Forced Offer (9 page)

For a while they lay side by side. Then he reached for the wine and poured a glass for each. They drank it in silence, in the cool room with only the light of their friend, the half moon outlining the window.

He stood up and went to get the sandwiches, for they were both hungry now. They ate of the food with relish, but in silence—in the deep soft silence of their strange alliance.

They made love throughout the night. Each time they thought they could not muster the strength to go on, the strength somehow came to them in that incredible need they had grown out of nothing for each other and they would again be in each other's arms as though this was their last night on earth.

Finally they slept, in each other's arms.

* * * * *

"It'll be only a few more hours until we arrive, mum," said Bessie in a froth as they boarded the carriage.

"Aren't you excited to be going to your new home?"

My new home, thought Belinda. My home is The Blue Teal and The King's Sword and The Black Horse—the inns in which they had stayed and where she had felt the only true happiness she had ever known.

Not even at her parent's home had she ever felt at home. Her mother had always made her feel inadequate. She had lived practically ignored while Roselle lived and basked in general adoration. And she knew that if it had been she who had died rather than Roselle everyone would have been happier.

Even her bedroom had not been to her taste, but to her mother's, her mother not trusting her judgment in anything concerning decorations or clothes, or anything at all for that matter. Books were her only domain, for her mother never ventured there, and even these had to be read in stealth, for her mother's opinion on "bluestockings" was quite set in stone.

Flora Liston managed Winterhill, and from the way she spoke she was not going to relinquish the reins to it any time soon. She considered it her rightful home and had stated bluntly to Belinda that she hadn't the training to run a great house. Belinda had said nothing to this, in the only time that Flora had deigned to speak to her more than her usual three or four words at a time concerning her wedding.

Flora was a handsome woman of twenty-eight years. She was fashionable and had a brusque manner with Belinda, which she softened up in the presence of Lord Berrington. She had an elevated idea of her worth and social status and had a wide acquaintance with which she socialized constantly, as she was a childless widow.

She had married Berrington's half-brother Harry and lost him in a curricle accident two years later. She spoke of Lord Berrington with the familiarity that being his sister-in-law gave her, yet with a somewhat more, Belinda felt, and she wondered if Flora had set her cap on winning his heart—but no, that could not be possible. It must be her own imagination, for loving him as she did, thought Belinda, she feared all women must fall in love with him too.

Flora had also mentioned Irene, Berrington's younger sister and who also lived at the house, for Berrington was the girl's guardian still. She was thirteen or fourteen years old.

"She quite worships her brother," Flora had said. And Belinda had found these words ominous, not in themselves, but in the way Flora had said them, as if they held a hidden meaning.

And from the small talk between her and Lord Berrington in the three-days' journey, Belinda had gathered that he intended to return to London as soon as she was settled at Winterhill, for he had to resume his duties at Parliament.

Belinda had not been surprised or offended at his plans to leave her so soon after the wedding ceremony, nor would she have dreamed of asking him if she could go with him. She was very much aware that he had been trapped into marriage and that he had expected her to refuse his offer. Yet she had not, and she knew that resentment boiled inside of him however much he had suspended it with liquor during their dark nights of passion.

She was well aware that she had made the decision to marry him with her eyes wide open and that however much her mother had tried to coerce her into marrying Lord Berrington, her decision had been made without the slightest consideration of her mother’s words. For she knew herself well enough to know that had it been consideration of her mother her only reason, she would not now be married to him.

In truth, she had faced her future and decided that she had no future without Berrington.

She loved him unreasonably, even, she felt vaguely, morbidly, for he did not love her.

She was well aware of what she had done to him. She knew that London was boiling with the scandal. She had no illusions about her looks and was certain he felt he was the laughingstock of the Season.

She would love him in silence for the rest of her life but would never force her company on him after the death-blow she had dealt to any plans for his own married life he may have contemplated before being tricked into marriage to her.

She was grateful for his cordiality and his honest efforts at conversation with her. She was also grateful for the kind way in which he treated her during the day and for the incredible incendiary nights, which she was unable to recall without feeling a hot rush of passion for him in the middle of the day.

These nights had been something apart—a one-time event, for she felt she would never see a repeat of this three-day idyll.

After a while he would lead his own life, perhaps resuming his habits with mistresses in London. And for the first time Belinda understood clearly what the word mistress meant.

But how could she blame him for wanting to return to the life she took away from him? A terrible feeling of guilt suddenly overwhelmed her, for in her heart she knew that her mother's wish for social status had weighed little in her own mind once she was face to face with Berrington and his reluctant offer of marriage. 
It had been the lure of a life linked to the man she loved above all else that had proven to be irresistible
.

The shame she felt in recalling her actions would live with her always. Yes, these nights she would hold locked in her heart, to go back to in dreams in the long lonely, dreary years ahead. For though she was certain they meant little to Berrington, they meant the world to her. She only hoped that in those velvet nights with him she had conceived a child.

Chapter 9

They arrived at Winterhill in mid-afternoon, while the sun was still hot. Belinda, silent and tense, looked out the window as the carriage entered a tree-lined drive, which went on for at least a mile. On both sides of the narrow road pushed the encroaching dark forest with trees that rose high above and with only the occasional chirping of birds or cicadas and the crunch of the wheels as the only sounds. Berrington looked out one window while Belinda looked out the other. And when the trees began to thin out and the carriage started an ascent, Belinda realized that Winterhill actually stood on the slope of a hill in the middle of a small, secluded valley. The house, gray and ancient, extended imposingly with two vast wings from a half circle of Grecian columns on a vast terrace.

Berrington did not point out anything about it and Belinda did not comment on it, for even if she had had the temerity to utter a word on his property she felt he might interpret it as triumph or satisfaction.

And when they reached the terrace Belinda saw the enormous front door thrown wide open and a small group of people coming out to greet them.

The group consisted of Flora, whom Belinda already knew, Mrs. Hunter, a middle-aged lady who wore the garb of housekeeper, and Leeks, a gray-haired man Belinda assumed was the butler, for the formal livery and stiff bearing.

"Good afternoon, Flora," said Berrington as two footmen ran up to the carriage and opened the doors for them. One of them helped Belinda out and she stood on unsteady legs as she felt everyone's eyes on her.

Flora Liston came up to her first and shaking her hand, smiled.

"Welcome, Lady Berrington. We have been expecting you for the last three hours." Then she turned to Lord Berrington and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "You have made good time, Richard."

"Ah, yes. No 
contretemps
, thankfully," said Berrington absently.

"We have tea ready," said Flora leading the way inside.

Flora had been born in Derbyshire, in the village of Crestley. There her family, which consisted of Sir Howard Gravely, his wife Stella and three daughters, known to the villagers as "those grasping Gravely females" had looked down their noses at the lesser mortals, population 150, which made up the village of Crestley.

Sir Howard presided over a household of females who had a high opinion of themselves. The eldest of them, Flora, at the age of twenty-three, browbeat her father into financing a London Season for herself, having determined that the local assembly balls, held above the only hotel the area boasted, The Shea Dell, was barren ground in which to find a husband suitable to such a paragon. Sir Howard gathered half a quarter's funds and moved to London for the Season, determining that dunning letters from creditors were less of a threat than the accusing eyes of his daughter Flora. They were installed in his wife's sister's house in Berkeley Square, which must have been the smallest house in the square and the most threadbare. The younger sisters took in the sights, for there was only money for one wardrobe, and even then, barely, while their sister Flora went to the balls in search of prey.

Flora’s first, second, and third social events had yielded nothing, but the fourth ball, at an exclusive address, had been secured by their Aunt Sally, who had a connection or two, Aunt Sally was doing her utmost to help Flora in her aim of finding a husband so that she could be rid of five people who were leaving her larder empty.

Being incisive and probing, Flora soon had dossiers of each and every one of the eligible bachelors lounging around waiting for the music to begin, and the crop was not insignificant. Foremost among the parties she had listed in her mind were Richard Branston, Earl of Berrington, and his half-brother, the Honorable Harry Liston who were now walking toward a small group of pretty girls among whom she stood. Her first choice was Lord Berrington, but he seemed not in the least attracted to her and instead wrote his name in someone else's card without a glance toward her.

Flora concentrated her attentions on his brother, and catching his eye smiled most beguilingly. Harry Liston was halfway into his cups, having been drinking and gambling shortly before arriving at the ball, and Flora's smile pulled him toward her, as a beacon cutting through his hazy vision. He wrote his name in her card and at a hint from her wrote it in another, a waltz.

Flora needed only to have this small entry in order to sink her claws into the unsuspecting Harry Liston, who before the night was over had not only danced twice with her but also had strolled to the moonlit terrace and pledged to visit her the following morning. Pretty smiles and artful talk at which Flora was very good made Harry Liston slide into her arms at an almost ridiculous speed. But though Liston's attentions to her and the admiration in his eyes was flattering and promising, Flora seethed when she thought how Berrington ignored her. If she had been able to hear Lord Berrington's warning to his brother, she would have been more incensed, for it went thus:

“
Whoa, there, old boy, you're galloping toward matrimony. What do you know of the chit, anyhow?" he had asked of his brother of whom he was very fond.

"Enough!" Liston had garbled drunkenly. "She's the girl for me, Sir Busybody." Intemperate and reckless, Harry hovered between admiration and envy for his half-brother, Richard, and sometimes was overwhelmed by bitter thoughts that he had gotten the short end of the stick.

Richard's mother, Lady Berrington, was a countess by marriage only and had become a widow when Richard was four years old. Three years later she had married the Honorable Edward Liston, a handsome but penniless admirer, and soon gave birth to Harry and then to Irene five years later.

Richard loved his half-brother and half-sister dearly and became their guardian when he reached his majority, for his stepfather died shortly after Irene's birth. Richard's mother had died during Richard's third year in the Peninsula. Winterhill and the rest of the estates that belonged to the Fifth Earl of Berrington were entailed, and as such all went to Richard.

Harry and Irene, on the other hand had nothing but what Richard would provide for them, for their mother had poured her own small trust into one of her second husband's schemes and lost it in sinking ships.

Berrington had given Eventide, a small estate forty miles to the south to his brother as a wedding gift, but Harry and his bride Flora much preferred the life in London and stayed in Berrington's lavish London house most of the year. But barely two years into the marriage, Harry had died from a fall in a curricle race to Brighton, to where he was driving drunk at breakneck speed.

The childless Flora Liston begged Richard to let her make her home with him and Irene at Winterhill and Richard acceded, thinking that Irene was certainly in need of a guiding hand and who better than her sister-in-law to do this.

As a girl, Flora Liston had dreamed of being the mistress of a great establishment like Winterhill and was now so ensconced in her role that she had never given a thought that some day Richard might marry, and her astonishment, horror and outrage at the circumstances of his marriage to Belinda were something she would never overcome.

She had received a hurried missive by special messenger from London, for her journey to London for the Season had been postponed due to Irene having caught a cold. But Richard had no one else to turn to for the hurried preparations of the wedding and leaving Irene in the care of her governess and Mrs. Hunter she had hurried to London.

And now, seeing Belinda step down from the carriage, assisted by her brother-in-law, she felt a bitter taste to her mouth as she forced a smile of welcome.

"Where's Irene?" asked Lord Berrington frowning.

"She waited around for a long time," said Flora, "but feeling a headache coming on she went up to rest about an hour ago,"

Belinda, eyes downcast, realized that Flora had the ability to make words that said something, mean entirely something else. Or was it just her over-heated imagination and her fear of meeting all these people that made her think Irene had not wanted to meet her?

"I hope it has improved by dinner," said Lord Berrington grimly as he helped Belinda up the steps of the terrace.

Mrs. Hunter ushered Belinda into a room that adjoined Lord Berrington's and was separated from it by a small sitting-room in Louis XV furniture and delicate gold-framed paintings on the wall.

The room which was to be hers was imposing and in the same style as the sitting room, with regal bed drapes in brocade and cream satin. Large gold tassels held back the drapes at each side and matched the bedspread. Belinda glanced at the three long windows in rich hangings and at the soft carpet in pinks and blues and soft greens. She placed her reticule on a settee by the window and turned as Bessie walked into the room.

"Is this your abigail, your ladyship?" asked Mrs. Hunter as Bessie looked up expectantly.

"Yes—Bessie, this…this is Mrs. Hunter, the housekeeper."

"Hello, Bessie," said Mrs. Hunter amiably and turned again to Belinda.

"I'll show Bessie her quarters when she's done with you, my lady."

The housekeeper then left and Bessie proceeded to unpack first what Belinda would need for her bath and the clothes she would need for dinner.

Hot water was brought into the room and after Belinda bathed she asked Bessie to stay in the room while she took a nap.

"I don't wish to be alone in this imposing room, Bessie," she said.

"Here in the smaller box are some fashion magazines Mama packed for me. I think you will pass the time away nicely, for there are some pretty plates there to view."

"Oh yes, mum, thank you!" Bessie said as she took the magazines and spreading them on the carpet sat next to them and began to turn the pages, happy to be by her mistress and prepared to pass away the time pleasurably gazing at beautiful gowns.

Answering a knock at the door two hours later, Bessie was informed by a footman sent by Flora that dinner would be served at seven. Bessie glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel and saw that it was just on six. Perhaps it would be better to wake her ladyship now, she thought, or there wouldn't be enough time for her to get ready for dinner.

But as she approached the bed and gazed down at Belinda she hesitated. Belinda looked so peacefully asleep. And one look at Flora on arriving had convinced Bessie that there was nothing but trouble for her ladyship coming from that direction.

Bessie hardly knew Flora Liston, and had been hired by her without an interview, for she had been sent to her by Lady Arnoldi, who had been applied to by her friend Flora for a young girl, not too experienced, to act as an abigail for her brother-in-law's bride. And Bessie, being the younger sister of one of Lady Arnoldi's abigails had been recruited for the job.

Bessie had only been in Lady Arnoldi's employ for six months as a chambermaid when she had been elevated to the position of lady's maid, to her own and her sister's extreme surprise.

Well, perhaps I shall give her fifteen more minutes, thought Bessie. In any case, Lady Berrington hardly spent any time primping and was ready and dressed without much ado each day, in extreme contrast to Lady Arnoldi, who was known to spend at least six hours preparing for a rout and even more hours for a ball.

When the fifteen minutes were over, Bessie put away the wonderful copies of 
La Belle Assemblee 
and awoke Belinda who for a moment had a lost look in her eyes as she gazed at her surroundings.

A nice shade of eyes, thought Bessie, on noticing Belinda's eyes for the first time—a soft gray with little slivers of green and blue, and lashes that were long but so light you could hardly tell she had any.

Bessie, who still had hopes of arranging Belinda's hair to a more becoming mode said nothing as Belinda asked her to redo the thick braid she wore at the back of her head.

Maybe, thought Bessie as she set to work on Belinda's braid, sometime in the future she could bring out that little box of kohl soot her cousin had given her, and which, when applied with extreme care, darkened the lashes in a most natural way, without anyone the wiser. The trick, she thought, was to apply only a small amount, so that no one could ever tell it was cosmetics.

"Bessie," said Belinda, though she would have liked to remain in the room with Bessie whiling away the time looking at the fashion plates and talking to her rather than going down to dinner, "I think you should go downstairs and see the housekeeper about your room. I'm being selfish in keeping you here when you must also be exhausted from the journey."

"Oh, no mum, I slept most of the way," said Bessie quickly.

"I must go down myself, in any case," said Belinda sadly, remembering Flora's ice blue eyes that were of a shade so light as to be almost white, and the irises that were like black pin heads in their centers. At times she had been so hypnotized by Flora's eyes that she hardly grasped what Flora was saying to her as she had gone over the wedding preparations with her, or rather, told her what they were.

Belinda went downstairs with Bessie and they parted at the foot of the stairs. From there Belinda had a view of the drawing room where the doors were open. The room was lit up and she saw Lord Berrington and Flora conversing and when she reached the door her eyes alit on a young girl with light brown hair who reminded her of herself at that age—she seemed about thirteen years of age. But though she seemed to lack grace and slumped in an ungainly way in a dress inadequate for her age she was anything but shy, as Belinda soon found out. Irene had brown eyes similar to those of her brother but of a lighter, almost hazel shade, and arched brows that were now lowered in a frown.