Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor

by Regina Jeffers

  Tears formed in Isolde’s eyes. She would have expected nothing less from a man of Lord Swenton’s ilk, but her heart had hoped His Lordship would be her knight and return for her. What woman does not want a bit of romantic sentiment from a man? However, she had pronounced her fate when she had insisted upon Lord Swenton’s devotion to his wife.

  As much as it pains me to speak of it, you should be made aware of what has occurred with Prince Henrí’s appearance at Marwood. It was an excruciatingly painful experience for all concerned. From Prince Henrí, I discovered Miss Aldridge had called upon him before we departed Vienna. You will see the irony in the fact the prince was ill with measles at the time and was unaware of Miss Aldridge’s presence; however, she left him a detailed letter describing our voyage to England and her intention to join London’s social season. Satiné also informed Prince Henrí she had delivered his son shortly after the prince’s wife and child had passed.

  Isolde reread the paragraph several times. It had never occurred to her that Lady Swenton had hoped Rupert’s father would arrive in London to claim her and the boy. Isolde, like the Thornhills and Lord Swenton, had thought the baroness meant to conduct a tryst with Lord Morse. “Baroness?” she whispered in mock chastisement. “How could you think to depart with the prince? You married His Lordship in Vienna.” As if they had a mind of their own, her eyes fell on the two words Lord Swenton had used twice: Miss Aldridge. “Could it be?” she asked.

  The prince, unfortunately for my lady, rebuked Miss Aldridge’s suggestion. He had come to England only for the child. The prince’s father is ill and wishes to secure the line, and there is some speculation regarding the prince’s having measles so late in life–for Rintoul is in his early forties and whether the disease could impede Henrí’s ability to produce another heir. He means to claim Rupert was the product of his joining with Princess Mathild.

  She had never heard of measles affecting a man so, but Isolde would ask Doctor Timmons his opinion. His Lordship’s news spoke of happiness for Rupert, as the child required at least one parent who was concerned for the boy’s welfare; yet, she could not help but to think if Rupert had been permitted to remain at Marwood, both the child and the baron would have discovered love and devotion.

  The worse among the multiple disclosures on that particular day was the fact Miss Aldridge had arranged a sham wedding, and our exchange of vows was never legal.

  Her heart slammed into Isolde’s chest. He and Miss Aldridge were not married. What would Lord Swenton do? Surely he would drive Lady Satiné from his house. “No,” Isolde disciplined her hopes. “His Lordship is the most upright man I know. Moreover, he said in the first paragraph he meant to reclaim his marriage.”

  I have thought long and hard upon this madness. My family name is under siege. Satiné has been introduced to Society as my baroness. Not only would Miss Aldridge know complete ruination, but also, I would be portrayed among my peers as the biggest fool in England. Miss Aldridge and I have shared a residence as a married couple. We have known a familiarity, which would require my speaking a proposal.

  The tears flowed freely now. Although he was free to choose his heart, Lord Swenton chose responsibility. Isolde would not think it possible to love the man more than she did, but his actions spoke to the person he was–a man of credit. She had realized from the beginning that giving her heart to an English aristocrat was imprudent act, especially such an action from a well-bred Irish lass; yet, the idea that neither she nor Lord Swenton would ever hold happiness in his grasp tore at her heart. The fierce, undeniable need to look again upon his countenance haunted her days. The knowledge she would never lay eyes upon him again sent a shaft of desolation to her heart.

  And I have done so this evening. Miss Aldridge has not given me a response, but you and I know the lady holds few options in this matter. It is what must be done, and done quickly. Tomorrow, I will make arrangements for Miss Aldridge and me to marry in the Church of England, offering the excuse that a “Lutheran ceremony does not guarantee my heirs legal rights.”

  That being said, I must confess I fear complete Bedlam will overtake the world. If it were not for the fact my feet still touched the ground with each step I take, I would think the earth had spun from its axis. Surely the universe grieves as much as does my heart for when I call your name only Loneliness answers. I honor you for having chosen to remain at a distance, for that action is one choice I could never make. I am too weak to deny myself the pleasure of looking upon your exquisite beauty each day. I pray in time you will earn the love and devotion you so rightly deserve, and I pray when that moment happens the angels trumpet your success so I may celebrate with you. I will forever sing your praises. I will sing of how uncertainty disappears when you are near and how the touch of your hand upon the back of mine speaks of home. I never thought I would find a woman as magnificently perfect for me as are you, and I never thought it possible I would turn from such a woman; yet, I hold no choice but to act with honor toward Miss Aldridge. Forgive me.

  Yours in life,

  JS

  Sobs shook her shoulders. Isolde could never imagine a moment more wonderful, or one more painful. Everything she had ever desired had slipped like water through her fingers, but she could not place blame at Lord Swenton’s feet. His integrity was one of the many things about the man, which she cherished.

  “Miss Neville?” Jamie’s squeaky future baritone voice came from somewhere behind her.

  Isolde quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into her work apron’s pocket. She used her knuckles to dash away the tears. “I am here, Jamie,” she answered without turning around.

  The youth stopped short behind her. “Miss Neville, Doctor Timmons said to tell ye yer pa is awake.”

  She stood and pretended to shake out her gown, never looking at the lad, who hoped to apprentice with Timmons. “I shall be there momentarily, Jamie. Thank you for seeking me out.” Isolde continued to shake out the gown, knowing a flash of her ankles would cause the boy to blush and dart away. When he retreated, she patted her cheeks dry with her handkerchief, tucked several strands of loose hair into her chignon, and then set her shoulders. She would have difficulty disguising her state from her father. Hiding how much the realization of never seeing Lord Swenton again had thrown her heart on the ground and stomped upon it soundly would proclaim her as the world’s greatest actress.

  *

  “Dearly Beloved…” He had made arrangements with the curate of a small parish some fifty miles northwest of his estate to conduct the ceremony without the calling of the banns in exchange for a hefty donation to the church. John thought it essential that he and Satiné speak their vows with speed and with privacy. He had sent word to Lord and Lady Worthing to act as their witnesses. Despite the viscount’s continued misgivings regarding whether John was making a wise decision, John had accepted the Kerringtons’ assurances of secrecy. He knew both Lord and Lady Worthing always to act with admiration.

  “Why not turn Miss Aldridge over to Baron Ashton?” Kerrington had asked when John had explained the necessity of deception. They had shared cheroots on the terrace before going into supper. “It appears at opposition to criticize Satiné for her manipulations and then conduct your own. As a parent, I have learned that particular fact through trial and error.”

  “Yet, I am not Satiné’s parent,” John had protested.

  Kerrington’s eyebrow rose in skepticism. “Are you not? My wife’s cousin has proved herself quite immature. She blames the world for her situation when Satiné sets the standard. You must act the role of parent and husband if you persist in following through with your plans?”

  John swallowed the bile, which had rushed to his throat. “What choice do I possess? My familial reputation cannot sustain being dragged through the murk again.”

  “Then permit me to make arrangements for Doctor Perry to conduct the service at Linton Park. The others have known satisfaction after speaking their vows before the Linworth altar. Sure
ly you do mean to break the chain!”

  John argued, “I do not wish to observe the pity upon the countenances of the men with whom I have shared nothing of this marriage. It is best if fewer rather than more of the Realm recognize my dilemma.”

  He could tell his friend wished to continue the argument, but, thankfully, Lady Worthing and Satiné had joined them on the terrace, and the viscount’s objections remained unspoken.

  “John and Satiné,” the curate continued, “I now invite you to join hands and to speak your vows in the presence of God and his people.”

  John reached for Satiné’s gloved hand. He could feel her tremble, and although John’s breathing had turned shallow, he squeezed her fingers in assurance. After the ceremony, he would be bound to her forever. The thought brought an expression of pain he was sore to hide. Glancing to Kerrington, he noted the worry upon his former captain’s lips.

  John tightened his grip on Satiné’s hand, cleared his throat, and pronounced the vows provided by the curate. “I, John, take thee, Satiné, to my wedded wife…” Within a half hour, the deed was done: Satiné would walk beside him forever. Never again would he entertain the idea of knowing Isolde Neville.

  After a light luncheon at a nearby inn, John pronounced his farewells to the Kerringtons. In spite of his friend’s having spoken against the joining, John had been pleased with how well Lady Worthing had handled Satiné the previous evening and during the ceremony. James Kerrington had chosen the perfect match; in fact, John thought each of his Realm associates had selected women who complemented his friends’ weaknesses with their own feminine strengths. He doubted if any would ever say the same of him.

  “It was gracious of Lady Worthing to see to your gown today,” he said as they made their way toward Marwood Manor.

  Satiné stared out the window. Although they had spoken their promises only a mere two hours prior, it was if they had been married for a lifetime. John imagined his friends enjoyed deep intimacies following their speaking their vows; yet, he had not dared to approach Satiné, even for a kiss. “My cousin thinks herself so wise simply because she is with child again.” The news had surprised John; Kerrington had not shared the glad tidings. Likely, the viscount thought it inappropriate under the circumstances. “Eleanor thought to speak of a wife’s duties; she even bragged of guiding the marquise before Grace Nelson married Lord Godown.” His wife spoke with a snit of disapproval. “It is not as if I hold no knowledge of a man’s lust.”

  John spoke before he could stop the words. “I am grateful of the reminder of how you preferred another, Baroness; however, you might take note that a man’s pride is a dangerous opponent to offend.”

  “How do I change my history, my Lord?” Satiné demanded. Her eyes were dark with frustration, but John’s temper had not been appeased.

  “It is not your history of which we should speak. I prefer to know of your future–of our future.” A damnable inner voice, which spoke of his continued folly, drove his words.

  “Do you wish my permission to consummate our marriage? Is that the purpose of your vituperation?” Her gaze dropped, as if Satiné thought to conceal her expression, but John had seen the snarl of distaste pull at her nose.

  “I believe I have earned my welcome to your bed; after all, I have spent three months playing your dupe.” He leaned forward to speak in dark demand. “I explained my terms prior to your accepting my proposal. The issue is not open for negotiation. I will no longer be denied. I am your husband, Baroness. I plan to treat you kindly, but I expect you to reciprocate equally. For better, for worse.”

  *

  “Are you reading that letter again?” Her father chastised as he shoved himself higher in the bed. Isolde quickly refolded Lord Swenton’s letter and shoved it in her apron’s pocket. The men of The Saltchuck no longer required her constant attention; in truth, over the past few days, she had had too much time to think upon Lord Swenton’s painful decision.

  She smoothed strands of her father’s too long hair from his cheeks. “I was thinking I should write to His Lordship and express our gratitude for his generosity. Doctor Timmons says you should be well enough to travel by the first part of next week. As quickly as we may, we should set a course for Liverpool and then book passage across the Irish Sea to home.”

  Her father said with more perception than she would have liked, “Are you certain it is as you wish?”

  Tears sprang immediately to her eyes, and Isolde dabbed at them with her handkerchief. “I have become quite the watering pot of late.” She brushed the teardrop from her cheek. “And as for what I wish, my thoughts all remain completely upon my father’s full recovery.”

  He shook off her response. “It is not proper to speak a lie, Izzy, but I will not press you for an answer.” He shifted to one side. “Have you written to your brother and your uncles?”

  “Yes, Papa. Although with the postal deliveries being what they are, we are likely to arrive at home before my letter.” Isolde caught his hand. “I am blessed to know the love of my family.” She thought, So many have no concept of such love.

  Her father’s eyes drifted closed. “You are the brick, which holds our home together. Without your devotion, we would be nothing.”

  *

  John had had two drinks prior to entering Satiné’s quarters. Since reuniting with Satiné Aldridge, he had developed a taste for French brandy, as well as American whiskey. After tonight, he would carry out his vow to leave the spirits behind. It appeared contradictory to complain of Satiné’s intake of laudanum if he were numbing his mind and body with heavy spirits. Mr. Coyle planned to return to London the following week. This evening, they had discussed in personal detail how John might teach Satiné to respond, as a wife should.

  “In our conversations,” Coyle confided, “the baroness has indirectly expressed a distaste for sharing sexual pleasures.”

  John asked suspiciously, “Why would Lady Swenton speak so familiarly?”

  Coyle explained, “I have encouraged the baroness to speak of what frightens her or what has upset her.”

  A scowl deepened the lines of John’s forehead. “I suppose my wife spoke of our earlier argument.”

  Coyle shook his head in the negative. “Actually it was Lady Worthing’s description of the pleasantries found in the marriage bed, which caused Lady Swenton some consternation. I do not know the details shared, but I do recognize your wife’s anxiety. If you experience difficulties, you might keep my caution in mind.”

  Unhappy to know of his wife’s aversions, he had swallowed two glasses of the American whiskey to slow his physical reaction to knowing his wife, at last, as well as to provide him the resolve to finish what must be done. “What a conundrum!” he mumbled. “Damned if I act, and equally damned if I do not.”

  He tapped lightly upon her door before entering to find Satiné sitting upon the edge of her bed. Stiff. Eyes wide. John removed his banyan as he crossed the room, draping it across the back of a chair. He approached her slowly so as not to alarm Satiné further. “You look quite beautiful,” he said encouragingly. In reality, she had added a bit of weight of late, but certainly not enough. Through the white high-necked gown, he could observe her excessively thin form.

  “Thank you, my Lord,” she whispered.

  John sat beside her and pressed her backward to rest upon the bed. “Do not fret. We will start with a few kisses.”

  “As you wish, my Lord.”

  If John could have a wish, he would substitute the heavenly body of Isolde Neville for the skeletal form of his wife. However, he had chosen this woman, and so he kissed Satiné, attempting to add heat to their joining, but no matter what touches he plied, his wife had not responded. John lightly squeezed her breasts as he placed a line of kisses along her neck. Satiné turned her cheek and angled her body to permit him his caresses; yet, she whispered, “Could we blow out the candle?”

  John reluctantly rose to cross the room to douse the light. When he looked back over his s
houlder, in the moonlight, he could see Satiné had moved up in the bed and had raised her gown to her waist; however, it was everything but stimulating. She looked no more appealing than a cheap harbor whore; yet, an inner voice said, “Remember your duty to your heirs.”

  Wishing he had another glass of the whiskey, John unbuttoned the placket of his breeches. Crawling across the bed to her, he kissed Satiné again, touching her to bring the dampness between her legs. His wife had closed her eyes tightly, and so had he. He freed his member, mounted her, and imagined Isolde. It was the only means by which he could live through this moment. Finally done, John rose, draped the counterpane across his baroness, kissed Satiné’s forehead, and picked up his banyan. He said nothing to her and neither did she to him. It would be their lives until Satiné could deliver forth several heirs, and then John would find a willing mistress to sate his desires. “Two heirs,” he thought as he entered his quarters, “and then Satiné will never know my lust again.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Although John knew his men would never discover the Baloch, Mr. Sampson and his assistants had insisted upon tracking Jamot’s retreat from Marwood. John doubted the Baloch remained in the area; he suspected he had come too close to the truth of what had occurred in Persia for Mir’s man to tarry. Jamot was likely licking his wounds and preparing for a second assault, and so despite his reservations, he had promised Sampson he would accompany the gamekeeper to the far side of John’s estate. Someone had reported seeing strangers in the area of the Olde Cottage, the very one John had thought to offer for Miss Neville’s use during her father’s recovery.

  “I will be away from the manor for a few hours,” he had informed Satiné over breakfast.