No Choice But Surrender

by Meagan Mckinney

  The matron who had sat with her at dinner plopped down in the settee beside her because she was much too large for the armchairs in the room. Obviously taken with the two wealthy young women who were the center of attention, she expressed her opinions of them to Brienne.

  "Lord Culpepper's daughter and Master Slane will make a lovely couple, don't you think?"

  Brienne stared at Lady Venetia, hardly hearing the matron's words. Remembering how the aristocratic coquette and Avenel had been conversing happily with the guests in the gallery and at dinner, Brienne found that she had to agree. "I suppose they would," she replied coolly.

  "Have you been here at the Park long? I would think a young thing like yourself would find it very easy to become enamored of its master." The matron eyed her suggestively, hoping she would reveal some newsworthy information.

  "I have no fondness for Osterley's master." Brienne turned away from the old woman and sipped her tea. She hoped that would end the conversation, but she was not so lucky.

  "You must be blind then, my dear. Even I, in my dotage, admit that I have never seen such a fine figure of a man. Such broad shoulders! Such a trim waist! I hear he even possesses all his own teeth!"

  "Well, I find him singularly unimpressive." Brienne sipped her tea again and tried to look indifferent.

  "I see." There was a sly, knowing look on the matron's florid face, and suddenly she stopped asking questions.

  Brienne turned away from the gossipy woman and saw that the men were beginning to wander in from the eating room to join the ladies. When she spied Cumberland's familiar visage, her face lit up. He smiled at her also but did not come to join her when he saw Rose sitting near the fire. Brienne watched them greet each other and wondered how soon there would be a wedding at Osterley. Rose had never looked more youth­ful as she smiled into Cumberland's face and patted a place for him on her settee.

  It was strange to feel so alone in the midst of so many peo­ple, but watching Cumberland and Rose suddenly made her feel just that way. She looked down at her hands, not wanting them to think she was staring, even though that was precisely what she had been doing. She felt inexpressibly frustrated for some reason, and she found she could no longer tolerate the drawing room. Excusing herself from the matron, she rose just in time to avoid a young fop who was heading her way.

  In her hurry to walk out the door before the boring young man could catch her attention, she bumped into Avenel as he entered the drawing room.

  "And where are you off to, little one?" He looked down at her from his great height. He seemed more than pleased by die turnout for his ball; it showed in his lazy smile and relaxed demeanor.

  "I—I thought I would go into the gallery and listen to the music in there," Brienne said softly as she felt all eyes in the drawing room turn in their direction. That Avenel com­manded attention from this group was plain. It seemed that everyone found him and his curious past a fascinating topic of conversation. Brienne, on the other hand, had wanted to keep her name out of the gossip. She had tried her best to avoid speculation by keeping a demure profile, but Avenel was not helping her cause now, for he stood in the doorway and would not let her pass until they had exchanged familiarities.

  "Have you danced?" There was a twinkle in his eyes, and she wondered if he had always been so cold and untouchable.

  "I don't know how to dance." She turned away to hide her growing embarrassment. Scrutinizing looks were coming from all corners of the room by now, but none were so pointed as those of Venetia and the duchess, which bored mercilessly into her back. "I've not socialized, you recall. I remember telling you that when you first came here." Brienne motioned to pass him, but still he lingered by her side. It irked her that he had not come to her aid earlier in the evening, at dinner when she had been among all those strange faces, but had instead chosen the present time to offer her companionship. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she said with annoyance, "If you will excuse me."

  "Have I told you how lovely you look tonight, wildflower? Many of the men here must be envious of my position."

  "Only because of your relationship with Lord Culpepper's daughter. And I do believe she is waiting for you with bated breath, so . . ." She moved past him out the door, but not before he could whisper to her in passing.

  "Is there a note of jealousy in that silken voice of yours?"

  She gave him a look of incredulity to prove the ridiculous­ness of his speculations, but he laughed out loud and watched her go with her head held high.

  Brienne stayed in the gallery for a long time, watching the couples dance and declining invitations to do likewise. Quickly running out of excuses, she wandered into the marble hall and found some solitude by the fireside in one of the apses. The Reverend Trumbell generously walked up to her as she stood alone. He nobly tried to start a conversation on the Roman statues of Hercules and Apollo that were placed in the hall, but soon the sinewy nakedness of the ancient sculptures became all too obvious to the both of them, and he quickly excused himself to speak to an old friend.

  Another brave young man then appeared at her side, but if there was one thing the evening had proved, it was her newly developed particularity about men. Most of them seemed to be oppressively dull and more than a little self-inflated. So it was a relief when this one's mother called him back to her side so she could introduce him to a more likely candidate for marriage.

  Left once again to her own devices, Brienne thought it best to sit out the rest of the evening in the drawing room. When she returned there, however, she found several intense games of loo going on, and she had no way to join in since she had neither knowledge of the game nor the proper funds to play it. She had no idea where Cumberland and Rose had disappeared to, and Avenel also was nowhere to be seen. Closing the draw­ing-room door quietly behind her, she wandered alone down the south passage and looked out to the well-lighted courtyard from the large aligning windows.

  She reached the door to the Etruscan dressing room and thought it would be empty. But the door stood slightly ajar, and she was surprised to hear voices coming from its interior. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard a familiar, coy little laugh and an even more familiar masculine voice.

  "Why not, my darling? Just think of the scandal! My father would be apoplectic if he found us in each other's arms amid the splendor of your bedchamber." There was a suspicious rustle of skirts, and Brienne found herself bending closer to the door in horrified fascination.

  "Avenel! Kiss me!" she could hear Venetia say in a demand­ing female voice.

  "Lady Venetia, you must know that this is neither the time nor the place." He sounded cool and amused.

  "Oh, you cad! You get me so that I cannot think straight, and then you dare talk to me about propriety." Venetia turned deviously and affectedly shy. "Am I not beautiful? I have been called the toast of London. Many surely would have fallen at my feet, begging for my consideration. You should not toy with my affection for fear it will be withdrawn." She could hear the snap of a closing fan and then another high-pitched giggle.

  "And if I fell at your feet, also? Would you then find me more to your liking?" Avenel's voice was mocking.

  "It's the very thing that has me crazed, your coldness and your distance! But do not be indifferent tonight, my love. Take me now. I offer you everything for your touch." Follow­ing that speech there was heavy silence, and Brienne could come to only one terrible conclusion. Not wanting to hear more, she backed softly away from the door and from the couple on the other side; her satin slippers made no sound. Her heart felt unusually heavy in her chest as she moved away. She wanted only to retire from this confusing society and find her room.

  But suddenly someone grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her toward the closed mahogany door that led to the state bedchamber. Assaulted with the sour stench of intoxi­cated breath, Brienne came face to face with the Earl of Cul­pepper.

  "You're as comely up close as you are at a distance." Cul­pepper swayed a
nd tried to wrap his arms around her, suc­ceeding despite his drunkenness only because of his greater strength.

  "How dare you touch me in this manner!" Calmly Brienne pulled away from him, only to find herself being grabbed once more. Her salvation seemed to come quickly, however, for at the other end of the long passage she spied Rose wandering back to the drawing room from the hall.

  "Rose!" Brienne called out from the alcove of the doorway. Hearing her name, Rose looked down the passage and then stood very still, watching the Earl of Culpepper place his drunken wiry frame over Brienne's slight one. "Please!" Brienne called to Rose again for help, but hope died in her breast when a frown merely appeared on the woman's angelic forehead and Rose left the passage for the drawing room.

  "Your benefactress does not find my attentions objection­able. So neither should you. Don't make me remind you of my nobility." Culpepper smiled lasciviously and grabbed her arm, flinging her into the now-open door of the state bedroom.

  "There is a room adjoining this one; I saw it before when Lord Oliver was in residence. We can go there." Again the drunken man swayed under all the alcohol he had consumed. With split-second timing Brienne sized up the situation and made a break for the passage door. But he slammed into her before she could reach it, and the door was soon closed behind her. "Into the other room." He pointed to the tapestry room that could be seen beyond the bedchamber. She turned to see if the other door to the Etruscan room had been left open, but unfortunately it was tightly closed.

  He started to push her toward the tapestry room, but then came the joyful sound of footsteps in the passage. She tried to cry out, but a large sticky hand was placed revoltingly over her tender mouth. She heard Avenel's voice grow as faint as the distanced footsteps, and she was again shoved toward the tap­estry room. Culpepper closed them off from the bedroom and turned to her. She desperately ran to the other door, which led to the drawing room, but when he caught her, the loud, gay chattering coming from it overrode her moans and cries.

  "I shall scream!" she cried at him, watching his jaundiced eyes roam across her face and shoulders. He moved to kiss her, and she promptly started to carry out her threat, but he slapped her hard across the side of her face. Her scream turned into a painful moan.

  "I have wanted you from the moment I set eyes on you in the gallery, Brienne. I must have you—and have you now!" He bent to place his salivating lips on her own.

  "Avenel!" she called mindlessly, still stunned by the fierce blow.

  "Avenel, is it?" He shook her shoulders to make her more coherent. "What is the man to you, sweet cousin of his?" He slurred his S's and sprayed her face with his spittle.

  "Get away from me, you monster!" She found her tongue once more and tried with all her strength to pull away from his revolting touch. The stiff embroidery on his coat was pressing painfully into the soft skin of her shoulders, making them raw.

  "You dare call me a monster?" Culpepper's face reddened, and he grimaced horribly. "Brienne, die quiet little newcomer from America, who, by my daughter's account, hadn't even the funds to dress herself properly until Slane arrived back from London with some new gowns. Tell me, sweet, what kind of creature allows a man to provide such intimate gifts as the very clothes she wears on her back?" He moved a hand along her scraped and tender shoulders, poking a finger along the edge of her brocaded bodice. "I think only a woman who has whored for the rutting stag countless times would do that." He pulled the material at her shoulders down violently. She flinched and moved farther away.

  "Get away from me!" she screamed. "You're a mistaken fool!"

  "I am mistaken?" He wobbled in drunken disbelief. "It's you who are mistaken if you think Venetia will allow Slane to continue providing for you. She means to get him by mar­riage. Then you will be without a home and available for the taking." There was a lustful gleam in his small, beady eyes. "So get down on that floor, my beauty," he said as he raised his hand threateningly, making her cringe back for the de­scending blow. "And prepare yourself for your new keeper." His hand demanded her compliance as it came down with the bursting of a thousand white stars in her head.

  * * *

  Rose sat still and quiet at the edge of the drawing room; her face bore a distinct frown.

  "Are you tired of this, love?" Cumberland's eyes caressed her, he was the picture of concern.

  "No, no, I am all right," she said distractedly. But suddenly she burst out, "Where is Avenel? Have you seen him recently?"

  "I believe he might be in the gallery. Would you like me to find him for you?"

  "No," she said with determination. "It's nothing." She low­ered her worried, guilt-ridden eyes and watched her hands clasp and unclasp in her lap. "No, it is something!" she finally said, and she turned desperately to Cumberland. "I must find Avenel. It is Brienne." With new determination she got up from her chair and walked to the door, ignoring the crowds of people in her way.

  "There he is now!" Cumberland called to her as he and the ever-present Lady Venetia stepped through the doorway.

  Rose let out a sob and ran to him. "God forgive me, Avenel, God forgive me for such doings!"

  "What is it?" Avenel looked down at her sharply.

  "It's Brienne. Brienne!" She gave a remorseful cry. "I am a wicked woman for harboring such thoughts. I deserve my heartache for what I have just done."

  "What about Brienne? You must tell me." He shook her shoulders gently.

  "Lord Culpepper has gotten himself drunk. I saw him cor­ner her in the passage near your room. I . . . did . . . noth­ing." She hung her head contritely in her hands. "Go! I can­not even guess what she must be going through!"

  Without even a backward glance, Avenel bolted out the drawing-room door to the south passage. The entire room had fallen quiet during Rose's confession, and soon partygoers be­gan to trickle out to the passage themselves, hoping to glimpse a scandal. Venetia followed Avenel, calling frantically to stop his hasty action and to avoid one.

  Bursting into his bedchamber and cursing violently when he found it empty, he threw open the door to the tapestry room just in time to see Lord Culpepper run his hand up along Brienne's torn bodice and place his mouth slovenly over hers.

  Brienne was dazed as she felt Lord Culpepper's body being flung off of her like so much baggage. She took several steps back, and with her arms moving protectively over her bodice, she murmured Avenel's name so softly, it could not be dis­cerned, for her head ached from the effort of trying to speak. But suddenly two safe arms appeared, and she instinctively went to them, comforted by their familiar scent and feel. The numbness began to wear off, and the fear she had felt was relieved in part by sobbing into the white waistcoat before her. While her wracking shoulders were held gently and se­curely, she felt Avenel kiss her knotted, mussed hair. Her comb was nowhere to be found, but she knew that it lay crushed and broken underfoot.

  " Tis over now, little one. Rose told me. You will be just fine."

  "He tried to rape me," she cried, and felt anew the raw imprint of Culpepper's hand on her cheek and elsewhere on her violated body.

  Avenel looked down, seeing her tender, swollen face, and said, "He cannot now. See for yourself." He opened his arms just enough to let her view Culpepper's body, unconscious on the floor. Venetia was bent over him, and suddenly she sent an accusing look toward them both.

  "He is bleeding! You have caused by father to bleed!" Ve­netia laid her hand on the earl's head, and it came back laced with red. "I think you have killed him. And for her!" she spat venomously.

  Avenel turned to Cumberland, who appeared through the crowds at the door as Rose steadfastly held the onlookers back. "Have some footmen deposit Lord Culpepper on the other side of the gates. And tell them they need not be gentle."

  Cumberland nodded his approval. "I think I spotted a couple of especially burly ones near the breakfast room. I am sure they would oblige," he said before he left the room.

  Upon hearing the shriek that vented out of Lady Venetia
, Avenel turned to her. "You may go with him, or you may stay. Tis as you wish. But he will be out of this house before I return, or I shall call him out and be done with him for good." He then ignored Venetia completely as he turned his attention back to the woman in his arms.

  He removed his topcoat and placed it around Brienne's shoulders. He picked her up gingerly in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather and moved out into the pas­sage through the hordes of curious guests. Brienne was grate­ful for the black satin that covered the rent near her left breast. She was pale and withdrawn, but her crying had subsided.

  One of the guests, a physician, followed them upstairs, and before she had even realized it, she was lying on her bed, swallowing the laudanum he had prescribed. There was no fighting the heavy effects of the sedative that was forced upon her, and she felt her eyes close in oblivion before she could even thank Avenel for rescuing her.

  It was no peaceful sleep that she retreated into that night. All sorts of dark, unarticulated specters rose from the recesses of her mind. She tossed and turned to be free of them but could not wake herself up from her drugged sleep.

  In one nightmare she found herself back in Tenby. It was a brilliant, clear day, and she and her mother were having a picnic on Castle Hill overlooking both the clear blue waters of the Atlantic and the gray stone walls of the fortressed town below.

  "Mama, tell me about the balls. Tell me about the beautiful ladies and all the lovely gowns." She swept a dark red curl from her face as the breezes caught hold of her petticoats.