His overtures to Cressida last night only proved how utterly lacking in sensitivity he was. He’d completely misread the signals she’d sent him. Had she been deliberately teasing him?
Impatiently, he pushed aside the document, desperate suddenly to leave Mariah’s sitting room. He needed to return home so he could confront Cressida and learn why she ran hot and cold with him these days.
Why had she followed him to Mrs. Plumb’s and enticed him so overtly only to reject him later?
“It is never possible to predict a person’s desire to know another,” he said, hoping to do justice to Mariah’s question while his thoughts remained with his wife. “This other young woman whose identity I discovered yesterday was removed from the orphanage the same day, and it is possible the two names were confused. I can tell you this, however—she lives in desperate poverty with a family named Potter, and your patronage would be gratefully received, I’m sure.” He hesitated, then pressed on, his voice tinged with doubt. “However, the initial subject of my inquiries—”
“You mean Madeleine Hardwicke? Please suspend the lawyer speak, Justin.”
Mariah’s voice was bleak as she crossed the room to stand before Justin, forcing him to look her in the eye. “If it is Madeleine Hardwicke, she won’t want to know me…” she drew out the pause, adding quietly, “will she?”
Taking Justin’s lack of response as confirmation for her worst fears, Mariah whispered, “Then my daughter is as lost to me as she ever was.”
She turned away, saying brokenly, “I know I am being selfish and unreasonable. Would I wish her to have spent her life in poverty? Of course not. But what can I offer…someone like that…in my current position, when I was so hoping my suspicion to be entirely off the mark and that you would discover a young woman to whom I could be of some small use?”
Insensible to his soothing answer, her agitation increased as she paced. “I just cannot believe it of Robert’s family. They wanted nothing to do with me. Robert, himself, abandoned me! Now this! Surely the risk would be too great if the truth were discovered?”
Justin tapped the desk with his fingers, mulling over everything he had learned during the past weeks. He’d spent hours studying the Sedleywich orphans register and following the complex chain of events that had obscured the origins of the child later presented to the world as the legitimate daughter of one of London’s leading families. The daughter Mariah believed was her own.
“It’s all in my report, Mariah,” he said, indicating the document on the desk. “Soon, I shall receive information which will confirm, I suspect, that this second girl has no relevance to my investigation. As I’ve told you, Miss Hardwicke’s family has gone to great lengths, and expense, to guard against any possibility of discovery, making my task so difficult. The only thing they could not take into account was family resemblance and a mother’s need to know.”
Mariah appeared not to have heard him. Only the rise and fall of her bosom revealed her feelings as she stared through the window into the street. “After all these years to finally discover my child…” Her voice trailed away, before she added bitterly, “A child I can never claim!”
Her pain sliced at him, but he had nothing to offer except platitudes. She spoke the truth.
Turning back to him, Mariah gave a wry laugh. “Only yesterday I told a young woman I was childless. Indeed, it is the truth, for I have never known my daughter and, now, it appears, I never will.” Dropping her eyes, she added, “In a twist of irony, this poor young woman’s anguish was caused by her ever-growing brood. Five, she said she’d had, in eight years, and suffering torments because she believed a sixth would kill her.”
Justin watched her push her dark hair back from her high forehead and wondered when it had become so tinged with gray. Just as he’d been struck by her handsome Castilian features when he’d first met her, he’d been struck by the continued rich gloss of her hair when she’d approached him three weeks before. Now it seemed dull and lifeless.
She was talking again, and he realized she was still referring to the young woman she’d met the previous day.
“I’d never have guessed it. She looked as innocent as a child, herself. And as frightened. This was no place for her. She admitted as much, but I think she’d have entered a tiger’s den if she could have reclaimed her husband and poured out her heart to him.”
Justin, who had been scanning his report once more while preparing to leave, looked up.
“She was here to reclaim her husband, did you say?”
Mariah nodded, chewing her thumbnail as she continued to stare into the street. “If we women were only given rudimentary knowledge of the facts when it came to the realities of marriage, this poor woman would not be so desperate and I”—her shoulders slumped— “might still be happily married.”
He could barely attend to her reflections and hoped his voice did not betray him. Trying to assimilate the multitude of questions jostling for precedence, he asked carefully, “How did you and this woman meet?”
“She was near fainting in the corridor, so great was her fear of discovery. She’d been told her husband was here, though she seemed to have scant notion as to what she would do when she found him.”
“She ventured to this place, alone, to find her husband?” Justin balled his fists and forced himself to breathe evenly. Mariah could be describing no one else but his wife. “Because someone told her this is where she’d find him?”
“I think she just wanted to know if he was here. She said she was terrified of more children. Apparently, her mother died giving birth to her sixth.”
“What!” Justin gave no thought to the force of his exclamation. Afraid of more children? Cressida doted on their offspring. Increasingly, she chose to spend her time with them, rather than her husband.
Mariah was speaking once more. He tried to concentrate on her words while the implications of her assertion filtered through to his brain. He’d begun to think his wife’s earlier enthusiasm for the marriage act was purely for procreation, not recreation. That while she sought a cessation of marital relations with the nursery full, she’d also lost interest in the shared intimacy he still so greatly craved. Not once had she ever suggested he take precautions to protect against further pregnancies.
Shock was swept away by the most intense dismay as he acknowledged they’d never properly had the conversation. Such talk was lewd, sinful… Good Lord, he thought with a start, perhaps Cressida did not even know such prevention was possible. It was not a conversation one had with one’s wife, though he had tried…
The realization of Cressida’s real and terrible fears swamped him, and the words of his report, upon which his eyes were unconsciously trained, blurred. Uncurling his fingers, he raked his hand through his hair.
He straightened in his chair, breathing carefully as he acknowledged how gravely he had failed his innocent, lovely wife. It was his duty to comfort and protect Cressida, to make her happy. He was ten years older, with experience beyond anything she could ever know. Just as Cressida had no knowledge of sexual relations outside their own bedroom, she’d have no idea how to translate her fear into words. Lord almighty, she’d known nothing on her wedding night, and when her first pregnancy had been confirmed, she’d asked from where the baby would emerge!
Now, instead of broaching a topic that Justin suspected was not discussed even among women, she’d practiced the only thing she knew would protect against conception.
Abstinence.Resistance.A surge of protectiveness sent the blood roaring through his veins and moisture stung his eyes.How long had his precious, darling Cressida been caught in this dark, terrible place, unable to translate her feelings for him into anything physical for fear of the consequences? Last night she had come so far, taken such bold, brave steps, faltering only at the last when he had failed, yet again, to understand her terrors.
The chair nearly toppled in Justin’s sudden haste to return home and take Cressida in his arms and counter every fear
of hers in the most loving, practical way of which he was capable.
“Apologies for my abrupt departure, Mariah,” he said, “but I have just recalled an urgent appointment. Tomorrow I shall return with, I hope, confirmation to set both our minds at rest.” In three quick strides he was at the door. In less than ten minutes, he’d be home. He’d thought Cressida was playing games with him. No, he’d had no idea what Cressida was doing, but now he knew the truth. Surely, if he acted quickly, he could rekindle their precious love before she had drifted too far from him?
“That’s unlike you, Justin.”
He could barely answer, for his thoughts were concentrated entirely on the task at hand. “Sounds like your poor new friend’s husband is an ignorant boor,” he muttered, his hand upon the doorknob, “who deserves to sleep alone.”
Great was his disappointment to learn upon arriving in Bruton Street that Cressida had apparently responded to an urgent summons from her great-aunt Jane who lived in Bath and who claimed to be upon her deathbed. Brimble, the butler, said he was uncertain when Lady Lovett would return.
Chapter Seven
Fumbling in her reticule for her handkerchief as she stood uncertainly in a dim passage at Mrs. Plumb’s the following Wednesday, Cressida mopped her eyes. These tears! Where did they come from? Soon she would be confined to the asylum if she did not find a remedy for the nervous anxiety that afflicted her. She’d spent the previous five days with her great-aunt before returning this afternoon to find Justin not at home. She had to admit she’d been rather relieved.
If only she could control this infernal shaking. Tonight… What might it bring? It all depended so much on whether Miss Mariah was telling her the truth or not. Could she really have a remedy for Cressida’s woes? Was there really something so simple as a means of adequate protection each time she accepted her husband into her bed? Even something to lessen the risks was better than nothing. In all their years together, there’d been no talk of that, though she remembered broaching the difficult subject with Catherine after she’d discovered she was with child for the fourth time.
“My, my but you’ll bankrupt poor Justin if you insist on producing a daughter for him every year,” her cousin had said, pretending jocularity. “I’ve given James his two sons, which suits him very nicely.”
Feeling overwhelmed, Cressida had struggled not to break down in tears as she asked, “Is there some secret I’m not aware of, Catherine, that you speak like that? Of course I want to give Justin a son. It’s my duty. But you? You may well start producing daughters, too.”
“Not likely,” Catherine had answered wryly, and Cressida had longed to quiz her more. She had, in fact, obliquely charged Catherine with knowing of some practice to ensure that she didn’t produce girls, but Catherine had simply patted Cressida’s knee in that maddeningly superior way of hers and said as she always did, “Don’t ask me, Cressy, ask Justin. You stopped confiding in me long ago when you learned that your darling husband was the font of all knowledge.”
But of course Cressida could not ask Justin when she was growing bigger with the child they hoped would be the longed-for heir and which, when born, turned out to be their darling Emily. Cressida had sobbed with dismay at the time, though she’d loved Emily like the rest of their girls, and so had Justin. Ah, but then Thomas had finally arrived, and Cressida thought that finally she’d somehow find the words she needed now that Justin had his son.
Instead, she simply reverted back to the tongue-tied, country dormouse Catherine had teased since they were children, smiling and pliant on the outside, tormented by her ignorance on the inside.
“My dear girl!” Her friend greeted her warmly and led her into a small conservatory at the back of the house.
“It is such a lovely evening we can sit here, as my own sitting room is currently occupied.” Miss Mariah patted the seat beside her on the cane sofa. “I’m glad you came…and dressed for action, too, I see,” she added, referring to Cressida’s revealing black evening gown. With its deep neckline and figure-hugging cut, it was very different to her widow’s weeds. “I promise you, a few minutes are all it will take for me to explain what would advance society’s happiness and end so much suffering.”
From the tray on the table beside them, she took two glasses of sherry and handed one to Cressida.
In the natural light, Miss Mariah looked different from the previous week. There was now no sign of the gray that had peppered her hair, her gown was of fine blue silk and her eyes sparkled. Cressida was surprised she felt no revulsion for this creature who traded her body for what she could not otherwise procure. Unlike Cousin Catherine, Cressida tried not to be so quick to judge others, yet the fact was that Cressida was about to take advice—perhaps the most important advice of her life—from a prostitute. Or, at least a retired one.
Miss Mariah leaned across the small space between them and asked with clear enthusiasm, “Now, where shall we begin? I do admire a young woman who sets out to help herself. You have been an inspiration to me, for I was a lusterless creature last week, I’ll admit it.” She raised her own glass. “You helped me see that, regardless of our trials, we must embrace the future.”
Cressida took a nervous gulp of the amber-colored liquid and looked down at her gloved hand, clenched in her lap. “My husband—” she began, feeling a surge of longing for the man she’d hurt, neglected and lied to over the past week and whose arms she could not wait to feel around her. A week with her fractious aunt had heightened her desire for the simple comfort of his company.
“Your husband is a capital place to start. I’ve no idea what kind of man he is, but, as it is clear you are deeply in love with him, I cannot imagine he’d not be completely amenable to doing his part to lessen the risk of increasing your already large brood when it comes to lovemaking.”
Heat seared Cressida’s face and throat as she spluttered on her sherry.
Her friend laughed. “How many years did you say you’d been married? Eight? Nearly as long as myself. My dear, the way we entertain our husbands is at the very core of how they regard us, and if you are too afraid even to mention what is at the root of your fear then I see you have a very great problem indeed.”
Cressida forced down her embarrassment. If this woman spoke the truth, her world was about to begin anew. She’d grown up with a maiden aunt and cousin who’d taught her nothing about the business and a domineering mother-in-law who’d made it clear that a reluctant wife was undutiful and unnatural. A knowledgeable stranger was as good as anyone to dispense the kind of advice she needed right now.
She put down her empty glass and laced her fingers in her lap, the anticipation of what she hoped to hear making her heart race. “Miss Mariah, after I left you last week, I chanced upon my husband unexpectedly in this house,” she said, quietly. “Yes, I was shocked, but we were both in masquerade,” she continued, going on to explain what had transpired, though her voice broke as she described the hurt and confusion on Justin’s face when she’d told him she had a megrim.
“A megrim? Good Lord, my dear girl, how have you managed this past week if your husband was so full of expectation upon meeting you last Wednesday?”
Cressida’s mouth trembled. “I…haven’t,” she confessed. “I was a coward, I know. Instead of confiding in him, I went to my great-aunt’s, for I couldn’t face him. I didn’t know what to do.” She raised tear-filled eyes toward Miss Mariah, her self-disgust weighing down on her as much now as it had a week ago. Poor Justin. She hadn’t seen him since that night. What must he think?
“Oh, my dear, what a terrible time you’ve had of it.” Miss Mariah leaned forward and patted Cressida’s knee, and Cressida felt the genuine concern that was so lacking compared with when Catherine did the same. “If I’d known this would happen, I’d have got down to business straightaway. As it is, we’ve not a moment to lose. Let me assure you, you’re not the first who’s sought my advice. Mrs. Plumb’s salon attracts so many like you, women and men with hear
ts full of love but living in circumstances whereby acting on that love is tantamount to a death sentence.”
Cressida covered her hands. “A child born to an unmarried woman would be like a death sentence, though it is a mortal sin and should be justly punished, I suppose,” she whispered. “But I am a married woman, and my only duty is to provide my husband with a son and to manage as best I can. What I am doing—or wish to do—is a sin.”
“Nonsense!”
Cressida looked up at Miss Mariah’s robust tone.
“It’s true that my knowledge of methods to avoid conception is sought by many unmarried women who frequent Mrs. Plumb’s Salon. For some of these women, trading on their natural charms is their only choice unless they are to starve.”
“There is always a choice. Selling one’s body is…is abhorrent,” Cressida whispered with a shiver. She’d overheard such sentiments discussed between Justin and Catherine’s husband, James. In fact, she still blushed to have come silently upon such a conversation when on a warm summer’s evening she’d gone into the garden in search of Justin and heard her husband speak these very words to James, “Taking one’s pleasure outside marriage is abhorrent and a mortal sin.”
It had been so shocking to hear the strength he’d injected into his declaration, not to mention such an odd thing for Justin to say to Catherine’s husband, whom Cressida had to admit she had never liked. He was distant and uncommunicative, and he barely ever looked at Catherine when he spoke to his wife, though Catherine was always gushing about his latest achievements and, more often, his gilded prospects.
Cressida had been confused by James’ response, “What if it’s the only pleasure on offer? By God, Justin, it’s a bit rich to preach from your rarefied position.”
Cressida had quickly left them to hurry back to the house, uncomfortable at having heard what she clearly should not have. Nevertheless, Justin’s disgust for such conduct echoed the strictures with which she’d been brought up. The only good woman was a virtuous woman, otherwise she was condemned both on earth and in the afterlife.
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