by April Munday
“My hand is part of me,” he said, recognising that his desire had finally died. “You must take all of me or none of me.”
“But, Edmund, you are so beautiful. Why must you try to remind me of the ugly things in the world?”
For a moment Finch remembered the cold fear he had known when he had been tortured. They had blindfolded him to make him more afraid. His inquisitor had paced up and down, the sound of his boots on the stone floor echoing in the small room. The torturer had held his hand down while he chose which bone to break, one at a time. It had been very efficient. Finch had concentrated on the inquisitor’s voice and knew that the man was aroused by seeing him tortured. The other’s breathing had revealed that he, too, was excited.
“There are ugly things in the world,” he said at last, exhausted by the memory.
“But I do not have to look at them.”
Finch relented.
“Not tonight, then.”
She gave no sign of understanding his real meaning and smiled.
Finch caught her quickly into a kiss.
When he had finished, she smiled up at him and untied his cravat.
“You’re very good at that,” she said, stroking his chest, where she had exposed it.
Finch’s only answer was to do it again. He knew he would not lose control, not tonight. Part of him was even wondering when he could leave and whether Mary would still be playing the pianoforte when he got home.
Louise had pulled his shirt open and pressed herself against his chest. Her breasts felt cool against his warm flesh. He had known it must end like this if he stayed, but he knew it would end here; he would not be manipulated into her bed.
Prolonging the kiss, he felt her becoming more and more breathless. Her breasts moved against his chest and he found that he was almost indifferent.
Slowly, he pulled away from her. She began to play with his nipples and he waited, kissing her forehead and stroking her cheek, watching her breasts push against his chest as she grew even more excited. As he expected, she eventually twisted hard enough to hurt. He caught her hand and stood, bringing her up with him.
“Did I hurt you?”
She looked up into his face, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Enough to remind me that it’s late and I should return home.”
“Oh, won’t you stay?”
“No. Please cover yourself before a servant comes.”
Since she made no move, he went to the bell and rang. He did up his shirt and cravat before he turned back to her. To his relief she had taken his advice and she was as decent as she had been when he arrived, which was indecent enough.
“When will you come again?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I think I tire of your games.”
“I don’t play,” she said and this time her hand did come towards his face.
He caught it easily and pulled her to him.
“I think you do nothing else,” he whispered into her ear.
He didn’t look back when the servant came to escort him to his carriage.
By the time he got into the carriage, he knew that he no longer loved her. By the time he arrived at home, he wondered how he had ever loved her.
It was only when he saw the light in the hall that Finch remembered that Sophia had wanted to say something to him tonight. He wondered that she had waited so late, then that she had waited in the hall with only a single candle for light. What had the servants been thinking of to allow it? And why were there no servants to let him in? He was not at all in the mood to see Sophia and he felt suddenly tired at the thought of having to deal with a new problem tonight. Still, she was here and he would have to speak to her. He locked and barred the door and turned to speak to her.
“Sophia?”
“No, Mr Finch, it is I.” Mary raised the candle to show her face. “Sophia has gone home.”
“Freddie!”
“Is asleep in bed. All is peaceful here.”
She didn’t seem peaceful, but her words reassured him that nothing was wrong with Freddie.
“Then why...? No, wait. Come into the library and we shall be more comfortable.”
And private, he thought, for Mary was evidently distressed and, if nothing was wrong with Freddie, it must be something of a more personal nature. How stupid he was; her lover had proposed and she was leaving.
Shaking off his tiredness, he led the way to the library, noting from the way the shadows danced around him that her hand was shaking.
“This is my fault,” she said as soon as he had shut the door. “I should have told you from the first, but you are such a gentleman that you wouldn’t... I couldn’t.... and now...”
“Brandy?” interrupted Finch.
She shook her head, but he poured her some anyway, then lit a few more candles. Finally he took the candle from her unsteady hand and put it safely on the table. Then he gave her the glass.
“Would you like to sit?”
“No.”
“Very well. Now, there is something you couldn’t tell me but should have told me?”
“It was only tonight when she told me her name that I knew what I had done.”
“You know Sophia’s name,” said Finch reasonably, relieved that this didn’t seem to be about a proposal of marriage.
“Not her name. That woman’s name.”
“You mean Louise Favelle?”
What could the governess have to do with the Frenchwoman?
“Yes, but that is not her name.”
“It’s your name.”
Understanding came upon him in a flood.
“Yes.”
She was completely still.
Finch took a sip from his own glass and wished that she had agreed to sit, for he felt weak at the knees.
“That explains why she always seemed older than she should,” he said with an uncharacteristic lack of gallantry. “And why she speaks English so badly and why she doesn’t understand what it means to be a Quaker and...”
Everything about her had been wrong from the start and he had been so blinded by her beauty that he hadn’t seen it. Worse, he had seen it and ignored it. Meldon had been right; he had known that she was wrong, he just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.
“You are Lady Louise.”
“I fear she means you harm.”
“We will deal with that later. You are Lady Louise.”
He didn’t know why it was so important that she acknowledge her rank, but it was.
“Yes. I believe she had something to do with my parents’ murder.”
Finch closed his eyes. How stupid he had been. She had wanted him for what he knew. Somehow she had chosen the right moment when his mind was weaker than his body and he had wanted a woman enough not to notice her lack of character if she were beautiful. If he had met her a few weeks later he would have been able to tell that she was a fabrication, as Meldon and Lady Anna had. He opened his eyes again and saw Mary’s fearful face.
“Undoubtedly, but that is not my first priority. You cannot stay here as my son’s governess.”
“You want to send me away. I knew you would.”
She turned away from him, but he could still see that she was worrying her lower lip with her teeth.
“You’re a member of the aristocracy.”
Why had he not realised this when she had told him about her parents’ murder?
“Do you think a title will keep me from starving? A daughter of a count who has no money is still a woman without money.”
Now she sat. He was able to see her face more clearly and she was afraid.
“Please don’t send me away. I am perfectly happy here with you and Freddie.”
“But you are...”
“I am a member of an aristocracy that no longer exists. Bonaparte creates new kings and dukes each day. My name has no meaning here or in France.”
She waved a hand dismissively.
Finch sat opposite her.
�
��I don’t want to send you away.”
“Then I can stay?”
Mary leaned forward eagerly in her chair. Freddie would never forgive him if he sent her away, but it was inconceivable that the daughter of a count should live in his house as his son’s governess. However well he treated her, and he knew that he treated her well, the daughter of a count should not have to earn her living.
“Marry me,” he said before he knew he was going to say it.
“Marry? You?”
Ignoring the appalled look on her face he said, “I know I’m only a gentleman and it’s an insult, but...”
“The insult is that you propose a marriage where there is no love. If I had wished to prostitute myself I could have done so long ago.”
Her anger brought him to his senses and Finch jumped up from his chair and knelt before her.
“Forgive me. It seemed a solution. I see it was not.”
He looked up into her face and saw that she was crying.
“Perhaps we should say no more tonight. We are both under a great strain.”
Her voice shook.
It hurt him that she couldn’t forgive him.
“Can you at least say that you don’t despise me?”
“Of course. You have received unpleasant news about the woman you love. You are not yourself.”
“I don’t love her,” he said. “I left her tonight and... I was a fool.”
Finch bowed his head. He would have managed this better if he had not been so angry with himself.
“I forgive you.”
“Then we may go on together?”
He looked up at her hopefully.
“You once told me I should speak more plainly, so please believe me when I say that nothing would please me more than to stay here with you and Freddie. I know that you will not be comfortable, but you’re a Quaker and you should believe that we’re equal.”
“If you knew how far I’ve fallen...”
She touched his cheek and he knew there were tears on it.
“Too much has been said tonight,” she said.
Finch felt the opposite; one of them hadn’t said enough.
“I’m sure I’ve told you before that you’re magnificent,” he said.
“You have.”
Rising to his feet, he thought about the other things that needed to be resolved this night.
“Have you seen her?”
She looked confused by the change of subject.
“Was she known to you?” When she shook her head, he asked more plainly, “Is there any chance she could recognise you?”
“No.”
“Then we will continue to keep your name secret. You will be safer that way.”
“I do not think I am the one in danger.”
Finch wasn’t sure, but he had got so many things wrong that he wasn’t prepared to risk her safety now.
“I cannot see how I am in danger. She has had plenty of opportunity to hurt me,” he said.
They had been alone many times. If she desired his death, she could have killed him several times over. If she had planned to become his wife in order to gain his trust, she had set about it in the wrong way. She had made no attempt to encourage him to divulge information. Whatever game she was playing, its object was still hidden from him. She had given no sign of displeasure at the way the relationship had progressed, other than that it progressed so slowly.
“There are more ways to hurt you than to do you physical harm.”
Finch could not think about these now. Later there would be time enough.
“But she hasn’t. It is as well that we leave tomorrow.”
The visit to Birmingham would give him time to think.
“You look exhausted. You should go to bed.”
He was touched by her concern.
“I have some letters to write.”
“At this time of night?”
“Some arrangements I had forgotten to make.”
“Then I shall say goodnight.”
She started to move past him towards the door.
“Miss Wilding?”
Unthinkingly, he caught her hand in his.
“Yes?”
“I am most desperately sorry.”
“You were upset.”
Somehow he had hurt her even more than he had thought. If she wasn’t crying now, it was only because she couldn’t trust whatever comfort he might be able to offer.
“I didn’t think.”
“I believe you meant well.”
Had he? Finch knew he had acted selfishly, for he had wanted to marry her.
“Damn! Oh, I do beg your pardon, Miss Wilding. It seems I can say or do nothing right tonight.”
“Then perhaps you, too, should retire.”
Her quiet voice was still calm, as if he had not spent the last half hour insulting her.
“I must write my letters.”
“Then I will bid you goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
She pulled her hand gently from his fingers.
This time he let her pass. Finch finished off his brandy and snuffed the candles before going to his study and taking out some writing paper. As he wrote telling Meldon the whole truth of his relationship with the Frenchwoman and what he had learned tonight, the only things he kept back were Miss Wilding’s true identify and that he had discovered that he was in love with her only after she had dismissed his offer of marriage.
Chapter Eleven
The inn seemed comfortable and clean. Mary had inspected the small room she was to share with Freddie. There was no sign of damp and a small fire burned in the grate. She sat on each of the two beds in turn and thought they would do. The bedding was of good quality and the mattress didn’t sag too much. The chest that she and Freddie shared had been brought up and she took out their night clothes and laid them out on their beds. Satisfied, she started back to the private room where they were to eat.
They had not come far today. Despite a fine start, the weather had turned and the road had become a river. As the rain got heavier through the day, the journey had become difficult and Freddie had found it impossible to sit still. It was this that had broken into Finch’s silent reflections and it was only an hour or so after noon when he had called to the coachman to stop at the next decent-looking inn.
Finch had barely said a word since they had set off from London early that morning. He had looked out of the window, his face expressionless. Since Freddie had found an absorbing occupation in looking out of the other window, Mary had had plenty of time to reflect on what had happened the night before.
Finch could not have known the pain his proposal would cause her. She had no other desire than to be his wife, but for him to propose marriage as a means of protecting her was unbearable. He would never learn to love her if he sacrificed his hopes in order to marry her; he might even come to hate her. How long would he allow her to remain with them? She knew that, whatever he had said before they left London, he could not tolerate employing her for much longer. He must know that she would reject any offers of money he might make to allow her to set up her own household and there could be no possibility of staying in the house if she were not Freddie’s governess. There was always Lady Meldon, of course, but she would probably be no more inclined than Finch to employ a member of the aristocracy as a servant and Mary would have to tell her the real reason for leaving Finch’s house.
Mary could not regret telling Finch what she knew, for he was on his guard, but she wished that things could be as they had been. They had to find a way to live together for the next two months, but she wasn’t sure what that way would be. With a sigh she opened the door.
Finch was in the private dining-room with Freddie. He stood as she entered.
“Is your room acceptable?”
He seemed anxious.
“Yes, it is.”
“Good.”
He smiled and she began to hope that the awkwardness between them might be over.
&
nbsp; “Come and sit down. It will be a while before the meal is ready and these chairs, if not comfortable, will not do us any harm. Freddie, while there is no risk of you harming anyone, you may run about, as long as you remain in the room.”
The boy jumped up and began to caper around the room. Finch’s eyes followed him wistfully as if he, too, had felt the burden of sitting still in the carriage for so long.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said to Mary. “It is a lot to ask a boy to sit for as long as Freddie has today.”
“You are right to allow it.”
Finch stared at Freddie for a while and Mary was afraid that he would say no more.
“I’m very grateful that you agreed to come. I thought you might refuse after..., well, after I...”
“Wasn’t I clear that I ask nothing more than to stay with you and Freddie?”
Mary kept her voice low in case Freddie should hear. He would be upset if he knew that she was going to leave him.
“Nonetheless...”
“Nonetheless, I meant it and mean it still.”
His smile was warm.
“I have been a fool and you know it.”
“I know that one evening, when you were caught by surprise, you tried very hard to do something good, for which I thank you.”
He bowed his head slightly.
“Your servant.”
She knew that he meant it. The relationship between them had changed, as she had feared it must. She wondered if he might have been able to make a marriage between them work. He would have tried very hard, she knew, but it was too late and she pushed the thought aside.
Finch took a book from the table by his side.
“Would you mind reading? You do it so well.”
Taking it from him she saw that it was a volume of poetry that she had seen often on the table in the library. Many times she had opened it to understand what he liked to read privately, for he had never asked her to read from it before. From the inscription she had learned that it had been a gift to him from his mother. Many of the poems were unknown to her, but she had enjoyed what she had read.