He likely blamed her for merely existing; if she did not exist, his father would have had no objection to his marrying Lady Camilla, but because of her he had made this silly clause.
She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hands as he entered the hall. His face was red from the cold and melting snow dripped from his hair. He went to the fire to warm his hands, then turned to the cabinet and poured wine for himself only. His fury was apparent in his expression.
"Well?" She asked. "I suppose you have seen your lawyer."
"I have," he replied, glaring at her. "I am assured there is nothing to be done. I even went to see a different lawyer in the next town and got the same reply."
“You must have some rights as his son, surely.”
“Apparently not. This title and estate are not entailed, not in any way. Anywhere else in the country and his Will would not have been valid, but not in Kent. The old man was entitled to leave both wherever the hell he liked and he certainly made a point of exercising his right, did he not?”
Antonia sipped her milk, feeling bemused. She was far more accustomed to having her life ordered for her than he was, of course, but even so the idea of marriage to the man filled her with dread. Apart from his love for another woman, he seemed to be a very angry and disagreeable sort of man. Her lips creased a little. He was the sort of bad tempered man she always regarded as a challenge.
"If you laugh I shall lose what little hold I have on my temper, Mistress," he warned bitterly.
She looked up and her eyes met his.
"I am not laughing, My Lord. I have nothing about which to laugh."
He straightened himself and made his way to the door, turned back and glared at her angrily, then went out again, slamming the heavy front door behind him.
As he approached Lord Stanton's estate, Robert's courage faltered. How he was going to break the news to Camilla, he did not know, but it had to be done and done as quickly as possible. He could not leave her expecting a bright future with him, wasting time waiting for that future when she could be betrothed and settled with someone else.
He felt very unhappy at the idea of her with another man, married to another man. There were plenty of fine gentlemen who would be only too pleased to make a match with her, some even of higher rank than him, but to think of any one of them in her bed instead of him was not something he wanted to dwell upon.
He had turned the problem over and over in his mind, tried to think of some way he could marry Camilla, but it was not to be. And that silly little girl he was being forced to wed thought that love was all that mattered. That notion alone just proved her inferior rank, her peasant's way of thinking. He felt suddenly angry again and pushed the image of her out of his mind.
As he rode he wondered if there was any way the marriage could still go ahead. He would have no title, it was true, yet Camilla had a generous dowry and her father was one of the wealthiest men in the country, so he might be persuaded to make them an allowance. But it was unlikely her father would allow her to marry with no title at all.
Without noticing, he had slowed his horse to a walk as he drew nearer the main doors and now he realised a stable boy was waiting to take the animal from him. The boy no doubt expected a lengthy stay, but not this time. Still, he could take the horse, give him some hay and some water, a short rest before he headed back to Roxham Hall and his bleak future. It was not very far and neither was that future, as he had but one month in which to carry out his father’s wishes and marry Antonia, or the whole estate, the title, everything would belong to his cousin.
A correct and stiff manservant opened the front door and a maidservant led him into the sitting room, where Lady Camilla sat waiting. She wore a heavy gown of purple velvet, trimmed with pearls and a stiff lace collar which stood up as far as the middle of her blonde head. She was very beautiful and always perfectly dressed, her hair perfectly curled to enhance her appearance.
She made no move to stand until the maid had left; it was a very formal household, everything had to be done correctly. No, Lord Stanton would not allow a marriage without the title and estate; the idea was unthinkable.
He turned to her as soon as they were alone, and she stood to greet him fondly as she always did. She looked up at him expectantly, her long fingers resting on his chest as she smiled.
"Well?" She demanded, her eyes shining brightly with anticipation. "When are we to wed? I have been sitting here thinking about what sort of wedding I would like and I have decided I want to be married in London, at St Paul's Cathedral. Westminster would be better if you can arrange it."
His mind had gone blank. He only stood and watched her, wondering where to begin and he found himself a little afraid of her reaction. He did not think she would be angry but he was about to break her heart. The thought was an uncomfortable one.
She seemed to have finally noticed his lack of enthusiasm and she stopped talking and frowned at him.
"Camilla, my love," he began hesitantly. "I have bad news."
She raised an eyebrow and stepped back, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Which means?"
He took her hand and brought it to his lips.
"Do you remember when I quarrelled with my father?" He asked her. She did not react. "It was because he wanted me to marry some maiden I had never heard of, the daughter of a friend of his, so he said, although I am doubtful he had any friends."
She nodded at last, her lips firmly fixed in a straight line of suspicion.
"The evil old bastard has made his Will so that I get nothing if I do not marry this girl."
Camilla snatched her hand away, staring at him as though he had committed some ghastly lewd act.
"What do you mean?" She demanded.
"We can still marry, my love," he assured her hastily, seeing the horror in her eyes. "You have a generous dowry and perhaps your father..."
"You will get nothing?" She interrupted him. "You are not going to marry me? After I have waited all this time, you are not going to marry me?"
He took her hand once more, but she yanked it away and pushed him. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
"I would marry you tomorrow," he said. "But we will have nothing, unless your father is kind."
She pushed him away again, her eyes blazing with fury.
"My father will never countenance such a match!" She shouted. "I am to be a countess at the very least."
She turned away from him and stood staring into the flames from the huge hearth, the anger clear in her clenched fists, her stiff jaw line, and he was shaken. He had come here believing he was about to break her heart; he had expected tears and he had been ready to comfort her. Instead she was furious, like a spoilt child whose favourite toy had been snatched away.
He recalled last summer when on their way to a play, their carriage wheel splintered and broke. They had missed the play and she had thrown a similar tantrum then.
That beautiful body was rapidly losing its appeal.
"I am sorry, Camilla," he said quietly. "It is not my doing, but I rather thought you would find it harder to lose me than my title."
She spun around to stare up at him, her face still a mask of fury, her cheeks red, though whether from rage or the glow from the fire he could not tell. She showed no sign of remorse, no indication of sorrow.
"Get out!" She cried. "Get out and go back to your little peasant. My father turned down the eldest son of a duke for you! You had better hope he is still interested."
Then she marched toward the door, flung it open and ran up the stairs. Robert listened intently for any sound of weeping, but he heard only the slamming of an upstairs door.
CHAPTER THREE
While she waited for the Viscount to return, Antonia gave careful thought to her future and thought again about what she might do to earn a living. She could not be completely useless, surely, even though she had not been raised to make her own way in the world. There had to be many people who needed a nurse for th
eir babies, or a teacher for their children, and she was of good birth which would put her in demand. She was glad her father had educated her, so at least she had some knowledge to impart. She could teach children to read and write and she knew a lot of history. There were two things she could do right there, without even thinking about it, nurse and teacher.
She tried to feel pleasure in the discovery, at the knowledge that there were things she could do to support herself, but somehow she could not. All she felt was fear. Two possible futures presented themselves to her and she could anticipate neither with pleasure.
Robert had gone off to tell Lady Camilla they could not be married. It seemed to Antonia that he would rather forego Camilla than forego the title and she found that very strange. He said he loved her, but she very much doubted it.
He would be in a foul mood on his return and yet another quarrel would follow his arrival. He would have realised the only way to gain the title was to marry her and Antonia was about to disappoint him. He would be livid.
She was angry that the Viscount had assumed the decision was his alone, as though she counted for nothing. Just because her guardian had left her to him in his Will, did not mean she had to comply. Although the law regarded women as the property of their fathers and guardians, then husbands, that did not entitle the Earl to leave her to another man in his Will. He could not force her to take the veil either. She would see that lawyer about it if she had to.
Marriage to Robert held no appeal for her; she did not like him. He was rude and arrogant, had thought nothing of her feelings when he ranted about how hard done by he was. What sort of future could she expect, married to him? A loveless one, that was certain, one where she was required to churn out babies in the hope of producing an heir. Then there was the question of how the babies were seeded in the first place. She knew a little on the subject, enough to know she did not want to go through that with Viscount Robert. Good looking he may be, but she did not expect him to even try to please her, only himself. She shuddered, then turned to face the door as she heard his heavy footsteps.
He poured himself wine without offering any to her, and sat opposite her on the other side of the hearth. He lay back in his chair and stretched his legs out to the fire, his eyes sweeping her from head to foot, much as he would an article in the market he was thinking of buying, as though deciding if she were worth the price asked.
"I visited the priest at Holy Mercy on my way home," he said. "He can conduct the marriage ceremony next week, so long as all the banns are read in time. Do you have anything suitable to wear? Or should I arrange for a dressmaker?"
She stared at him for a few moments, deciding the best answer to give. She wanted one which would make him think, which would even anger him, not one which would make him believe she consented to this ridiculous match.
She wanted to know Lady Camilla's reaction to the news, but she would not ask. He would likely not tell her even if she did; he did not seem as distressed as she had expected, yet he still planned a marriage to Antonia. She was too curious not to want to know what that meant.
"If I am to be married," she said at last, "I am entitled to proper wedding clothes. I may be only the daughter of a minor baron, but I do have some standing in the world, if not in your eyes."
She hoped he might argue the point, tell her she was worthy of being his wife, but of course he did not. What else did she expect?
"Very well," he conceded. "I will send someone for the dressmaker tonight. Then she can make a start as soon as possible and we can get this nonsense over with."
"You are too hasty, My Lord," she protested. "I have not yet decided to marry you."
He did not sit up, did not move, just looked at her coldly.
"Of course you will marry me," he told her. "You will starve otherwise."
"And so will you." She paused then her eyes met his defiantly. "In fact, you are far more likely to starve than I. I have been thinking about what I can do to earn a living and I can think of many occupations for which I am qualified."
He sat up then and slammed his goblet down on the table beside his chair.
"You forget, Mistress, my father's Will stipulated you were to enter a convent if you did not marry me."
"That has no legal standing," she argued. "He had no right to leave me to a convent in his Will, any more than he had the right to leave me to you."
His eyes blazed and he leaned toward her threateningly. He had weathered enough disappointments for one day, he would not tolerate another one. He believed she wanted him to court her, to flatter her and tell her he wanted this. That was typical of a woman and he would not do it. He had neither the inclination nor the patience.
"You will marry me, Mistress," he told her. "Make no mistake about that. I will have nothing if we do not wed and I do not intend to live in poverty just to suit the whims of a silly little girl. Nor do I intend to go grovelling to my cousin for a small allowance from what is rightfully mine." He paused and picked up his wine again, drained the goblet before once more slamming it down on the table. "You can think about our wedding and how you can be a good wife, instead of wondering about how you will fit into a life of servitude. It certainly sounds like a better option to me."
She jumped to her feet and glared down at him, then glanced with concern at the window, at the darkness outside, the falling snow. No, she could not leave tonight, but tomorrow...
"I shall leave in the morning," she declared. "I shall find something to do."
She spun around to leave the room, but she felt his hand on her arm, holding her back and pinching her flesh. She turned to face him; he held fast to her while he got to his feet and his mouth formed a threatening grimace as he loomed over her.
"Let go of me! What are you doing?" She demanded as she tried desperately to pull away from him.
"Making quite sure you do as you are told," he replied. "Forget the dressmaker. I am not giving you a chance to run away and lose me my inheritance."
He dragged her from the room and up the stairs to her chamber, the one to which she had retreated since he demanded his own back. She squirmed and struggled, tried to pull back, hung on to the banister rail as she went, but he was very much stronger than her and it was a pointless effort.
The chamber was through three others, right at the end of the house, and he removed the key from the lock before he opened the door and dragged her after him into the room. He pushed her roughly on to the bed then stared down at her.
"I shall have your supper sent up," he told her. "Do not think to leave this chamber until we go to our wedding; after that you can do what you like."
As Robert sat at the table trying to eat his supper, he did not like the feeling of guilt which was interfering with his appetite and refused to go away. He had to admit he had suspected Antonia of arranging this with his father, but she seemed adamant that she did not agree to this marriage and he knew nothing of her character, so perhaps he was wrong. She certainly seemed determined to make her own way in the world, however hard that may be.
Still, he could ill afford to have her sneaking off and running away and he conceded that what she said was true; she could find work if she wanted to. There were not many young women of good birth available to teach the children of the nobility so it would not be too difficult for her. Of course, she would not earn a lot, perhaps only her bed and board, but strangely he did not think that mattered very much to her. He did not understand why, since he knew nothing about her, only that he had been expecting some attempt to reconcile with him, some sort of flirtation to capture his interest, make the match more acceptable. Instead she had displayed hostility toward him, which was something he had never before known from a woman. He was too accustomed to the likes of Lady Camilla Austin, whose wiles and advances had bewitched him until today. Damn it! He was used to women making an effort to please him; he expected them to flirt with him, even the old ones seemed to find him attractive, but this little elf like creature had laughed at hi
m, actually laughed at him!
He caught the thought and held on to it. Elf-like; yes, that was what she was, like a delicate fairy in the forest, as though she had stepped out of one of the bedtime stories with which his mother had soothed him to sleep when he was little more than a baby. He smiled at the idea, then pushed the smile away.
He could scarcely believe how Camilla had greeted the news. He went there expecting to break her heart, to leave her in tears; now he thought himself well out of a scheme of marriage with her, he thought he had likely had a lucky escape. Only yesterday he had told Antonia he was in love and he thought he was, but now Camilla had shown her true colours he realised he had no idea what he was talking about.
He had calmed down a little and decided he really ought to go and apologise to Antonia. Perhaps she might even welcome the match if he showed her the good side of his character, as so far all she had seen was his temper and his frustration at being manipulated. Not good, and certainly no way to begin a relationship, even an undesirable one.
He would wait until he had completely calmed himself. He had no wish to lose his temper again, which was fragile at the best of times; if they had to be married he would rather do so on amicable terms. It would make the whole thing far more amenable.
He was cold and tired and decided it could wait until the morning. He would sleep on the problem, see if his heart would miss Camilla or the idea of her, decide how best to persuade Antonia what was best for her, for both of them. If Camilla had threatened to leave like that, he would have known she was bluffing, but for some reason he felt sure Antonia would do just that. She had a stubborn will which he was unused to seeing in a woman and he found himself thinking about her as he settled in his bed, which still held the lingering smell of perfume from her use of it.
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