by Regina Darcy
“I am a peer of the realm and not in need of any of your money. Only the lowest of the low would accept your proposition. I do not know what evil scheme you have concocted but I must be going. This was clearly a waste of my time.”
Nathaniel retrieved his outer garments from the valet, tipped his hat in Lady Dudley’s direction and walked away.
CHAPTER 8
The morning after the ball, Rose, quite unlike her usual quiet self, was up and about before Abigail, hopping on to her bed to wake her. Abigail groaned softly at the disturbance. She had spent the night tossing and turning. Her thoughts continually replaying the events of the night before.
Lord Nathaniel Hughes, tall, handsome and utterly devastating to her nerves. The things he had done… She still blushed at the thought. Alone in the night she had caressed her lips, remembering the searing kiss from the Viscount.
She knew she should name him a scoundrel and a cad, but every time she visualised his face, her heart did summersaults. That said, mingled with all these emotions was a sense of hurt. Why had he spoken to her so harshly when he had departed?
‘You would not like to be mistaken for a harlot.’ Was that how he saw her? As a woman of loose morals? Someone easily conquered? She rolled over in her bed and stuffed her face into her pillow.
Rose, alert as ever, noticed her groan over the inefficient muffling-qualities of the pillow.
“What troubles you, Abi?” she asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Abigail turned around, a worry wrinkle over her forehead.
“The Viscount! I am confounded. One moment he showers me with attention, the next he walks off all but naming me a harlot.” Abigail had no intention of explaining to Rose, what more he had done. “I simultaneously fear and ache for his attention,” she confessed instead. Rose stared at her wide-eyed.
“I fear that the affection I believe he has for me is naught but a trick of my fanciful imagination. Am I a fool to even dream he cares but a little for me?” she asked. Her sister looked at her pensively before answering.
“If it is any consolation, I doubt he has the slightest romantic interest in any of the women he danced with all evening,” Rose replied as Abigail sniffled a little. “Moreover, the way he stared at you during your dance, scarcely left a doubt in any observers mind that he was taken by you.”
“You are not just jesting?” Abigail asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice.
“Heavens no. Hot glares are hard to conceal from observant people like myself. Be happy you avoided a scandal. Especially the way your hair was dishevelled on your return from the powder room,” Rose said with a knowing grin.
Abigail laughed at that. Rose was all too right.
“But what can I do now? We leave for London in a few hours and I don’t know when I will next see the Viscount.”
“Ah, but you see, dear sister, that is the easy part. He will no doubt be in London soon, considering his leisure activities consist mainly of visiting White’s. Then he’ll have a chance to prove how he really feels about you.”
“How?”
“If he really does like you, he will seek you out. It’s as simple as that.” Rose spread her palms as if her advice should be common knowledge.
Abigail raised an eyebrow quizzically. “When did you gather such sense about men and romance?”
“I guess reading has its uses,” Rose answered and began laughing, prompting Abigail into a similar fit of mirth. Spirits restored both girls rose and started preparing for the journey ahead.
The day went by in a blur and the two-day journey to London seemed to fly by, despite the uncomfortable carriage.
***
The Baxters had barely been in their rented Belgravia town house for a day when Rose came dashing into the drawing room, calling Abigail’s name off the top of her lungs, in a very unladylike manner.
“Abi! We just received an invitation… Actually to be more precise – you just received an invitation,” Rose exclaimed, looking puzzled.
“I have? Whoever from? We have no relations in town at the moment,” Abigail replied as she eagerly reached for the card. “The Marchioness of Dudley!” she exclaimed when she saw who it was from.
“I didn’t know you were acquainted with Her Ladyship,” Rose said. “When pray tell, did you have the occasion of capturing the interest of such a Grande Dame?
Abigail, chewed on her lower lip as she thought really hard. Had she ever met the woman? The simple answer was no. They did not move in the same social circles. The Marchioness was part of the ton. She was also part of the very highest level of peerage, only outranked by a duchess or a member of the royal family. A meeting with such an esteemed person was not one Abigail would have forgotten. What in heaven’s name could she want with her?
“I didn’t. At least I have no reason to believe she seeks neither my friendship nor to shower me with her displeasure. This is most curious.”
Rose, looked like the very epitome of innocence when she stated, matter of fact, “If I had to hazard a guess, I would assume this has something to do with Lord Nathaniel Hughes.”
“Nathaniel? “
“I did not know you were so familiar as to be on a first name basis?” Rose pointed out.
“We are not,” Abigail replied, somewhat miffed.
“How unfortunate, here I was already planning your wedding.”
“Stop being a wretched brat and tell me instead what you know of the Viscount and the Marchioness,” Abigail retorted poking her sister with her fan.
“Well… according to Le Beau Monde pamphlet, the Viscount was once enamoured with said mademoiselle, but something happened and their courtship ended with her marrying her 1st husband. With the death of her first husband almost two years ago, she set her sights on a higher social standing and married the Marquess of Dudley. But rumour has it her heart only ever melted for Lord Nathaniel.”
Abigail looked at the invitation again. Her thoughts were in disarray. The message indicated that a carriage would be sent for her. Worst thing that could happen was her having an unpleasant conversation with her betters. And frankly, her curious was getting the better of her. What could the woman want? Even more importantly, what kind of woman would attract the interest of the elusive Viscount? She decided her curiosity had to be satisfied.
“Come along Rose. I need to start getting prepared.” Her sister looked at her as if she was crazy.
“Whatever for? You were invited for afternoon tea, not a midnight ball.”
“Maybe so but I intend to look my very best, when I meet the Marchioness. She might be part of the peerage, but she will see that members of the gentry can be just as refined,” Abigail proclaimed with vigour.
CHAPTER 9
Nathaniel was wondering what had possessed him to accept yet another invitation from Lady Dudley. The Marchioness was currently residing at Raymonde House in Kingston Upon Thames. What shenanigans the Marchioness wanted to conduct under the nose of her husband Nathaniel did not know.
However, his conscious would not let him be. When she had asked for help and he had denied her, and for a brief moment he had felt elated. Revenge was sweet. However, glee was soon replaced with guilt. He could have sworn her distress was real. Why would she want out of the country? Maybe he should have heard her out.
The Marquess of Dudley had a reputation of being a hard taskmaster. It was well known in the club at White’s, that during the sporadic occasions when women were purchased to cater for the members baser needs, that the girls that spent time with the Marquess, came back worse for wear.
When Nathaniel arrived at his destination, he was greeted by the lady of the manor. Her husband was clearly not yet back from Parliament.
“Lord Wiltshire,” the Marchioness greeted. Nathaniel bowed and replied, “My lady Dudley.”
“How nice to see you here,” she continued.
“The feeling is not mutual. I am here, but reluctantly. Please clarify why you summoned me. I have already decli
ned your proposal.”
The Marchioness smiled and called a manservant to her and whispered in his ear. He nodded and scurried away. Only then did she turn to the Viscount.
“But I have not yet given you my strongest argument,” she whispered, as she looked at him coquettly.
“You would try your charms on me? Do I look like a fool?” Nathaniel was flabbergast. This visit was proving to have been a waste of his time again. “Your allure is lost on me madam.”
“I suppose this is all because of her?”
“Whom, pray tell are you referring to?”
“Your little country bird. It was the talk of Bath. The Viscount of Wiltshire bewitched by a country bumpkin at a public ball no less.” Lady Dudley spat the words out with a heavy dose of resentment.
“The matter is neither something I need to justify or discuss with you.”
“No, it isn’t. But I had your little bird brought over earlier tonight,” Lady Dudley said. Nathaniel stilled.
“What have you done,” he whispered, his voice dangerously soft.
“I see I have your attention,” Lady Dudley replied with a satisfied smile. “It did not take long for her to lose those virtues you undoubtedly are ascribing to her.”
“You lie. Abigail Baxter is nothing like you.”
“Is she not now? Well let us have a look shall we?”
She turned around and started walking away.
Nathaniel has no choice but to follow.
The room he walked into was dark and only had one chair in the middle of it. Curtains covered the opposite wall. Nathaniel found this bizarre as none of the walls faced outside. His bewilderment was swiftly dispelled, when Lady Dudley, pulled apart the curtains. The entire wall was a window into another room. He had heard of such rooms, it was said the Prince Regent had a similar room. He was known to be a bit of a voyeur on occasion.
It was the couple laying on the bed, in the other room, that had his heart crumpling though.
Miss Abigail Baxter, was splayed out in only her petticoat. An unnamed man was on top of her, his hands roaming all over her. This cannot be happening again. Nathaniel was frozen on the spot. He realised he had thought to keep Miss Baxter at arm’s length to protect his own heart, but it was too late. She was already its keeper. An unworthy keeper.
Surely what he was seeing was a mirage. Then she moaned. Nathaniel clenched in fists. Clearly, he was doomed to be made to look like a fool by every woman he ever coveted.
“You see. She is not as innocent as she seems. Now forget her,” Lady Dudley whispered, resting her hand on his forearm. Nathaniel turned around, purposefully turning his back to the disturbing scene playing out behind him.
“I do not know what you hoped to achieve with this. Did you really think merely because I stop wanting Miss Baxter, I would then want you?”
Confusion coloured Lady Dudley’s features. It was clear this was not the outcome she had envisioned.
“What you did to me madam, was the worst betrayal and with my brother no less. Do you know that to this day we have still not conversed?! Do you even begin to fathom the depths of your betrayal?” Nathaniel had to restrain himself from throttling Lady Dudley. “Get out of my way,” he said instead.
“Nathaniel, please. I am sorry. Don’t go. I need your help!” Lady Dudley cried trying to hold on to his arm. He shook her off. He was done.
Had he but turned around he would have seen Miss Baxter, feebly fighting her pretend lover. Had he but cast a second glance, he would have seen the said lover, covering her mouth with his hand to stop her from screaming for help. Had he but turned around. But he didn’t.
Instead, Lord Nathaniel Hughes walked as if in a trance back through the house, out the front door. He stood outside in the cold evening air and waited for his carriage. It seemed to take an eternity to arrive. He boarded it in a daze and instructed the driver to take him back to his London residence. During the hour-long journey, his thoughts tortured him mercilessly.
CHAPTER 10
Abigail Baxter was afraid. She had never been so scared in her life entire life. She had woken up with a strange man on top of her, pressing her down into a strange bed. When she had tried to scream he had covered her mouth and despite how hard she fought she had not been able to get him off. He had pressed a foul smelling handkerchief against her nose and she had dozed off. Now she was in her undergarments tied to a bed in what looked to be a different room.
Her very last recall before the brief memory of the man manhandling her, was arriving at the Dudley’s for afternoon tea.
The Marchioness had been friendly enough when Abigail came calling, although it was unclear why she had invited her over. But loath to challenge her betters, Abigail had held her tongue. She had taken two sips of her tea and before she knew it, her body felt drowsy and her eyelids heavy. She must have drugged me!? But why?!
Suddenly she heard footsteps approaching the room. Overcome by dread her mouth went dry. Determined to meet whatever was ahead with courage she kept her eyes fixed on the door. It opened slowly and in walked Lady Dudley.
The Marchioness started when she noticed Abigail was wide-awake and staring at her.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Abigail asked, her voice pregnant with accusation.
“I am sorry, I didn’t mean for any of this. I didn’t think he was going to follow me here,” Lady Dudley answered, her voice full of remorse.
“He? Whom?” Abigail asked, suddenly sure that she did not want to hear the answer. Why wasn’t Lady Dudley removing her ropes? She just stood there wringing her hands.
“The Marquess. He is here now and he has already seen you. I am so sorry,” she whimpered.
“Get me out of these restraints and I promise not to say anything to anyone, please. We can pretend this never happened,” Abigail pleaded.
“It is too late, he is on his way,” Lady Dudley replied, her eyes teary. Suddenly they both heard steps coming down the corridor. Two men were conversing with each other.
Lady Dudley looked about in panic and then said to Abigail, “Pretend you are still unconscious.”
“I will try to get you out of this, but I need you to pretend that you cannot see or hear anything,” she pleaded.
“Whatever happens do not react. Your virtue and maybe even your life depends on it.” She did not have the opportunity to say anything more. The men burst into the room.
Scared out of her wits, Abigail closed her eyes and pretended she was elsewhere. But what her eyes were unable to see, her ears heard too clearly.
“M’lord, I beg you. Do not be overhasty,” a male voice said.
“Be silent,” Lord Dudley roared. “This whip is for your mistress but it can as easily be used to teach you your place.”
“Charles, please,” Lady Dudley voiced. “Don’t.”
There was a crack of the whip followed by Lady Dudley’s shout of pain.
“How dare you address me in such an informal manner. What were you when I met you?” Another crack of the whip. “Nothing but a high born harlot,” another crack of the whip.
The corporal mistreatment Abigail could hear Lord Dudley subjecting his wife to was nothing short of every woman’s nightmare. Soon enough all she could hear was Lady Dudley’s sobs.
“Jarvis, you may leave us. For this final lesson that I am about to teach your mistress, I need no assistance” Lord Dudley said sounding satisfied. The door opened and closed. There was a noise like clothes being torn and a man’s heavy breathing.
Abigail wanted to sob her eyes out. She felt as helpless as the Marchioness that was being violated by her husband.
Not nearly soon enough she heard Lord Dudley pulling up his breeches.
“Now that you have been taught your place, I shall deal with this young chit that you procured for me.”
“She is an innocent and part of the gentry. She is here by mistake. Please let her go. She hasn’t seen or heard anything.” Lady Dudley pleaded through her sobs.
What followed was to be the most horrible experience Abigail Baxter would ever have in her entire life. As she lay perfectly still and focused on breathing evenly, her mind wondered how long the Marquess’s examination would last and if he would rip from her the only thing of value she had – her virtue. She prayed, like she had never prayed before.
In the end she ran the Lord’s Prayer through her mind like a litany, over and over again. She did not move a muscle. Paralysed by fear she didn’t notice Lord Dudley leave, once he found her unresponsive. It was only when she felt Lady Dudley removing her restraints that she opened her eyes.
At the sight of the bruised and battered woman, she forgot her anger at being put in such an horrendous situation and burst in tears for both of them. Lady Dudley held her in her embrace as she caressed her hair.
“Shush, it will be ok. He only likes to do these vile things when his victims are awake so he can see their terror, and savour their screams. He will not be back for another couple of hours.”
“How are we going to get out of here?”
“I don’t know… I am so sorry. I was just trying to find a way out myself.”
“By kidnapping and drugging me?”
“I wanted to force Nathaniel to offer his assistance; instead I dragged an innocent into this nightmare.” Bruised and battered, Lady Dudley held on to what was left of her bodice and laid down next to Abigail onto the bed.
Both women clung to each other as they awaited the return of a man to beastly for words. This is how the Viscount of Wiltshire found them.
***
Nathaniel called himself all sorts of fool as he ventured back to Raymonde House. Halfway home, he had come to realise that instead of running away from his problems of the heart, he had to face them head on. If only to ask Abigail Baxter why she had moved on without a second backwards glance. Surely, he had not been that harsh with her? If she wanted so desperately to be someone’s mistress, she could have been his, dammit.