CHAPTER FOUR
“May I be frank with you, Miss Ralston?”
“I hope you always will be.”
Rose smiled hesitantly at Mr. Oswald.
She never quite knew how to carry on with him. His demeanor reminded her very much of Miss Peabody who’d been abrupt and blunt. She’d had little patience for folly and had been extremely quick to dish out criticism.
The notion of being wed to a male version of Miss Peabody was dreary and depressing. Rose saw a long, miserable slog ahead.
At least at the school, she’d had the chatter and energy of the students to break up the monotony. Here, she would have lengthy quiet interludes, interrupted by an occasional supper party or a sound scolding when she upset her husband. She’d endured plenty of them under Miss Peabody’s caustic eye, and the realization that she hadn’t escaped that tedious existence, that she might have simply substituted one for the other, was distressing and sad.
Shouldn’t marriage be a time of new beginnings? Summerfield was so beautiful. Why couldn’t she be happy? She was such a foolish romantic and was focusing on small details when she had to focus on the bigger ones, on the magnificent estate she would be able to call her own.
They were walking in the garden again, another day having passed where she was supposed to have toured the neighborhood. Instead, she’d hidden in her room, not having had the stomach to socialize with her cousin. And after her encounter the previous evening under the verandah with Mr. Talbot, she hadn’t known what to do.
She still didn’t understand his relationship to Mr. Oswald, and she was terrified he might mention their meeting and confess that Rose was having second thoughts. If Mr. Talbot could engage in mischief, he seemed the type who probably would, and it would definitely be to her detriment.
“I need to discuss an important issue with you,” Mr. Oswald was saying.
“What is that?”
“Before we start, you must assure me that you’ll be completely discreet. Can you be discreet? Can you promise me?”
She didn’t like having her character questioned, but she swallowed down any comment to that effect and replied. “Of course you can count on my discretion. I view myself as a very loyal person. I would never speak out of turn.”
“I assumed that about you, but this is such a delicate matter I had to be certain.”
They were near a garden bench, the pretty pond stretching in front of them. He gestured for her to sit, then he stood, gazing out at the water, his posture very straight, his fingers linked behind his back.
Clearly, he was about to reveal a very difficult topic, and she could barely keep from begging him not to. She recognized that a wife was lucky if her husband shared his concerns, but still, they were scarcely acquainted, and she was so conflicted about their arrangement.
She needed more time to settle her mind and accept her future. If he told her a horrid secret, it would only make her path rockier.
Finally, he spun around, and if he’d been a cheery sort of fellow, his expression might have been a smile, but she didn’t imagine he ever smiled.
“I’m pleased with you,” he said.
“Well…good.”
“You’re every bit as sensible and refined as Miss Peabody claimed.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You possess all the stellar traits that must be passed from mother to child.”
“I like to think so.”
“But here’s the rub.”
He looked flummoxed, which was a surprise. She didn’t suppose he was ever out of his element.
“What is it?” she urged after an agonizing pause.
“I’ve brought you here under false pretenses.”
Her spirits flagged. He didn’t like her? He didn’t want her? What?
“You don’t wish to marry me?” she asked.
“No, no, it’s not that. I’d be delighted to wed you. Any man would be, but I’m in a desperate situation.”
“What situation is that?”
“I’m old, Miss Ralston.” She was about to stroke his ego, to politely state that he wasn’t that old, but he held up a hand to stop her. “I’m seventy. There’s no need to deny it, and I have to have an heir.”
“I realize that fact.”
“I’ve tried for decades with too many brides—to no avail. I’ve no son to show for my intense efforts.” More grumpily, he muttered, “I couldn’t even sire a piddling daughter.”
She scowled. “I wouldn’t consider a daughter to be piddling. I’d welcome a boy or a girl.”
“Yes, yes, but you’re a woman. You’re expected to have a tender heart, but I’m a man, and I must have a son. I don’t have time for daughters. I don’t have time at all.”
They struggled through another severe silence, and she said, “So what are you telling me?”
“Are you aware of how a babe is conceived, Miss Ralston?”
Her cheeks flushed bright crimson. “No.”
“It’s a…physical act that’s quite simple. I’ll teach you how it’s done, and I have no doubt you’ll take to it in a thrice.”
She’d like to ask him what the act entailed, what—precisely—would be required of her, but she had no idea how to raise the embarrassing subject. Apparently, it involved nudity and caressing of private parts, and she couldn’t envision stripping off her clothes and letting him touch her all over. The prospect left her dizzy with dismay.
The mere mention of the topic was so disturbing that if he didn’t immediately move on, she would jump up and run back to the house. Alone.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” she haughtily inquired.
“Yes, actually. My point is that I can’t risk you being barren.” He shook his head. “I simply can’t.”
“I see,” she mumbled.
“No, you don’t, but here is what I propose as our solution.”
Our solution, she caustically thought. She’d traveled to Summerfield to wed him. As far as she was concerned, naught had changed on her end of the bargain.
“What is it, Mr. Oswald?”
“I should like you to stay for three months.”
At his long hesitation, she pressed, “And…?”
“We shall do our best to get you with child, but if we can’t, I’ll return your dowry to you. We’ll claim we weren’t compatible, and you can be on your way.”
She pondered the statement, but couldn’t make sense of it. “I’m confused.”
“I understand.” He nodded in commiseration. “We would marry only after I plant a babe. If no impregnation occurs, you’ll be free to leave—with your dowry money in your purse.”
“We wouldn’t marry?” She frowned. “But…we’d be having marital relations, and I’d be ruined.”
“I would come to your bedchamber using a rear stairwell. No one would know I’d visited, so your reputation would remain spotless.”
“I would know what we’d done.”
He shrugged. “Yes, and I’d know too, but I’d never tell.”
“How would we explain the delay in the wedding?”
“We’d say we were taking our time to become better acquainted.”
“People would wonder and gossip.”
“Let them.”
“It’s a sin—what you’re asking. It’s wrong. It’s morally and ethically wrong.”
“Yes, it is, but I’m asking anyway.” He pointed to the hills in the north. “If you ride up the road, very soon, you arrive at the Scottish border. Have you ever heard of a handfasting?”
“No.”
“It’s an ancient Scottish custom. A couple would share their bed, usually for a year and a day. They’d try to procreate, and if they couldn’t, they’d separate.”
“That sounds scandalous,” she scoffed, “and demeaning.”
“The country folks still do it, so it’s not unprecedented in these parts. If you require a moral license in order to proceed, we’d merely be following local custom. What I’m suggesting has always been practiced here.”
She studied him, assessing his stern countenance, his erect posture. He was such a cold man, so lacking in emotion and determined to have his way, and she couldn’t begin to calculate how deeply he’d just hurt her.
Though she’d had misgivings about the match, she’d suffered a secret joy at knowing she’d been wanted, at knowing she’d been picked. From the moment her parents had died when she was four, she’d never been wanted. Even her own family hadn’t cared about her.
Marriage would have supplied a home of her own, a place where she belonged, but he’d snatched it away. He expected her to perform like a brood mare, like a slave birthing a baby for her master. If her womb could catch a child, she’d get what he’d promised to Miss Peabody in their furtive negotiations, but if Rose was barren, she’d slink away, having failed at her essential task.
It was galling to have the burden dumped on her shoulders. Everyone insisted that—if a union generated no offspring—it was the wife’s fault. Why was that? Why was the woman to blame? It certainly seemed as if Mr. Oswald should be questioned on his ability.
He’d either been extremely unlucky in selecting his brides or he carried some of the responsibility. Which was it? And why was it Rose’s duty to fix his problem? How was it fair for her to be cast aside?
“I don’t know what to think, Mr. Oswald,” she murmured.
He increased the pressure, raised the stakes. “If you’ll agree, and we’re not successful, I’ll add five hundred pounds to your dowry. You’ll be able to establish yourself elsewhere and start over. I’ll help you to relocate. If you’d like to teach again, I’ll find you a position—and you’ll have a fat nest egg too.”
She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and she stared at the grass. She was buying time, delaying as she struggled to dissect his sordid proposal.
She didn’t understand what marital behavior entailed, and she wished there was someone in whom she could confide. But there was no one, and the very idea of discussing such a squalid plan was too humiliating to consider.
“Could I have the dowry money now?” She peeked up at him. “Could I leave?”
“No. I fully intend to marry you if you conceive.” He gestured to the house, the park. “If you prove fertile, Miss Ralston, all this will be yours for the rest of your life, and it will be your son’s for the rest of his. Wouldn’t such an outcome be worth any price?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured again. “I truly do not know.”
“Come to church with me.”
“What?” The abrupt change of subject was disconcerting.
“Come to church.”
“When?”
“This evening.”
“Why?”
“My brother is the vicar, and he holds a Wednesday night service I want you to witness. You’ve met him, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You must hear him preach, must listen to his brand of piety as he rails about sin and damnation. Rumor has it that he will shame a young girl who’s gotten herself in trouble with a local boy. Rumor has it that she will be publically whipped by him. I’d like you to see it.”
“To what end, Mr. Oswald?”
“If you can’t birth me a son, Miss Ralston, then my brother is my heir, and I can’t imagine a more horrid conclusion for the people of Summerfield. Can you?”
“I don’t believe it’s for me to say.”
“Well, it’s definitely for me to say. He can’t inherit. He will not inherit. It will not happen, Miss Ralston. My family has owned Summerfield for two centuries, so I can hardly bequeath the place to strangers. Watch my brother’s service, then give me your answer in the morning.”
They stared and stared, his expression intractable, his stubbornness crushing her.
Then, without another word, he spun and walked away, and she was left to fret and stew by herself.
* * * *
“Hello, Miss Ralston.”
“Ah!” she shrieked and leapt with fright.
James couldn’t help but be humored by her reaction.
He’d sneaked into her bedchamber again and was seated in the chair in the corner. He hadn’t seen her all day and was worried about her condition. She wasn’t any of his business, but he’d felt the strongest urge to check on her anyway.
After decades of living under Stanley’s thumb, James knew what it was like to deal with the man. Stanley was adept at artifice and tricks, at putting a person in an untenable position.
Poor Miss Ralston was a quick learner. She was beginning to realize that Stanley might not have her best interests at heart. She could never win against him and would most likely never attain any of what she’d sought through matrimony.
James was involved in his own scheme with Stanley and desperately craved the money and information he’d been promised. James would only receive both if he used Miss Ralston in the worst way. So what was he doing? Why stop by to chat?
“We’re becoming so intimately acquainted,” he said. “I should probably call you Rose. Miss Ralston sounds ridiculously formal.”
“We’re not on familiar terms, Mr. Talbot.”
“We could be. Call me James.”
“Absolutely not. Why are you in here again?”
“I was nostalgic for my old room, so I decided to visit.”
“While I am occupying this suite, you are not to barge in. I’m afraid I have to insist.”
“Feel free to order me about, but it’s pointless to boss me. I never listen—particularly to women.”
“Marvelous,” she fumed. “Pray tell, how am I to be shed of you?”
“I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say.”
As if he were invisible, she marched by him to the dressing room. He pushed himself to his feet and tagged after her. He dawdled in the doorway, observing as she took off her cloak and hat, as she hung them on the hook on the wall.
She went to the dresser, tugged the combs from her chignon and let the auburn mass fall down her back. She ran her fingers through it, shook it a few times, then tied it into a ponytail with a length of ribbon.
“I love your hair,” he said.
“Leave me alone,” she grumbled.
She came toward him, planning to return to the outer chambers, but he was blocking her path. She approached until they were toe-to-toe, and she stopped, expecting him to move. When he didn’t, she snapped, “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all.” He seized a curly strand of her hair and wrapped it around his finger. “This shade of auburn is such an intriguing color. I’ve never seen the likes.”
“I’m delighted to hear it, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your hands to yourself.”
She slapped his hand away and shoved him aside so she could proceed to the sitting room. He followed again, finding her leaned against the windowsill and staring out into the park. It was after ten, the lingering summer twilight having faded, so it was dark with just the stars for scenery.
She was so forlorn, and he hated his visceral response to her woe. He yearned to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right, but he doubted it would be. He had to maintain an emotional distance, which was extremely difficult.
There was a composure about her that tempted him in a manner he didn’t like or comprehend. He felt as if he were a moth, and she a flame, and she exerted an irresistible pull that would—if he weren’t careful—lure him too close and burn him to ashes.
“Were you hiding today?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“From what? Or should I say who?”
“I don’t like you—”
“Me? What’s not to like?”
“—or your friend Mr. Drake. I’d rather avoid both of you, but him in particular.”
The comment surprised him. “Lucas is harmless.”
“I still don’t like him.”
“Was he rude to you?”
“No.”
“Then why the ill will?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Must I state a reason?”
“Yes. Men are never too keen on him, but women usually love him. If he knew you weren’t charmed, he’d be flabbergasted.”
“The poor boy,” she sarcastically oozed. “Not adored by quiet, boring Miss Ralston. How will his enormous ego stand the strain?”
He scowled. “You’re in an awfully feisty mood.”
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. Actually, I’m fascinated. I didn’t realize you had a temper or were capable of such strong opinions.”
She snorted with disgust. “Oh, you’re being ridiculous. Why is it odd that I would have a temper or strong opinions? I’m not a dressmaker’s mannequin. I’m an adult who’s been on this Earth for twenty-five years. Of course I have opinions.”
“Of course you do.”
“And why is it necessary that I like Mr. Drake? Just because you’re his great chum, doesn’t mean I have to be.”
“Too true.”
She whirled away to stare outside again, and he wandered over until he was near enough to touch her. He didn’t, though. With the snit she was in, there was no predicting how she might react.
He assessed her profile while she studiously ignored him, but she wouldn’t be able to persist for long. He simply took up too much space in any room he entered.
“You didn’t come to supper,” he said.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Where have you been? You seem upset.”
“If you must know, Mr. Oswald and I went to church.”
“Ah,” James mused.
He’d heard there was to be some sort of brouhaha at Oscar’s prayer service.
James had sat through a few of those services. In his younger days, when he’d still felt he had to obey his elders, he’d been the central topic at some of them. There was nothing quite so humiliating as being summoned down to the front of the congregation and having Oscar rant over a minor infraction.
James had received his share of admonishments and even some whippings from the annoying preacher, but the punishments had only lasted until James had grown taller than Oscar. Oscar liked to pick on people who were weaker and smaller.
How dreadful that Stanley would drag her there. Oscar was unpleasant enough in a dining room where he was constrained by societal norms and etiquette. Behind a pulpit, in full religious regalia, he was nauseating. What was Stanley thinking?
“I take it you weren’t pleased with what you witnessed,” he tentatively said.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Oscar is a bully and fiend. Don’t let him bother you. He’s not worth it.”
She looked sad and weary and so alone. There was an air about her that rattled his masculine instincts, urging him to protect her, to shelter her from harm. But her situation was beyond him, and he had to remember that it was.
“May I ask you a question?” she said.
“I can’t guarantee I’ll answer, but you can certainly ask.”
“If you were pressed to commit a moral wrong, but by doing it you’d be serving the greater good, would you proceed?”
“That sounds like the sort of unsolvable philosophical puzzles my professors posed when I was in school.”
She held out her palms, as if weighing two heavy objects. “Would you risk sin and damnation or would you cast caution to the wind?”
“I have no idea.”
“What if you had no other option but to agree? What then?”
“Then…I suppose I’ve never viewed a bit of sin as being all that horrid. And the damnation I’ll leave to pious idiots like Oscar Oswald.”
“You’re hopeless,” she scoffed. “Do you ever wish you could snap your fingers and suddenly become someone new and different?”
“I used to—when I was younger.”
“But not anymore?”
“No. My life’s all right. It wasn’t so grand when I was a boy, but then I grew up and went off to the army. Things were better for me there.”
“I heard you were brought to Summerfield from an orphanage.”
“Why, Miss Ralston!” he mocked. “Have you been gossiping about me?”
“Yes. Quite flagrantly.”
“Shame on you.”
“I expect you’ll survive it.”
“I expect I will too, and I must confide that I’m positively ecstatic to discover you were interested in learning more about me.”
“Be silent, you vain oaf.” She peeked up at him and inquired, “Why are you pestering me? There are dozens of women on the estate and hundreds in the village. Why not harass one of them? Why me?”
“I don’t know,” he honestly told her, and he truly didn’t. She intrigued him, and he hadn’t a clue as to why. He couldn’t stay away.
And wasn’t it best if he wooed her? It would make the ending so much simpler.
“You know why you’re doing it,” she chided. “Are you trying to get me in trouble with Mr. Oswald? Are you trying to jeopardize my betrothal?”
“No.”
“If you don’t want me to marry him, admit it. Don’t play these games with me.”
“It doesn’t matter to me if he marries you. I’m serious. His business isn’t any of mine.”
“How can you say that? You live here! You’ve always lived here, and while I don’t for a second understand your relationship with Mr. Oswald, everything he does affects you.”
“It affected me when I was a child. I’m an adult now, and he can go hang for all I care.”
“Then why are you in my room? Tell me the real reason so we can deal with it and I can convince you to depart before we’re caught together.”
She turned from the window so she was facing him. He gazed down at her, riveted by the green of her eyes. She was smart and fetching, and she deserved so much more than Stanley and the plans he had for her.
It would be wonderful if James could steal her away from Stanley, if he could sneak off with her and wed her himself. Yet he didn’t have the money or the desire to ever wed. Many of his friends had let themselves be leg-shackled, and none of them were happy.
If James was eager for feminine company, he fraternized with trollops who made no demands on him. They were content to frolic without any extended commitment. A gently bred female like Rose Ralston would bring a host of responsibilities he prayed he’d never have the misfortune to assume.
“You fascinate me,” he confessed.
“You barely know me. I couldn’t possibly.”
“You’re so brave.”
“Me? Brave?”
“Yes. You picked up and traveled to Summerfield, and you’re ready to proceed with Stanley. I’m fascinated and charmed.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I am.”
When he stood so near to her, he could feel a current of energy flowing between them. He’d never experienced such a stirring sensation and couldn’t seem to tamp it down. He didn’t want to tamp it down. He wanted to fan the flames, wanted to let it grow and grow until it spiraled into an inferno that couldn’t be controlled.
Where would it lead? Where would it end? The answers to those questions were alarming.
She was Stanley’s. She’d always be Stanley’s, and James couldn’t forget that fact. Still, he was a cad and scapegrace. Stanley would be the first to complain about it. If James took liberties, if he misbehaved, wasn’t it expected? Who would ever know? It wasn’t as if he’d shout the news to the servants.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured.
She frowned. “Why?”
“Just close them.”
To his surprise, she obeyed.
The woman was a trusting ninny! She claimed to have heard rumors about him, but clearly, they weren’t the worst ones. He was an avowed libertine, and they were alone in an isolated wing of the house. He might perpetrate any wickedness, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
Not that he would harm her, but still…
Before he could change his mind, before she could change hers, he dipped down and kissed her.
In the entire history of kisses, it wasn’t much about which to brag. He didn’t grab her and crush her to his chest. He didn’t yank the ribbon from her hair and run his fingers through the auburn tresses. He simply rested his palm on her waist and touched his lips to hers.
As he drew away, he was shocked to find that his pulse was racing, his blood pounding in his veins. He was awash with lust, his body crying out for him to ravish her, and the strength of the urge frightened him.
Her eyes fluttered open, and as she peered up at him, she looked young and confused and very, very pretty.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she quietly scolded.
He shrugged. “I’m renowned for doing what I shouldn’t. I’ve always been that way.”
“It’s so wrong. Everything about this place is wrong. Mr. Oswald. You. Vicar Oswald. Summerfield. The betrothal.”
“It’s why I think you’re so brave to have come.”
“Would you take me away from here and marry me yourself?” she stunned him by asking.
“See what I mean? You’re so courageous.” He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t have the resources to rescue you. I don’t have the funds or a home of my own, and I’m so aggravatingly vain. You wouldn’t want me as a husband.”
She nodded, her cheeks flushing with shame. “I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’d help you if I could.”
“You don’t have to humor me.”
“It’s not foolish to hope for a better conclusion.”
“Well, I’ve made my bed, and it appears it’s time to lie in it.” She stepped away and straightened, and she seemed different somehow, as if she’d erected a barrier she wouldn’t let him breach again.
“You have to go now,” she insisted.
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Are you and Mr. Drake leaving for London?”
“That’s the plan.”
“When will it be?”
“Maybe tomorrow or maybe in a few weeks.”
“I can’t keep bumping into you, Mr. Talbot. We have to avoid each other.”
“I don’t want to avoid you.”
“We have to, and we most assuredly can’t be together like this. Please stay away.”
“Call me James.” He was absurdly eager for her to speak his name. “Call me James and perhaps I’ll comply with your request.”
“No, you won’t, and you must depart at once. I believe I’ve betrayed Mr. Oswald sufficiently for one evening, don’t you?”
She slid away and went to the door. She peeked into the hall and gestured for him to hurry out.
He hesitated, debating whether he should argue, debating whether he should remain, but she didn’t realize she had no control over what was about to happen. In the future, she would have plenty of reasons to hate him, and he didn’t need to supply any extra ones so early in their relationship. It would only make matters harder between them down the road.
He went to the door too, and as he passed her, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the key.
“Don’t come back,” she warned. “You won’t be able to get in.”
He might have told her there was another entrance, a secret staircase that he’d used often as an adolescent when he’d been anxious to sneak out unseen.
But he didn’t tell her. She’d learn about it later on.
“Good night,” he said.
She didn’t offer the same goodbye, and he walked out, dawdling until she spun the key in the lock. Just to be sure, he tried the knob.
“Go!” she hissed on the other side of the wood.
He strolled away, feeling disconcerted and more alone than he’d been in a very long time.