by Millie Adams
No one was in attendance. Not yet. He walked out of the sanctuary, and through to the back, where there was a small garden, and a stone bench. And upon it sat his bride.
He had last seen her on that swing, with the night drawing a protective veil around them.
It was bright and clear out this morning.
He could see her perfectly well, too well. And the vision mingled with the intimacy of the night before. The way she smelled. The warmth of her body pressed to his.
She was dressed in blush, the gown cut low, as was the fashion. But he had never seen Beatrice in such a fashion. She was...
She was a stunning picture there, her elegant neck curved, wisps of dark curls falling down over her pale skin. And her breasts...
She looked up, eyes wide. ‘Briggs.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I escaped. I thought I might come early and...’
‘Thank you for telling me the truth.’
He had not been imagining it. The same thing he had seen in her eyes in the library... He could see it again now. She liked to please him. She liked being told what was expected of her.
And that should not intrigue him.
He knew better than to visit his inclinations on a lady. These were things he had attempted in his first marriage, and he had since learned the marriage bed was not the place for such activities. There were brothels that catered to men of his tastes specifically. And everyone involved knew exactly what to expect. And even, enjoyed it. That was the thing about his particular desires. They might be hard, uncompromising.
He might enjoy being in charge, and doling out punishment where it was due. But a woman’s submission was only enjoyable if it was given willingly.
And if she received pleasure from the act.
Beatrice would never understand.
He would be very surprised if she understood much of anything about the dynamic between men and women. Ladies were so sheltered. He had experience of such a thing with his first wife. But Beatrice... It was likely she was even more so. Off the country as she was, and with a family that had no intention of ever marrying her off.
‘You told me that you wanted the truth. And so I am committed to offering it to you.’
‘Good.’
She blushed. And he would be lying to himself if he did not admit that it was an incredibly pretty blush.
‘Where will we go?’ she asked.
‘To Maynard Park. My family home.’
‘Oh.’
‘We will go to London for the Season. I must see to my duties at the House of Lords.’
For him, the Season typically marked a month-long period of work and excess. As he was not participating in the marriage market, he did not play games unless he was required to attend balls out of deference to a political pursuit. He took his duties relatively seriously. After all, a man had to possess some purpose in his life, or what was the point of it? It was far too easy to be a man in his position and do nothing, care for nothing. To simply exist, as he had much power and wealth, and it was easy for him to do so.
But that was not the way that he saw the world. He would not say that he was an extraordinarily good man, but he did not see the purpose in occupying his space if he did not try to do something to improve the state of others.
‘Oh,’ she said, immediately looking pleased. ‘I do so wish to spend the Season in London. I have not been... But one time. And never for an entire Season.’
‘I have a home there that I feel you will find comfortable.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ She smiled slightly. ‘I am... Is it wrong that I’m pleased?’
‘It is a life sentence, Beatrice. You can either look at it as if you’re going to the gallows or... Enjoy your time in the dungeon, I suppose.’
Badly chosen words on his part.
‘I must do my best to enjoy it.’
But she looked a bit pale and uncertain.
He felt rather than heard the approach of his friend, and he turned and saw Kendal standing there. He looked disapproving.
‘Shall we begin the proceedings?’
‘Are you ready?’ Briggs asked, somewhat mocking. As if his marriage was one on the time schedule of a man other than him.
His marriage that was not to be a marriage.
He looked at the lovely lines of the woman who would be his wife.
Not his wife in truth.
And then he looked back at Kendal. ‘Yes. Let us hasten the imprisonment.’
Beatrice looked slightly wounded by that, but he did not see the purpose in soothing her. He was not going to be hard on her. Not in the end of all things. But he also did not see the purpose in making this any easier on her than it need be.
She had been the architect of this particular sort of destruction.
It does not matter to you.
It did not. It did not and would not matter to him. It could not.
The brothels would receive him whether or not he was newly wed.
And with thoughts of brothels lingering in his mind they entered the church again. The minister was standing there looking reproving, and Briggs had a strange sensation of guilt, which was not something he carried with him often. The minister must be very good.
Briggs could almost feel the hellfire against his heels as he stood there.
Sadly, he was a man who enjoyed the flames. He never had been properly able to feel shame.
Not over certain things.
He had been correct, the only other souls in attendance were Beatrice’s mother, and Eleanor, the ward.
Eleanor, for her part, looked quite large-eyed and upset. On behalf of her friend no doubt. Being married off to the big bad Duke.
The minister read from the Book of Common Prayer, and Briggs’s most dominant thought was how strange it was to be here again.
With yet another young, sweet miss.
But he was not the man that he’d been. Going into marriage with expectations of something entirely different.
He had been certain that he could make a friendship with his wife. At the very least.
Be something other than his parents’ frosty union.
He had not managed it. If anything, he had failed.
He had failed at forging connections with all of the most important people in his life. With the exception of course of Kendal. Though that was likely somewhat compromised now.
It was a short ceremony. Quick and traditional. Legal. And that was all that mattered. They were married in the eyes of the church. And society would have to be appeased by the quick union.
It was incredible how decisive it was. A spare few words exchanged between two people who had been little more than acquaintances to each other a few days prior and they were now bound together for life.
* * *
And then they were bundled up into their carriage, making the three-hour journey to Maynard Park. And they had not exchanged a single word to each other since that moment in the garden.
‘You will tell me, if you have need of anything,’ he said.
‘Such as?’ she asked.
‘Clothing. We are to go for the Season, I assume you will wish to go to... Balls.’
She blinked. ‘I did not think that you would wish to attend them.’
‘I do not,’ he said. ‘But you are my ward. Not my prisoner, for all that I may have alluded otherwise.’
‘I’m not your ward,’ she said softly.
‘It is best if we think of it that way.’
And that he not think of last night, and the temptation he’d felt.
‘I see.’ She looked away from him. ‘Well. I shall need some dresses. It is not that my brother has not been generous, but this gown was taken from Eleanor. She had gowns made for the Season. I do not.’
‘W
e shall remedy this.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It is nothing.’
‘I cannot tell if you’re angry with me,’ she said. ‘Am only I held to the standard of being perfectly honest, or does that apply to you as well?’
‘Only you,’ he said. She clearly did not see the amusement in this. ‘It is for your protection,’ he said further. ‘I must know what you need, what you want, for if I do not, how can I care for you to the extent that you must be cared for?’
‘How will I know anything if we do not speak with some level of honesty?’
‘I imagine we shall continue on together as we began.’
‘You are my brother’s friend. We do not often speak. Occasionally, you have brought me sweets.’
‘I do not see why that needs to change.’
She sighed. ‘Well...should I call you Philip?’
Something rang out, sharp and hard in his chest. He did not know how many years it had been since he’d heard that name spoken out loud.
‘No,’ he said.
‘We are married and...’
‘Briggs will do just fine. When it is not Your Grace.’ And how easy it was to imagine her calling him that from a position of supplication. On her knees.
Her pale breasts exposed completely...
He clenched his teeth.
‘And you will call me...’
‘Bea,’ he said. ‘Beatrice. As I always have. And I will bring you sweets and we can...’
‘And I can go on as I ever was, but with a new lord and master? You rather than Hugh?’
He did not wish to think of being her lord and master.
It heated his blood. Brought back that image he’d had of her in that virginal nightgown. His sacrificial virgin.
His disgust with himself in that moment went so deep as to be in his bones.
Was he quite so perverse that even knowing how he’d disgusted Serena he could still desire to take Beatrice in hand this way?
There was a reason he consorted only with prostitutes.
‘It is up to you, Beatrice, what you intend to make of this union.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘it is not. It is not up to me, it is more up to my brother than it will ever be to me.’
‘You were not to have a real marriage with your friend,’ he said, looking at her and ignoring the crackling between them, and it was there. Real. Like a banked flame.
He did not like it.
‘I know,’ she said.
He knew why it was different. He did not have to ask.
‘How old is your son?’ she asked, sighing heavily, as if she’d accepted a subject change would be the only way to move forward.
He did not know why he didn’t wish to speak of William with her.
She would be in the same residence as William in only a few hours. But he was... He was protective of the boy.
There were people who would not understand.
He wanted only to protect him from those who would...who would see his vulnerabilities and use them against him.
He did not wish for anyone to think unkindly of William. It was a fierce impulse, one that he could not quite make sense of. That, he supposed, was...being a father.
It was not the way his own had been. His own had seen his weaknesses and stabbed at them without mercy.
Had used them to devastate and torment.
‘He is seven,’ he said.
‘I don’t have any experience with children,’ she said. ‘I have always... I thought it should be nice to have my own.’
‘I’m sorry for your disappointment.’ He did mean it.
Being a father rooted him to the earth. Without William he wasn’t sure what he would do. Spend his days and nights in brothels likely. Without a wife, a need to earn income or anyone on earth to answer to he would...
Stop trying.
He would sink into debauchery and obsession as deep as he could go and never surface.
William prevented that.
William was his reason for being a decent man. He had never felt a sense of pride or affection for his own father. He wanted William to feel both for him.
Whether or not he did was another matter.
‘I should think it would be nice to have a child to care for,’ she mused. ‘In that way, I suppose you are preferable to James.’
‘That is the only reason?’ He looked at her, trying to ascertain if she truly did not have feelings for the man that went beyond friendship.
She’d said, but it seemed reasonable to him that she’d been harbouring finer feelings for him in some hidden chamber of her heart.
‘No, he...he is easy and kind and I enjoy his company.’
‘And I am...?’ Briggs asked, because he could not help himself.
‘You are occasionally kind when brandishing sweets, but no one would call you easy.’
He kicked his legs out forward and leaned back. ‘Is that so?’
‘You are too... You are you, Briggs, and I do not know how else to say it.’
‘And James,’ he said, ignoring that. ‘Is he in love with you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He...he has his reasons for wishing to marry me, but none of them include the kind of love you mean.’
There were not many reasons that a man would wish to enter into a sham marriage, but Briggs could think of one quite obvious reason. He wished for her sake she could have married her friend. They could’ve likely had a companionable union.
More’s the pity for all involved.
‘I do not know what I’m supposed to feel,’ she said. ‘For I am a married woman now, but not a married woman. And I am angry, because I think there are many mysteries in the world that will be withheld from me because of this. Because you are intent on treating me as a ward and not a wife.’
She was edging into dangerous territory, and he knew that she had no real knowledge of that. No real concept.
It had always been thus with her. She was forceful in her speech and he often wondered if it was due to how she had been treated in her illness. As if she was trying to prove she was not fragile.
‘There are some mysteries that you might find are best left that way.’
‘So you say,’ she prodded, her cheeks turning a deep shade of rose. From embarrassment or anger he could not say. Though he was nearly certain it was both. ‘Because you are a man and nothing is barred from you. I cannot tell you how infuriating it has been to attempt to divine how to orchestrate my own ruin when I am not entirely certain what it is that ruins a woman. It is being found alone with a man certainly. And being in your embrace. But I do not know what further there is to such an embrace. Or children. I am aware that one must be married to have children. But I’m not aware of what occurs to make it so. Clearly it is something beyond vows, or my brother would not have been so quick to allow me to marry you, no matter how tenuous a state my reputation was in.’
‘I will provide you with reading material,’ he said. He had no intention of doing such a thing. If she wished to comb through his library...
Of course, his library contained reading material of a more graphic nature, rather than informational.
‘You are infuriating. The whole of mankind is infuriating.’
He chuckled. ‘Oh, I do not disagree with you.’
She leaned back in the seat across from him, and he found he could not take his eyes off her. Her skin was light cream, her curves so much more ample than he had realised. There was something sweet and sulky about her mouth. He had never noticed that before. And the way that she looked at him. It was a particular sort of look. Demure, when he knew she was not. Not really.
She straightened, and her eyes sharpened. He did not like it. ‘We have all this time. Why not give me an education yourself, rather than referring me to your library?’
And those words hit him with the strength of a gunpowder keg going off.
He knew she did not mean to be provocative, for she did not even understand provocation. Did not know why a woman had to take care not to rouse a man’s appetites. Did not understand why men and women could not be alone together without a chaperon.
Truly.
She was appallingly uninformed. And somehow, was managing to inflame him almost more because of it.
‘You’ve spent most of your life in the country,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
He would regret this. But she was his now. That made a strange sensation crystallise inside him.
A lock turning in a key.
She was his. Under his care. And he would care for her. She would have the finest of gowns. He would ensure that she wanted for nothing. She would be happier with him. Happier than she had been back at Bybee House.
And as she belonged to him, it was his decision just how in depth her education was or was not. She wanted freedom. She was a married woman now, whether or not they ever consummated that union.
He locked his jaw together at the thought.
Beatrice.
She was beautiful. But there was much more to sex than beauty.
Many women were beautiful.
He preferred his beauties bought and paid for. A transaction that required no exchange of self, just bodies.
Yes, Beatrice was beautiful, but that did not mean he could not control himself with her.
He had always liked Beatrice. Had always felt a measure of pity for her, to be sure. She had been a cloistered girl, and when he’d first met her she had never ventured out of the family drawing room.
‘What have you seen of animals?’
Dear God, he was pushing things where he ought not. And yet, the realisation did not stop him.
Impulse control had always been a problem.
Unless he was with a woman or focused on his orchids. Both were singular pursuits that required an intensity of focus he otherwise found impossible.
‘Animals?’
‘Have you never seen animals engaged in...procreation?’
She blinked. Rapidly. ‘No,’ she said.