The duke merely produced an envelope thick with bank notes and dropped it on the plate in front of the vicar. ‘Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Reverend, Mrs Winslow. Good day.’
And then he stood there, stock still, above the vicar. And waited. All in all, Miranda decided she much preferred it when he was yelling. But the effect was impressive and it took less than a minute before the vicar’s composure cracked and he was making his apologies and wishing them well before hustling his wife to the door.
She saw them off with an artificial courtesy that she hoped was not too obvious and turned to find that her husband had followed them to the door as well.
‘I trust that was sufficient, madam?’ He stared at her with only the barest trace of the annoyance he’d shown for the last hour.
‘Yes. Thank you.’ She looked up at him and wondered what was actually going through his mind. He was capable of so many emotions, and able to exchange them so quickly.
‘Very well.’ He continued to look at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
She gazed down and clasped her hands together and remembered the ring he had given her and the kiss, and blushed, running her finger over the surface of the gold and feeling safe and warm.
He glanced down. ‘Ah, yes. I had forgotten that. May I have my ring back, please?’
She looked up at him in shock.
‘I have need of it. And it would not do for you to lose it.’
‘Lose it? It’s just that...I thought...’ She stared down at it, unsure what to say. She thought that the gift had meant something. Perhaps not.
And her eyes met his, and she was lost in them. Her fingers relaxed and the heavy ring slipped off and bounced on the marble floor.
He stooped and caught it, before it had rolled too far, nodding as if this confirmed what he had suspected about her negligent care of it. ‘Thank you. And now, if you will excuse me, I’m sure I will see you in our rooms, later.’
She stared up into the canopy of the bed, watching a spider spinning in the gloom of a corner. Her husband would come soon, and do what he would do, and it would be over. She tried not to review in her mind the detailed explanation that Cici had given her of marital relations. It would hurt the first time, but she was not to be afraid.
She mentally cursed Cici for explaining it so. It must not hurt so very much or women would never allow a second time. She was not unfamiliar with pain. It could not hurt her body as much as leaving home had wounded her heart. She would survive.
Cici had said that with some men it was not painful, but actually quite pleasant. When the man was loving and gentle, there was nowhere else you’d rather be than joined with them. Cici had known many men and had a chance for comparison.
Since she was to know only one, whether it might be pleasant somewhere else need not concern her. As a matter of fact, it was annoying to think that things could be better in a different bed. Hadn’t she always known that there were better places to be than the circumstances she’d been given? And wasn’t the foolish quest for better circumstances the thing that had led her here?
She remembered her last job, helping in the kitchen of one of the great houses near her home. She’d been carrying strawberries from the garden for the cook, when an unnamed lord had spotted her in a secluded hallway. He’d blocked her way, and smiled, wishing her a good morning.
And she’d smiled back, and made to go around him.
And he’d asked her name.
She’d responded politely and continued her progress towards the kitchen.
He was upon her before she realised and her back was against the wall. He’d reached into the bowl of berries she was still holding in front of her and brought one to his lips, biting and letting the juice trickle on to his chin. And he’d taken another, and brought it very deliberately to her lips and bade her bite. She’d been hungry and unable to resist the temptation to have just one. And she’d eaten from his hand like a tamed animal. Then he’d thrust a hand down the front of her dress and seized her breast.
She stood there, frozen in shock as he felt the slight weight of it, then rolled the nipple between his fingers.
Her mind had screamed that she must run. But her traitorous legs would not move. And he’d leaned closer, nipping her earlobe and whispering that, Miranda, there were many easier ways to earn a shilling than fetching and carrying for the cook. And, Miranda, there could be pretty dresses and baubles for a pretty girl, a quiet girl, if she were to bring her bowl of berries and come with him now.
And, to her shame, she’d been tempted. The part of her that was weak and tired and frightened told her that he was right. It would be easier just to lie back and give up. But he’d begun to describe what he wanted in whispering gasps, and anger had broken through the fear in her mind. She’d dropped the bowl and run from the house. She’d saved her honour, but lost her position. And considered herself lucky that he hadn’t taken what he wanted without benefit of discussion.
Cici had warned her, if a man turned out to be a brute, it was better not to resist, but to lie still and let him finish.
Which brought her mind back to her new husband. The kiss in the church had been strange enough. It had been pleasant at first, but overwhelming and inescapable. She imagined being trapped beneath him tonight as he grunted and rutted like some stallion in a stable yard. She’d be still, let him take what he wanted and perhaps he’d lose interest and return to his own rooms. She must look on the bright side, such as it was. He kept himself cleaner than the servants kept his house. His face had been shaven smooth and his body smelled of cologne and not sweat. His breath was fresh enough. His teeth were good. The advantages of wealth, she thought. The improved circumstances that Cici said her father had wanted for her. It was inevitable that she would marry and have some man in her bed. At least a rich man would be clean and the bed would be large.
And the result would be the same, whether she’d married a beggar or a peer. A swollen belly, the pain of childbed and a baby. At least her new husband could afford to keep his children. She never need worry about food or a roof over her head or the clothing on her back. That was the gift that her father had wanted for her and she should be grateful that he had been sensible enough to look to her future.
She listened for sounds from the other room, and her nerves ratcheted still tighter. How long was he planning to wait? It was past midnight and still there was no sign.
Her stomach growled, and the hollow ache in it drove the acid up and into her throat. She should have choked down a meal. She should have partaken of that miserable wedding breakfast. Now she was starving as well as scared and could feel a faint pounding beginning behind her temple.
Perhaps she should ring for Polly to bring her some tea. As if she’d want to come at this hour— Miranda had too much sympathy there to draw the servants out of their warm beds to fulfil needs that should have been dealt with earlier in the evening.
Of course, there was no law to say that she couldn’t take care of things herself. Great houses were all alike. Bedrooms were up, and kitchens were down and there were servants’
