by K. Webster
The gate is unlocked, so Father unlatches it and escorts me inside. I try to imagine it bustling with handsome young men and nervous women. Swallowing down the butterflies that dance in my belly, I practice a smile much like that of my mother’s and stare through the pretend throngs of people to lock eyes on what I imagine could be a handsome Mr. Claxton.
This shall be an easy task.
I’ll smile and entertain him with my wit and charm. He’ll invite me to dinners and social events. And the rest will be history. This time next year, I could be carrying his first child.
“Are you prepared to make your father proud?” Father asks from beside me.
I throw my arms around his neck in a public display of affection and kiss his cheek. “Father, I can do this. You’ll see.”
He pats my back and chuckles. “I have no doubts, dear, for the lad will be lucky to have a woman such as yourself—much like I was a lucky man to steal your mother’s affections.”
Pulling away, I smile at him. “Mother was a lucky woman too, you see. You’re a catch and I do pray that Mr. Claxton is at least half the man you are, for that would be enough for me.”
Chapter Two
“Just a few more pins,” Mother murmurs as she hides yet another stray strand of hair. My hair is wild and unruly typically, which is why while on the countryside I let it go free. However, it is a custom to wear your hair up during the coming out ceremony. And poor Mother is having a terrible time getting my hair to behave.
“Madam,” a woman servant calls out from the doorway. “The dress is finished. I adorned the waist with the pearls you gave me and if I shall speak out of turn, I must say it is absolutely a breathtaking addition. They catch the light and I know your daughter will be beautiful in it.”
Mother shoves one more pin into my hair and turns toward the servant. “Thank you, Miss. Drape it over the bed and please help me dress Cora here in her undergarments.”
I stand and steal a glance at the mirror. Despite my wearing my simple frock, my hair and demurely done rouge has me already looking more like a woman rather than a girl. Smiling, I turn from the mirror and admire the dress on the bed.
The dress is a cream, almost white, puffy garment. Lace and frills run down the skirt of the dress and detailed weavings make for the top. Pearls are sewn into the middle, making the dress tenfold more elegant than it would be without them. I’m eager to see how I’ll look after it’s on me.
For the next half hour, I’m squeezed, tugged, and pulled into my corset and matching undergarments. The room spins and a cold sweat skitters over me.
“Ma’am,” I wave a hand in front of me, praying to send some cooler air my way. “Perhaps I could bother you for a biscuit and tea. I am not feeling well.”
The servant scampers off while my mother assists me in sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Have nerves gotten the best of you, Cora?”
I’m not sure why I’ve suddenly felt lightheaded. “Perhaps a little.”
Her lips purse together and I see, for the first time, tiny crow’s feet at the corners of her dark eyes. “You needn’t be worried, darling. We haven’t even put your dress on and you’re beauty is breathtaking. I have no doubts you’ll interest that Mr. Claxton.”
My eyebrows raise and with my mother, I feel comfortable in voicing my concerns. “What if he doesn’t like me, Mother? What if I disappoint Father?”
She shakes her head and draws me to her bosom for a hug. “Cora, you could never disappoint your father. In his eyes, you hang the moon, dear. And for this Mr. Claxton, he’d have to be both a fool and blind to pass over you.”
We both giggle and I sigh in relief when the servant shuffles back inside with the tea and plateful of biscuits.
Once I’m not so shaky anymore, they assist me in dressing. The hoop skirt beneath the white, elaborate dress is uncomfortable and pokes my sides, but I don’t complain. Instead, I watch as the servant laces up my black shoes and graces me with a smile.
Mother bothers about adorning me with her most expensive jewelry pieces, including a family heirloom broach. I feel beautiful and stunning, without having even seen my reflection.
After my gloves are in place and Mother slides a ring on each of my middle fingers, she guides me over to the mirror.
Blinking several times, I attempt to recognize myself. I’m grown and mature. Elegant and sophisticated.
“I, uh, I…” I trail off.
The servant giggles which, in turn, sets my mother off too. My cheeks blaze a rosy red with my laughter and I shake my head in wonder.
“You’re the prettiest thing this side of the Thames,” the servant beams.
Mother nods. “I’m so proud of you, Cora.”
My nerves are threatening to bring up the tea and biscuits I practically inhaled earlier. They rumble and roil in my belly. The heat, this May morning, is sweltering, even hotter than our arrival yesterday morning.
Hundreds of men and women gather at the court, a dull roar representing their all-at-once chatter. When my knees buckle, Father holds firm to my elbow so I don’t tumble over.
“There, there, dear. Calm yourself,” Father chides, concern eating away his words.
I nod and swallow down my nausea. “Sorry, sir.”
“Good morning,” a fellow chirps as he approaches. He’s not much older than I am and quite easy on the eyes. “And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
Father extends his hand and shakes the man’s. “I’m Anthony Bowden of Rutherglen. We own an expanse of property out there. My cotton farms are booming with business.”
This is the part Father rehearsed with me on many occasions—where the men boast about their business and where they come from. The lady’s part in this is to remain quiet, laugh at their jokes, and appear supportive.
“I see,” the man beams at him. “I’m Charles Heely. My father and I are politicians. I’m a third generation.”
“Pleasure to meet you Mr. Heely,” Father says politely, but I pick up on the hint of annoyance. He’s never been one to favor politicians and warned me of their sly behavior. I believe if even had Father not wanted me to marry a Claxton, he’d not approve of a politician courting me. “Now, could you please point me in the direction of Hugh Claxton?”
A flash of disgust paints the young man’s features before he waves toward a group of people. Without so much as a goodbye, he storms off toward another pretty woman and her father.
“Pompous arse,” Father growls under his breath.
I fight a grin on my lips and lean in to his ear. “Father, behave yourself. I would rather contract Cholera than marry the likes of him.”
He chuckles, once again his usual self. “Cora, dear, you are an exact replica of your mother and that is why I adore you.”
I’m still smiling when my eyes land on the dark, brooding eyes of a lad leaning against a post. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s glaring in my direction. Heat skitters across my exposed breasts and my cheeks begin to burn at his blatant staring. He seems angry at my presence and it momentarily stuns me. I risk a glance behind me to see if perhaps the man is looking at someone else but when I return my gaze to him, I see that he hasn’t wavered in his stance.
Father guides me toward the group of people, but I can’t take my eyes off the man. His almost black hair is a little overgrown and is haphazardly piled on his head. My mother would want to go after him with scissors and yet, despite my embarrassment, I itch to run my fingers through it. The wind picks up and his locks blow around, only further increasing my desire to do so.
“Please wait here a moment, I’m going to push my way through and see if I may locate Mr. Claxton,” Father explains as he releases my elbow.
I nod at him and drag my gaze back over to the man. Disappointment floods through me to see that he is no longer there, no doubt exploring his options of women. A firm hand clutches my elbow and I’m thankful Father has returned.
“Thank goodness you’
re here. I was feeling quite flushed from the heat and thought perhaps we could sit for a moment,” I say.
But the grip tightens and I jerk my head over to see the man’s intense gaze fixed on me. My eyes skitter over his ruggedly handsome appearance. Dark lashes encircle his brown eyes that flicker with shards of gold. His strong, proud nose flares with each breath he takes and his full lips are pressed into a firm, unimpressed line. Black hair dusts his cheeks and thicker hair surrounds his lips and chin in a neat goatee fit for a successful businessman.
I’m not sure how long I’ve simply stared at him, but eventually I compose myself and attempt to free myself from his grasp.
“May I help you?” I snip out.
His grip loosens on my elbow, but he doesn’t let go. “Are you a witch?”
Nervous laughter trickles from me and I scoff at his words. “A witch? No, sir, I can assure you I am a simple girl from the country. Not a trick up my sleeve.”
He narrows his eyes at me and I feel dizzy. “You don’t wear the same smile as those,” he waves his hand around. “Yours is calculating. You have a plan.”
I gape at him. “Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to release me. Perhaps you’d rather talk to my Father—”
He clutches me tighter and leans in, his breath is a mix of a familiar tobacco and something exotic, something similar to Father’s liquor he indulges upon from time to time. “I would rather not talk to him. I’m talking to you. Tell me your name.”
Swallowing, I can’t help but shoot him a venomous glare. If the men, especially the young Mr. Claxton, see that I am fraternizing with other men so casually, they won’t be interested in me any longer. They’ll assume I’m some unescorted whore.
“Cora Bowden,” I hiss at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m here to find a husband, not some rude man with no boundaries.”
His brows raise in surprise to my vicious tone and a smile plays at his lips. The heat once again toys with my head and I sway under it.
“Miss Bowden, are you feeling alright?” he questions, concern causing his voice to become gruff.
His tone surges through me and I try to ignore the pitter patter it creates in my chest. This is exactly what Aunt Etta warned me of. I need to focus on why I’m here.
“I’ll be fine, sir. My father is arranging a meeting with that of the young Mr. Claxton. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Emmett,” he replies with a deep, throaty growl that turns my insides to mush.
A wave of black heat darkens my vision and my knees once again buckle. When the dizziness dissipates, I find myself in the arms of the handsome man, inhaling his masculine scent.
My God.
Father will be horrified at my behavior.
A whine escapes me, “I’m so sorry.”
I should be asking for him to release me, but his strong hands are on my hips and I cannot bring myself to think of anything in this world aside from the way currents of pleasure surge from where he’s touching me.
“You needn’t be sorry, miss. The pleasure is all mine.”
His words are suggestive and I hate the way they niggle their way down to the very core of my being. I must get away from this man and find my father.
“Cora, darling,” Father barks from behind me.
Emmett finally pushes away from me and stalks away from us into the crowd. I’m left shaking and without confidence. What if I’ve ruined everything by letting that man touch me in front of the eyes of hundreds?
“Who was that man with his hands all over you?” he demands, jerking his gaze over his shoulder to see who all noticed our controversial exchange.
“I, uh, don’t know. I was feeling faint again and he caught me,” I explain.
Concern paints his features and he hooks his arm with mine. “I won’t leave you again. We need to get through this ceremony and then I’ll take you back to the manor to rest. Perhaps I can arrange a private meeting with the Claxton’s.”
Tears well in my eyes at having let down my father. “No, I can do this. Let’s go meet them.”
Father guides me through people laughing and chatting until we’re at an opening. An older man with streaks of silver painting his black hair grins upon seeing me. Ignoring the other women around us, he strides over to me. He takes my hand and places a kiss on the top of my gloved hand.
“And to whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” he asks.
Father puffs out his chest. “This is my daughter, Cora Inez Bowden. I’m Anthony Bowden of Rutherglen. I own an expanse of property out there. My cotton farms are booming with business.”
His lines are scripted, but the man doesn’t seem to notice and is instead impressed.
“This is brilliant. I’m Hugh Claxton. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
I smile and bat my eyes at him. “Sir, only the loveliest of words.”
Mr. Claxton’s eyes fall to my lips and I fight the urge to squirm under his hungry gaze. “Darling, you are quite exquisite and your voice…” he trails off.
Father stiffens beside me in a protective manner and I once again feel as though I might collapse at any moment.
“Thank you, sir,” I smile.
He nods and barks at someone. “Son, come meet this lovely woman. Now.”
I cringe at his orders and briefly feel sorry for his son, who for all I know could be speaking with a nice woman that interests him.
“Yes, Father?” a deep, familiar voice rumbles from behind me.
My thighs clench together and my heart flops around again in my chest.
“Son, meet Miss Cora Bowden and her father Anthony,” he introduces. “Please meet my eldest son, Emmett Claxton.”
Emmett makes his way around me and his entertained eyes meet mine. He enjoys seeing me fidget under his knowing gaze. Of all the men here, why’d Mr. Claxton have to be him?
Reluctantly, I hold my hand out to Emmett who snatches it right away. He brings my hand to his mouth and hot breath tickles me through my glove. His kiss lingers on the back of my hand and time seems to have frozen. Another wave of dizziness causes me to collapse. Emmett’s strong arm encircles my waist and he draws me to his firm body so I won’t fall again.
“What in heaven’s name?” Hugh huffs.
Before my father or I have a chance to explain, Emmett steps in with his thundering voice. “Father, she is quite ill from the heat. Perhaps I should escort her somewhere indoors away from the sun. You could entertain Mr. Bowden in the meantime, no?”
I glance over at our fathers who wear matching, pleased grins. They no doubt are interested in our union, which is why Father is nodding his head in agreement and allowing this man to take me somewhere without his supervision.
“I trust you’ll watch over my daughter and keep her reputation intact?” Father questions.
Emmett flashes them a smile that reeks of ulterior motives. “Why, of course, sir.”
I yelp out in surprise when Emmet grips my elbow and hauls me away from the men. He pushes through the people, dragging me along like I’m some doll, not caring that I stumble and trip along the way, making an utter fool of myself. My cheeks blaze in embarrassment at how this looks to the others—a man dragging his woman off—as if I am some courtesan.
“Where are you taking me?” I snap, the second we’re on the street and away from the pulsating throb of hot bodies. “I don’t have to go with you anywhere.”
He turns around suddenly and he yanks me to him. Once again, my chest smashes against his and I’m at a loss for words. His eyebrows are pinched together angrily and he lowers his face close to mine. “When you become my wife, you will never speak to me in that tone again. Do you understand, miss?”
I’m shocked at his bold words to claim me as his wife and I shrink back in fear. But despite the murderous glint in his eyes, I find my inner backbone and lift my chin to him, meeting his gaze with a rebellious one of my own. “You’re quite certain I’ll accept you as a husband,” I snarl. “I’m sure
there are plenty of other men back there that would treat me with respect and behave more maturely than you.”
His hand slides around the nape of my neck and holds me firm, while the other one grips my hip. “Our fathers have their minds made up already. I could see it in their eyes. So, instead of parading you around in front of those other fools for the rest of the afternoon, it is best for me to stake my claim and take you away from their leering eyes. But understand something, woman. I’m marrying you because my father insists I take a wife and take over his legacy upon his retirement. I could care less about having to be responsible for some wife that will push out children every turn of the season, growing plumper with each one. If you’re assuming I will love and dote over you, you’re sadly mistaken. I will continue to take on young lovers and sometimes I may call upon you to please me if they are unavailable.”
My mouth pops open and tears moisten my eyes.
“This is merely a business arrangement, darling. And you are merely an accessory to my fortune.”
Chapter Three
I glare at him, but he lowers his mouth to mine causing my fury to falter. His breath tickles my lips and despite his rude behavior, I find myself drawn to him. It infuriates me, especially when my eyes flutter closed as his lips close in on mine.
The softest of lips graze across mine and a ragged sigh rushes through me. This man confuses me with his possessive touches, yet he acts like he hates me.
“I shall take great joy in taking your virginity on our wedding night. You seem the type,” he whispers harshly against my lips, “that would scream like a whore.”