a good one, I assure you,” she said seriously. “Sinjin, would you believe,” and she paused, realizing that for the first time she was speaking to him without that veneer of reserve and caution, speaking to him honestly and clearly, as she had spoken to Torquay, “that I thought, mind you, actually thought, that you were asking me to be your wife? Oh that is the cream of jests, isn’t it? The mongrel Miss Berryman, or the infamous Lady Berry, whichever you prefer, thought that that show of passion and sentiment was a declaration of intentions? From a peer of the realm to a little beggarmaid. Oh my goodness,” she said, wiping her eyes. “And then when you said I must say nothing, only then, mind you, only then did I understand. Why, you want me to be your mistress, Sinjin, just as Torquay does. Don’t you?”
“Not just as Torquay does,” he said tensely. “I really do admire you, Regina. I really do want only to be able to protect you.…”
“Only to protect me?” she asked quietly. “Not to make love to me?”
“That goes hand in hand with love, Regina,” he said stiffly.
“Then where is the difference?” she asked.
“Torquay does not love you,” he said solemnly. “He has never said so, has he? But I confess, I do. If the world…if my world, were different, I would marry you, Regina. But you would not understand. Could you bear to be rejected, out of hand, by all your friends, all your acquaintances, all your family, because of a misalliance? If it were true that we all only live for love and love alone, it would do. But in the harsh realities of this world, it would not do. And,” he said, seeing her expression, “no, by no means is it only myself I am thinking of. How could I bear to see you rejected, refused entrees, refused invitations and snubbed in the street because my world thought you an adventuress? Because, be sure that Torquay would spread the story of your defection from your family, and the world would believe him. Your reputation would be in tatters, even my title could not protect you. But as my…secret companion, you could live in comfort, in security, wrapped about with consideration and love, your future assured. You have said that you do not love me, Regina, so your heart would not be involved. But use your head, and if you must use your heart, have some pity upon me. I could give you all that you have ever wanted, and you could give me the love I so desperately want of you.”
She looked at him with a flash of something very close to hatred. But he was too intent upon his line of reasoning to see, and in a matter of seconds the look was gone, replaced by a closed, clear, calculating gaze.
“I know little of the life of mistresses, Sinjin,” she said slowly. “Tell me, what becomes of a mistress when the…master grows tired of her?”
“I should never grow tired of you,” he protested, but seeing her unblinking stare, he said quickly, “and as I said, there would be a sum paid. You would never be in need of anything for the rest of your life.”
“And something else, Sinjin,” she said, turning her footsteps to stroll back toward the house, keeping her hands tight together so that he would not see them shaking. “I know little of other…more important matters—in fact, I only learned how to kiss, I am told, the other day, but no matter—how can I be sure that my…lack of abilities in love would please you?”
He stopped her, with a hand on her shoulder. “I know you would please me, Regina,” he said ardently. “Have I not given you proof of that just now? I would dearly love to teach you all you needed to know to please me.” She shook off his hand and strolled on. “But Sinjin,” she said reasonably, “if I learn my lesson well, is there not the possibility of…children? I don’t know certain aspects, but there are certain facts that are inescapable, even to me.”
“Such possibilities can be avoided,” he said, embarrassed by her tone. “There are ways.”
“But not infallible ones?” she asked.
“Should such a thing occur,” he said, feeling uncomfortable and eager to be away from her, to travel to London, to set the wheels of the arrangement in motion, “I am a gentleman. I would, of course, do the right thing, as regards money and care of the issue. But Regina,” he said, “don’t ruin this feeling we have for each other with such imaginings.”
“But Sinjin,” she said, pausing to look up at him with glittering eyes, “surely, the…issue, would not be a thing of my imaginings.”
“I have told you,” he said, unavoidably embarrassed, “that I will teach you many things. One of them will be a way to make such a possibility unlikely. But should the unlikely occur, I will continue to oversee your future, and the future of whatever else might result.”
“But,” she went on in a hard little voice, “how could you bear to contaminate your line…with mine? I am really such a mixed breed compared to you.”
“I would do so gladly,” he swore. “And if your world and mine weren’t so dissimilar, I would do so legally. But what is a slip of paper to us, Regina? What is a five-minute ceremony to do with what I feel for you? I desire you, Regina, in every way a man can desire a woman.”
“Except as a wife,” she laughed. “But what about Amelia, and Lady Mary? What of their feelings when they discover the truth?”
“Why should they?” he asked. “Though you will all be in London, I assure you, your paths will not cross. You will live, as you did before, in different worlds. They will never know.”
“But I should never see them again?” she insisted.
“Why should you?” he replied. “What are they to you?”
They walked in silence until they reached the door, and he halted.
“Go in, it is cold. I will go to London, I am impatient to go. I am eager to have you close to me, without deceit. Tell my sister and Lady Burden that some business has come up. I’ll leave a similar message. You need only to say nothing. I will then send a note to you, purporting to be from—say, your new-found Cousin Sylvia, offering you a home and sanctuary until your majority is reached. Then all you need do is make your farewells, enter the carriage I will have waiting, and a new life will begin for us. I will send for you within a day. Think of nothing but our coming happiness.”
She stood looking at him silently. He took her silence for acquiescence and, lifting her hand to his lips, he murmured, “You will not regret it.” And, turning from her, he strode off.
Regina went into the house and walked quietly up to her room. She sank down upon a chair and buried her face in her hands. And stayed that way, unmoving, scarcely breathing, for a long time. The knock that finally came on the door was soft and hesitant. But after a moment, Regina rose and opened the door. Amelia stood there, unusually pale, with a small wavering smile on her usually composed face.
“May I come in, Regina?” she asked quietly.
Regina only nodded dumbly, and watched Amelia enter and find a small chair. She perched on the edge of it and looked up at Regina. Her gaze was fixed unwavering upon the younger girl.
“I don’t mean to pry, I don’t mean to interfere,” she began, “but, no. That is not worthy of me. Of course, I mean to pry, else I would not be here. I confess. I did see you and St. John…out in the garden. Did he make you an offer, my dear?”
“An offer?” asked Regina, in a high, unnat
ural voice. “Ah yes, he did make me an offer. A most unexpected one.”
Her worst fears confirmed, Amelia took a long breath and controlled herself.
“No, not unexpected to me. You see, I have noticed how he has looked at you, how he has deferred to you, how he has concerned himself about you.” And Amelia, after one more shuddering sigh, sat silently. Both women stayed quiet for a few moments, Regina fighting for control of herself, Amelia finally allowing her last few vagrant hopes to die quietly.
“And,” Amelia went on, as if there had been no lapse in the conversation, “what answer did you give him, Regina? I must know.”
Regina stared at Amelia, and asked, cruelly, regretting the words the moment they were out, bald and curt, hanging in the air,
“What answer would you have given him, Amelia?”
“Ah,” said Amelia, “then you do know? I was afraid of that. You have the habit of watching people, Regina. Not at all the thing, you know,” she laughed unconvincingly. “I was afraid of that. But since you do know, then surely you know what my answer would have been.”
“You would have said yes?” Regina asked in incredulity.
Amelia did not hear the note of horror in the other girl’s voice, her emotions were riding too high now for her to pick up any nuance of speech. “You need not ask me that,” she said unsteadily. “But I am a realist, Regina. And never, not really ever, did I really believe that he would ask me…no, not really. But your answer, Regina?”
“I gave him none,” Regina said stiffly.
“But you must,” Amelia said, now very agitated. “He has such a care for you. I have never seen him so truly concerned, so wholeheartedly involved. It would be a very good thing for him, it might be the making of him. For I do not delude myself as to his real character. Such a thing might be the very influence he needs to stabilize himself, to…allow himself to grow…to be complete.”
“And do you think such a thing would be good for me too?” Regina asked, awestruck by Amelia’s statement.