Not nice. What a very odd thing to say, and was she talking about the act that led to childbirth or the birth itself? I could well understand her reluctance for the former, though I had believed that was my own special burden.
A noise outside made her jump slightly but she relaxed again when she realised what it was. I reluctantly decided that the only way to find the answer to the Earl's question was to ask her outright.
“My Lady,” I said softly, “are you afraid of your husband?”
She looked up at me briefly, then nodded.
“Why? Is he unkind to you?”
I had a vivid memory of the terrible beatings my mother had endured at the hands of my father, but although I asked the question, I could hardly believe that any woman would be afraid of Lord Summerville. He had always been kindness itself to me and I could not accept that to be merely a facade for my benefit. And if it was, what did he hope to gain from it? I would not be his mistress, that would never be my role in life, as a mistress would have needs and desires that were stolen from me.
Rosemary was shaking her head.
“No, My Lady,” she said firmly. “He is anything but unkind. It is not how he treats me but what he might want from me that I fear.”
“Want from you?”
This conversation was getting very personal, not subjects that should be discussed between strangers, not even two women, but I somehow felt a kinship with her fears if they were what I suspected them to be.
“Yes, My Lady,” she was saying. “I know enough to know what men want from a wife and I cannot face it. I am scared that if I do not keep him away, he might try that again."
I did not want to pursue this line of conversation. I knew precisely what Rosemary meant but I did not know if he suffered from some sort of brutal perversion or if she was inhibited. I guessed the latter, as talking to this girl I felt that I was talking to a child. The wedding night must have been an unparalleled disaster if it had been two years and she still feared a repeat of it but from the looks that followed him everywhere he went, I was quite sure that His Lordship was getting satisfaction elsewhere.
It was then that the door opened and he entered. I watched his wife freeze, as though she wanted somewhere to run away and hide, but there was nowhere.
“Forgive me for keeping you waiting, My Lady,” he said quietly, then held out his arm for his wife to take. She did so reluctantly. “We do not want to outstay our welcome,” he went on.
They left, leaving me to ponder what had happened. I pitied this girl who seemed to have been pushed into a marriage that she could never be happy with, but more than that I pitied the Earl.
He called on me the following day, alone this time.
“My Lady,” he said immediately. “I feel I ought to seek your forgiveness for yesterday. I had this idea that you might be able to learn what troubled my wife, since she refuses to tell me. It was very wrong of me to take advantage like that.”
“No matter,” I replied.
For the very first time in my life I felt that someone needed me, needed me for myself and my opinion and experience, not my body or my beauty. I was rather pleased, and intended to answer him, even though the subject was embarrassing to me.
“Did you?” He said. “Did you learn anything? Is there anything I can do to help her, or should I abandon the marriage as a lost cause?”
I felt uncomfortable discussing such intimate details with any man and I hardly knew him or his poor wife. But he had asked me for a favour and I owed him that much, owed him an honest observation.
“Forgive me, My Lord, but your wife is a child.” I paused then, trying to think of the right words. It seemed to me that Rosemary was afraid of what I was afraid of, though I had no idea what to call it. Love had nothing to do with it as far as I was concerned. “She is terrified of the act of intimacy, if that is what you have done to her, and will never accept it as normal. That is what I learned, if it is of any use.” I paused and drew a deep breath to enable me to go on. "Her parents were cruel to make her marry. I believe she is one of those unfortunate people who will always be childlike."
His expression did not change and I felt I was not telling him anything that he did not already know.
“I feel I am trespassing on your good nature, but I really do not have anyone else with whom I can share this.” He paused thoughtfully, as though wondering whether to go on. At last he did and it was an intimate revelation I could have lived without knowing. “My marriage to Rosemary has never been consummated. She was so afraid I could not..............................” He broke off then, leaving me to wonder whether he actually wanted a reply.
“A marriage like that can be annulled, I believe, My Lord,” I said quietly, wondering why he had not thought of that himself.
“Yes, I know,” he said, “but it would require proof, would it not? An examination of some sort to confirm that she is still a virgin.”
I nodded, suddenly terrified as I recalled that day when my mother and I had arrived at my uncle’s house, when his physician had examined me after my ordeal. I was not about to recommend that be done to any other woman.
I looked up at the Earl, blushing, almost sure that he had read my thoughts and could see what I could see. And I could not believe that I was actually having this conversation with a man, especially a man I had known for such a brief time. He was shaking his head.
“I cannot subject her to anything so invasive,” he said quietly. “It would be grossly unfair and it is unfair to be talking about her like this.”
“What will you do?”
“I will send her back to Summerville Hall, to my mother, and promise not to go near her again. That should at least give her some peace even if I do have to forget any idea of having a son to succeed me. I was hoping that you might know of some way I could help her, or someone could help her, but if what you say is true, she cannot be helped.”
His words tore at my heart, he sounded so disappointed, but I could feel his eyes on me for a few minutes before he took my hand and raised it to his lips.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “And please, please forgive me. You have done me a great service this day and with your help I may be able to break away from her. We will both be happier, I think.”
“My help? What does that mean exactly, My Lord?”
My mind was full of images, memories of my late husband, of the King and of my tenth birthday. My stomach heaved at the recollections.
“It means that I have become fond of you.”
I tore my hand from his grasp.
“No!” I cried, shaking my head. “I will never be your mistress, My Lord, never!”
He looked even sadder all at once.
“Rachel,” he said soothingly, “that was not what I had in mind. I understand, or think I do, that something was done to you, something horrendous that you would hide your beauty away as you do. How could I not notice how you flinched when I took your hand that first time, how you stiffen when anyone admires you? That is why I thought you might be able to talk to my wife. I would never ask anything of you, never.”
“What then? Nobody wants me for a wife, thank God, not since I am barren. And anyway you are already married.”
The concern that crossed his face at that was almost tangible, but he asked no questions. He put his arm around me and as we sat down together, he held me close to him and pressed my head against his shoulder. For the first time in my life, I felt loved and valued. It was a very intoxicating emotion.
The following day he was back again, this time with a gift.
“I want you to come for a ride with me, in the park,” he said at once. “It is a lovely day and in return for helping me, I wish to get you out in the fresh air.”
“No,” I said immediately. “I will not be paraded around the park like some ornament on your arm or anyone else’s.”
“I thought you would say something like that,” he replied. “That is why I brought you this.”
Under his arm he had a rolled up piece of cloth and now he shook it out to reveal a hooded cloak of black velvet.
“No one will even notice you in this, and if they do they will think you are a widow and pay no attention.” He stopped talking while he placed the cloak around my shoulders and lifted the hood over my hair and headdress. The cloak was voluminous, designed to cover my skirts and my entire body up to my neck. I could not help but laugh. “Most people, especially women," he went on, "would be anxious to cover themselves if they were ugly or had some sort of deformity, not because they are too beautiful.”
“Most men would be wanting something from me, not befriending me and helping me to hide.”
“Oh, Rachel,” he said quietly, shaking his head, “do not think me immune to your attractions. A man would have to be blind not to stir at the sight of you. But you are entitled to do whatever you want and what you want is of more importance to me than what I might want. One day, I hope you might trust me enough to tell me what horrors you have suffered, but that too will be your decision.”
***
So began for me a time of knowing what friendship actually was. I was distrustful of the Earl at first, wondering all the time when he would make some sort of move to change the nature of our relationship, but it never happened. While he spent time with me, either riding in his carriage or playing cards at my house, I know that he had more than one woman who was happy to give him what he needed. He did not spend all his time with me.
He had not been home to Summerville Hall in Suffolk for a year or more. He had promised his wife that he would not go near her and he had not done so, but he needed to be there in order to run his estate.
“I have had the east wing separated from the rest of the house,” he told me, “so that I can be in my own house without scaring my wife. Do you not find that an amusing state of affairs, My Lady?”
He was being facetious, of course, mocking himself I think and my heart went out to him.
“I find it a very sad state of affairs, Richard,” I replied. “You do not have to suffer a loveless marriage. We talked about it before.”
“And you agreed with me that it was unfair,” he replied quietly.
“I did, but she must understand why it is necessary. She will be relieved to have the marriage annulled, surely, and you must remarry. You must have an heir. I did not understand when it was done to me; I was but ten years old.”
There, I had said it and now I wished I had held my tongue. He looked at me with a frown of curiosity, and I was very much afraid he was going to ask questions, want to know why a ten year old should be subjected to such an examination. Of course, he did not. He was far too empathic for that.
“I will consider it,” he finally replied with a sigh. “To tell you the honest truth, I thought I could do this, keep my promise, but now I am not so sure. I am beginning to resent her, even wish her dead. Is that not a terrible thing to think?”
“I cannot tell you how many times I wished my late husband dead,” I replied. “And my father. If wishes could kill, he would have been the first one to go.”
Once more I saw the compassion in his eyes as he looked at me.
I reached out and touched his arm, and I realised that I had never before made any overtures of affection, that I had always been afraid that any sign of affection would be misconstrued. But he merely turned and studied me for a few moments and I knew that I was in no danger. I hugged him then, something that I had never done nor wanted to do before. I really, really loved this man, and I so wanted to help him for all he had done for me. He was like the brother I never had.
“I have to return to Summerville,” he said. “I would like very much for you to come with me, but I feel that would be unfair to Rosemary and heaven knows what my mother would have to say about it!” He laughed then, and it was a joy to behold. “I have kept my relationship with my wife a close secret from her.”
“What would she do if she knew?”
“I believe she would march into Rosemary’s chamber and tell her to grow up! I think she would subject her to a long lecture about the duties of a wife and scare the life out of her.” He gave a little smile, probably imagining his mother’s outrage at her handsome and charming son being rejected by his own wife, when women all over London were falling over their feet to invite him to their beds. I suppose it was an amusing scenario, when one thought about it.
So he went back to Suffolk and I did not see him again for many months. I had no reason during those months to leave the house, but I had a new maidservant whose job it was to wait only on me and she was a girl who knew precisely what was going on in the city outside.
She turned up on my doorstep late one night and proceeded to curl up there to sleep. When I was told, I naturally took her in and found she was homeless and hungry. I needed a maid and more than that, with Richard gone, I needed a friend and I could feel an affinity with this girl that I could not have felt with the other servants.
She was grateful for the position and I did not believe she would try to rob me. Her name was Lucy and she was always cheerful and bubbly and if I wanted to know anything, I had only to ask. What she did not already know she would go and find out.
Queen Jane had died just twelve days after the birth of the much longed for prince and a new marriage had been arranged for King Henry. This was a foreign princess who he had never met, but he had sent his portrait painter, Hans Holbein to Flanders to capture her image. She was to come to England to marry the King without ever having set eyes on him.
My heart went out to her. I recalled my one night with the King, his disgusting breath and his wet lips, and I shuddered. This poor princess was about to commit to suffer that every single night. While I pitied her, I also hoped she would hurry and get here before he sought satisfaction elsewhere. Richard Summerville had been escorting me about London and although we had stayed away from court, I lived in fear that someone would have noticed me.
I missed Richard but I had my reading matter and my little maid who kept me company as well as serving me. Sometimes I went out in the closed carriage, wearing the black velvet cloak that Richard had given me, and watched what was going on in the park. I often passed the palace like this, but I made a special effort then not to be seen.
The King had remarried but had refused to consummate his marriage, declaring that the Princess Anne of Cleves was far too ugly. The portrait painter, had not painted a good likeness, he had made her complexion smoother, her body slimmer, and Henry had named her the Flanders Mare. I could not help but wonder what sort of arrogance a man would have to have, to be so unattractive himself yet refuse a woman on the grounds of ugliness. She had indeed had a lucky escape.
The marriage was annulled, making me wonder if Richard had thought any more of doing the same with his own marriage. I doubted that this temporary Queen would have been subjected to an intimate examination. She and the King likely only had to declare their aversion toward each other.
I hoped his disappointment with his new queen did not cause him to remember the little girl who had sobbed half the night away in his bed. I could not quite convince myself that with all the mistresses he had since had, he would not even remember me. I was too afraid of the possibility to think like that.
Richard returned just once more that year, a fleeting visit on his way to visit his mother's lawyer.
"She died three days ago," he told me despondently. "I have to see about her will, make sure everybody gets what she wanted them to have. She set aside a trust fund for her future grandchildren. How is that for a cruel joke?"
"Richard, stop, please!" I cried out. "You are only tormenting yourself. You need to annul the marriage. You know it, I know and deep down, Rosemary knows it. Why not ask this lawyer about it while you are there? What have you got to lose?"
He looked at me sheepishly for a few moments, then squeezed my hand. I caught a little smile from Lucy as she came in with ale. She knew nothing of my personal pain and
believed like everyone else that Richard and I were more than just friends."
"I will think about it," he said softly.
"You said that before, but here we are. My dear, I just hate to see you so unhappy."
He drank his ale and kissed my cheek, but he promised to ask the lawyer. The visit lasted but half an hour, yet I still missed him when he had gone.
"Lovely looking man, My Lady," Lucy commented with a little knowing smile when she came to collect the tankards.
"Yes, indeed he is, Lucy. You can admire from afar if you wish but Lord Summerville and I are friends, nothing more."
"Whatever you say, My Lady," she replied but I could tell that she did not believe me. No matter. I was quite flattered actually, though I would never have told her that.
My life continued with its quietude and I thought I could be happy living like this. I had believed that if I kept myself hidden and kept to my house and my closed carriage, all would be well.
Then my uncle died and my world changed once more.
CHAPTER SIX
The first I heard about Uncle Stephen’s death was when a lawyer arrived at the house to tell me that he had left nothing but debts. His own house in Holborn would be sold and the house that I lived in, my home, would be all that was left. There would be no money for its upkeep, nor for the servants nor even for food. The house would have to be sold as I would not be able to afford to keep it.
I was desperate. How was I to tell the servants that there would be no more wages, that their home would be gone. Some of them stayed long enough to find another position, and I was able to sell some jewellery to pay Harry to make a trip to Suffolk to seek help from Richard.
I knew he was my only hope and even though I should have known better by then, I gathered my courage, wondering what he would ask for in return. Imagine my dismay when Harry returned to tell me that Lord Summerville was not at home, that he had gone to France on family business and could not be reached. I thought of making a trip myself, perhaps asking his wife for aid. She knew who I was and even if she believed me to be one of his mistresses, it would not really distress her very much. But of course, she would have no means of her own, even if she felt inclined to help, and I did not even know if he had succeeded in annulling the marriage, if she was still his wife.
The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) Page 5