No Choice But Surrender

by Meagan Mckinney

She swallowed and was not sure how to approach him. She had seen very little of him since that night in her bedchamber. This arrangement seemed to suit both of them, for she had gladly taken her meals in her room, and he likewise had re­frained from seeking out her company.

  "You saw?" she asked impudently.

  "Everything." He walked farther into the room. " 'Twas a bad display, Brienne. I have warned you not to do that."

  "She. deserved what she got! She has a mean streak in her, and she continually directs it at me. I find her intolerable." She took a step away from him but held her shoulders in an un­yielding posture. "Whatever worth you see in her escapes me completely."

  "Women in her position need only to be virtuous and beau­tiful. Since she is both, any other qualities she may or may not possess are superfluous."

  "I see," she said; his speech made her feel like a dusty churchmouse. "I suppose that means that women in my posi­tion need only to spread their thighs and keep their mouths closed." She could not hide the bitterness in her voice, and she hoped that what she had said had been shockingly crude. After that last night in her bedchamber, she had felt toyed with. He had never mentioned the episode, as if it had been a lark, a careless romp with a tavern wench.

  " Tis not what I said." He gave her a dark look and crossed his arms forebodingly over his chest.

  "You don't even need to say it." She thought of yesterday, when she had looked out her bedroom window. There he and Lady Venetia had been walking to the Orangery. Lady Venetia had had her arm looped intimately through his, and Avenel had seemed to smile at her coquetry. Brienne had never seen him behave so charmingly. Before she could deny the feeling, she had started to begrudge the circumstances that prevented him from behaving that way with her.

  Brienne turned from him now and started out the door to the passage. He did not attempt to stop her, and there were no more words between them. In her eyes, no more were needed.

  She trudged up the great staircase, whisking her petticoats away angrily as she took each step. When she got to the hall­way, she saw Rose across the way closing the door to Venetia's room. Brienne walked down to meet her. It was the first time an opportunity had arisen to speak to the kind woman alone.

  "I am sorry if I embarrassed you by my outburst, Rose." Brienne touched her on the arm to get her attention and whis­pered to her, realizing Venetia must be napping beyond the door, "It was silly of me not to let you—"

  Brienne immediately pulled bade from die look of horror contorting the lovely woman's face. It was as if she had just slapped her full across the face. "What is it?" she murmured, not sure if she wanted to know.

  "Don't ever touch me!" Rose rubbed her arm where Brienne had tapped her. "I've agreed with Avenel to go along with this charade, for I am deeply indebted to him, but I don't presume a friendship with you, and I don't want you to speak to me when we're away from the guests." - Brienne felt a terrible stabbing pain in her chest. She knew it was hurt and betrayal. All of Rose's kindnesses had been an act that she performed at Avenel's request. All the appearances of friendliness that Brienne had mistaken for the genuine arti­cle were now gone. Brienne looked up at the abhorrence on the woman's face, and it pierced her through to the bone. Her eyes helplessly filled with tears, and she moved back, stum­bling on a gilt chair that was standing against one wall. Sud­denly she felt closed in, and all her thoughts centered on get­ting out of the hall and away from Rose's accusing delft blue eyes.

  Brienne regained her balance as she sobbed, "I—I am so sorry," apologizing for something she instinctively knew the earl had been a part of, something that she was now being held accountable for. She needed to run away, to close her eyes to the horrific picture of Rose's rejection. But she felt herself being grabbed as she stumbled again, this time on a wrinkle in the French carpeting. She looked up and saw Avenel's questioning gaze staring down at her in consterna­tion. Without really seeing him, she pulled free and ran wild- eyed to her bedchamber and to the badly needed solace it offered.

  A tray was brought up to her and then returned with the food upon it untouched. Brienne sat on the bed and stared at die delicately painted bed curtains and then dropped her head back to rest on the embroidered Deccan counterpane. Vivie had persuaded her to undress, and she lay now in her dressing gown. But the little maid had had to admit defeat when the tray was sent up from the kitchens. Quietly Vivie had left her, hoping that she would take a nap. Instead she merely stared ahead with her eyes wide open and blank, her thoughts dark and heavy.

  The sound of the door opening did not disturb her black reverie, nor did the footsteps that moved to her bedstead.

  "I really don't need anything, Vivie. Please go ahead and have your dinner." She turned on her side away from the door to gaze out the large windows to the darkening sky. She saw in the distance that several children from the township had gath­ered in the far grounds of the Park to play and scuffle. She had seen these children before; they were a motley bunch of raga­muffins that had succeeded in avoiding the caretakers of the estate; they knew all the openings along the fenceline through which a child could slip undetected. They loved to run along the grounds and taunt the visitors, but since they were little more than a nuisance, Avenel, unlike the earl before him, had never tried to expel them. Now she looked on almost envi­ously as they held each other's dirty hands and skipped around in a circle; their singing was all but silenced through the win- dowpanes. At least they were free to come and go, she thought, and then turned away from the window in disgust and despair.

  "I cannot apologize for Rose, little one." The voice came out of the darkness of her room, and she immediately sat up­right. Her eyes were too puffy from bouts of tears to make out the form. But that was unnecessary, for she knew the voice well enough.

  "What did he do to her?" She spoke to the darkness. "I—I must know." Her voice trembled and wavered, but she was able to relay her conviction.

  There was a deadened quality in Avenel's voice as he spoke; it seemed at first that the words were going to catch in his throat. "He killed her husband."

  "Oh, God! My God!" she heard herself say over and over again. It was like a horrible nightmare, but one that had no ending. "Why? How?" Her voice cracked. "Was there a duel?"

  "No duel. Oliver Morrow does nothing as honorable as that."

  "Tell me, why did he—?"

  "More than likely, he did it out of pure enjoyment." This statement, spoken so coldly, rammed itself through her breast. She knew, even without seeing him, that his face had gone hard. Probably not even a lash quivered.

  "There must have been some other reason. My father is quite calculating. Avenel, you know the reason. Tell me." She pleaded with him.

  "I cannot." He was pointed.

  "You know what it is. I've a right—" she began.

  "You're at Osterley now. Your rights are gone." After to­night's ugly revelation, Brienne could almost believe for the first time that she deserved his cruelty.

  "Please tell me," she murmured futilely, knowing all the while that after having fought so many battles with this man, he was not going to tell her tonight. "Rose thinks I'm some son of monster. She probably thinks I'd be better off dead than—"

  "She would not wish you harm." His voice was coming closer; soon she felt a heavy weight at the edge of her bed.

  "I must be worse than a leper in her eyes," she moaned in self-recrimination. There was no answer for this, so she contin­ued. "She had seemed so friendly. I didn't know! I never would have presumed . . . I never would have spoken to her." She started to cry. "Let me leave here, Avenel. I cannot face her again! I think I'd rather die than see that look of revulsion again. How she must hate me for being alive when her husband . . ." She could not go on. She sobbed into her hands. Avenel made no move to console her or accuse her. He appeared in outline, sitting on the far end of her mattress like a rigid soldier. He seemed to be battling something within himself that came to an absolute draw. It would not allow him to bend one
way or another, so he had to remain perfectly still while she cried her heart out in remorse for the grief that her father caused Rose.

  It seemed hours before she wore herself out. Eventually she lay back against the pillows, but still there was a stray sniffle or two as she felt herself, now bone tired, drift off into the void of a dreamless sleep. There was a point during the night when she felt herself being picked up and tenderly placed under­neath the counterpane, yet in her state she'd not been sure if it was Avenel, who so gently swept the hair from her aching forehead, or Vivie, who had finally returned to put her mis­tress to bed.

  "I cannot!" she said after several minutes of arguing. She looked around the taffeta bedroom at the mountains of dresses that had arrived that morning. It was the day of the ball, and the entire house was buzzing with last-minute preparations for the notables who would arrive that evening. Earlier there had been a knock at the door, and then footman after footman had entered bearing large trunks that held the exquisite gowns that were now spread over every available piece of furniture in the room. Vivie's eyes had become as round as saucers when she opened the trunks.

  "Ici! Ma demoiselle! Ici!" She had pulled out a dark green serge riding habit with black embroidery around the cuffs and hemline of the coat. Next had come several round gowns of cotton sateen, and then several more of silk lutestring. But when Vivie pulled out a gold ball gown with a gleaming bronze-embroidered stomacher, Brienne had to voice her ob­jections.

  "This is madness! Vivie, you must put these back! I am sure they belong to Lady Venetia, or perhaps Lady Carlotta or Lady Anne. Nonetheless, whoever they belong to will be enor­mously angered to see that I have opened up the boxes."

  "Mais non, ma demoiselle! This is not so!" Vivie had cried, still digging farther into a deep trunk.

  "Hew do we know it isn't Lady Venetia's trousseau? Per­haps Avenel has asked her to marry him, and—"

  "His eyes are for you, my lady. That other one"—Vivie made a moue of her small mouth—"she is only for show."

  "Please put them back!" But by then it was too late. It seemed that all the dresses had been unpacked in an impossi­bly short amount of time. Vivie began her persuasions.

  "You must try one on, ma demoiselle! See this?" The little maid held up a powder blue pair of satin stays. Brienne nod­ded dumbly, her eyes fixed on the exquisite workmanship of the piece. "Made by Cosins! Think of it, ma demoiselle! The finest staymaker in all the world has made this! Are you not curious?" Vivie went over to the gold ball gown. She held the dress to Brienne and made a display. "Come, you must want to know what this will feel like against your skin! You must!"

  "Well," Brienne said as she indecisively bit her lower lip, "perhaps just one . . ."

  Vivie was all smiles as she laid out a fine batiste sleeveless shift edged in French lace. She placed the blue satin stays alongside it, but Brienne put her foot down. "I cannot try on the underthings. I cannot, and I will not!"

  "Oui! Oui! Then you must try on the dress! When you see how well it fits, then you will know that what I say is correct!" Vivie unhooked the beautiful gown and helped her out of her brown worsted. Pulling the yards upon yards of wonderful silk over her head, Brienne felt transformed even before she had the dress fully on. Vivie fussed and fitted, pinning the stom­acher in place perfectly over Brienne's old off-white linen stays.

  "There!" the French maid cried when she had finally dressed her. "You are a vision. He will not be able to take his eyes off you!"

  Brienne moved to the pier glass that faced the fireplace. Slowly she turned around, watching every swirl and sway of the expensive fabric. The silk was as soft as a kitten's fur against her bare shoulders, and when she moved she heard an exquisite rustle near her feet. The gown fit so well, it was as if every curve of her body had been painstakingly measured and remeasured. She laughed out loud, feeling almost childlike in her awe of herself.

  "I shudder to think what Lady Venetia would say about my wearing her gown!" Brienne spun around in it before the mirror once more and watched how pink her cheeks became and how clearly her eyes sparkled. She laughed again, turning to Vivie.

  But Vivie was now facing away from her and looking to­ward the doorway. There was a slight smile on the servant's lips, and Vivie did not appear to be afraid. But Brienne felt her heart skip several beats when she heard the steady knock on her door.

  "Do not open it!" She looked around the room for a place to hide. But it was a futile exercise, for immediately the door opened, and Avenel stood in the threshold.

  " 'Twas a joyful sound to hear, little one. Was it laughter I heard? For if it was, it was well worth the expense." He wan­dered into the room and circled her, taking in every angle of the dress to where it skimmed the top of her bosom and pinched in her waist then fell in shimmering folds to the floor.

  "I—I do not know what to say . . .," Brienne stammered; her face showed the first effects of a long, painful blush.

  "You need not say anything. Just let me hear you laugh." He decided to watch her from the comfort of the settee and dwarfed the piece with his large frame.

  "Surely Lady Venetia will not find this a laughing matter." Brienne folded her arms modestly across her chest and wished he would go so she could change back into her own clothes.

  "Ma demoiselle will not believe me when I tell her!" Vivie turned to Brienne. "I said the Monsieur was bringing back a surprise from London, did I not, my lady?"

  "I—I thought the surprise was Rose, and then too, the houseguests." Brienne pulled the bed-curtains to and then stood behind them to undress. She reappeared in her brown worsted and placed the precious gold gown back in the trunk whence it came. "But it doesn't matter," she said as she care­fully packed the dress away. "If you've gotten these dresses for me, I'm afraid I cannot accept them. I haven't any coins to pay for them, as you well know."

  It could be said that I've already been paid. You're the one who insists I am keeping something that belongs to you." Avenel seemed amused, and he sat back comfortably. Too com­fortably, she thought, for being in a lady's bedchamber.

  "The cost of that comb could never cover these expenses."

  "What do you know of the comb's true value?"

  "I know enough." She shuddered softly, thinking back to another time.

  "Then you may consider the dresses a loan, for you will need one to wear tonight."

  "I'm not going tonight." Brienne got down on her knees and began repacking the green riding habit.

  "You will be there." He leaned back in the settee and , closed his eyes complacently.

  "I'm afraid I'll be incapacitated by the same illness that has been plaguing me these past few evenings." Brienne ignored him, enjoying the rich folds of a mint green cotton sateen polonaise. There was a pink one, too, much finer than her old one. Regrettably she began to pack that away as well.

  "I've been lenient with you these past few evenings, wild- flower. But you are going tonight, and that is my final word." Avenel's words were full of arrogance; her refusals didn't even make him open his eyes.

  "I will not see Rose again. I will not subject either of us to that strain." Brienne checked the anger rising in her voice.

  "Rose expects to see you. She will not be upset."

  "Then I would be upset. I am not going."

  "You are going." His eyes flew open, and he got up off the settee.

  "I am not," she replied, setting her jaw.

  "Vivie, please leave us," Avenel commanded. The loyal maid complied; Brienne inwardly cursed her retreating back.

  "So how are you going to force me into obedience this time, pray tell?" She stood and threw a quilted satin petticoat into the trunk, refusing to be intimidated by Avenel. "Are you planning to chase me around the room until I agree? Or will you be more subtle and merely rip off my garments one by one until I comply?"

  "Ah, I think the latter would be a pleasure." His answer was low and soft, but the overriding anger in his tone made Brienne flinch almost as if he
'd shouted at her.

  "The perfect answer from a heathen." Vehemently she jammed another petticoat into the trunk.

  "Stop packing," he growled.

  Her taunts had made him furious, but she didn't care. Feel­ing reckless, she took several shifts from the bed and strode back to the trunks.

  "I said stop packing!" He grabbed her wrist and made her halt.

  "I'm not going to keep these gowns."

  "Yes, you are."

  "And why is that?" She tried to twist free from his grasp.

  "You'll accept them because I want you to! And for the same reason, you'll go to my ball. Because I desire it!"

  "You desire it? But I shall never do anything for you will­ingly. Not sleep in your bed, nor attend your ball!" She looked up, meaning to give him a belittling glance, but instead her face became etched with dismay. He towered over her, his arms crossed tightly over the great expanse of his chest. His face bore a grim, sardonic smile.

  "There are certain activities for which I require your coop­eration. However, concerning this ball, my pleasure will not be substantially increased by your desire to oblige me. There­fore, I say you are going. Tonight your feelings about the ball mean nothing."

  "Why is my presence necessary? For the past few days all your guests seemed to enjoy talking about is Rose's shabby little cousin from America. I've become a novelty for them. But I daresay, by now their amusement has worn off." She hid the humiliation in her voice beneath a thick coat of vengeance.

  "I'd rather they talked about you than wondered about you. If you're not at the ball, there will be speculation. That I pre­fer not to see. Do you understand me, little one?"

  He watched her closely, but she just shrugged.

  "Do you?" he repeated, his tone husky and ominous.

  But instead of heeding the warning in his voice, she merely turned her back to him, proving her unwillingness to comply. This time, she vowed, she would not give in. She would not see Rose again, or his precious guests.

  Suddenly his hand twisted through her hair. Her pins fell to die carpet like raindrops, and although he didn't hurt her, he forced her to face him.