Page 34 of The Viscount's Pearl
“My father…” began Frances.
“Your father and mother are already aware of my intentions and fully supportive of them.”
Frances backed slowly away from him as he advanced, then, finding the backs of her knees against a chair, sank into it, keeping her eyes on the floor. The tips of Lord Hosmer’s shoes came into her view. She did not lift her face.
“Miss Lilley, it is my intention to marry you.”
“I thought it was customary to ask,” said Frances quietly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You have notaskedme if I wish to marry you.”
There was an icy silence before Lord Hosmer spoke again. “I was warned of the defects in your character,” he said. “Let us begin as we mean to go on. You will raise your face and look me in the eye when you speak to me.”
Frances kept her face down.
“Miss Lilley. Raise. Your. Face.”
Slowly she looked up, her darting eyes meeting his for a brief moment, before looking over his shoulder at the closed door.
“You will look me in the eye when I speak to you.”
She fixed her eyes on his, discomfort growing in her, meeting eyes with this stranger impossible to maintain.
“Better,” he said. “Will you marry me, Miss Lilley?”
She struggled to keep his gaze. “No, Sir, I will not.” She lookedaway, the relief almost breathtaking before something hard was thrust under her chin, her head jerked back up by his walking cane.
“You will marry me, because it has been agreed,” he snarled. “And damn it, Miss Lilley, I will teach you to be a well-mannered wife, whether by fair means or foul. I have trained hunting dogs and horses and a woman will be no different. If it takes a beating to make you follow my orders, then so be it. Youwillmeet my eyes when I speak to you, and youwillmarry me. I shall depart tomorrow morning and before I do so I will inform your parents that we are betrothed. I will leave your mother to make whatever foolish arrangements a woman believes necessary for a wedding; trousseaus, flowers and a gown, I care not. I will return to marry you before two months are up and then we will travel to my home in Wales, where you will learn the meaning of the words in the marriage service, ‘toobey’. I will not take any pleasure in training you with harsh methods, Miss Lilley, but neither will I be so remiss as to fail in my duties as a husband by allowing your stubborn will to prevail. So were I in your shoes, I would submit, and do so gracefully. Your life will be the better for it. You need only be obedient to my will and produce at least one healthy heir and I will be satisfied. It is not much to ask of a wife.” He stopped, wheezing with rage.
Frances sat very still, face still held forcibly up to him. There was a brief silence before he lowered his cane and she bowed her head, hands shaking in her lap though she tried to clench them together.
“Do you have anything further to say, Miss Lilley?”
She shook her head.
“Then I will bid you good day for now and make plans to depart. I will return soon and expect to find you a willing bride.”
Frances said nothing, only clenched her hands tighter,trembling as he made his way out of the room, the sound of his cane tap-tapping sharply into the distance.
Frances sat alone in her rocking chair for a long time that day, but the rocking motion gave no comfort. She had thought that her parents would grow weary of their efforts to find her a husband and instead disburse her marriage portion with which to set up the life she desired, a spinster but happy. But that was not to be the case.
Lord Hosmer was old, that was the one thing in his favour. He might die, and then she would have what she had always wanted: a home, perhaps there would be children, which she had little objection to, but at any rate she would be able to manage her life as she saw fit. But what if he lived to a ripe old age, and she had to stand his company for decades to come? The thought was unbearable. But to whom might she turn who could help her escape the future she now faced? Only one name came to mind, though to even contemplate the thought was scandalous. But she had run out of choices.
Laurence had spent another dismal evening at a ball. He did not know what he regretted more, that he had spent a tiresome few hours in the company of young women who had bored him witless, or that he had turned down not one but two invitations from ladies of his acquaintance. The truth was that neither of the invitations had appealed to him. He had enjoyed these women’s company in the past, but the shallowness of their intimacy was beginning to weary him. There was physical pleasure to be had, certainly, but it left a hollow feeling afterwards, when they hurried home to their husbands while he returned to his empty bed in Albany. He imagined what it would be like to wake witha woman who did not need to go anywhere, who would stay in his arms, what it would feel like to know that she loved him. The half-formed image gave him a pleasure greater than the titillating touches and whispers that had filled the past few years.
“A card from Lady Salisbury, Sir.”
Laurence sighed. Lady Salisbury had been a brief dalliance, an agreeable evening as well as the night that followed, but she had grown overly fond of him, sending her card with what was now becoming an alarming frequency. Laurence had always maintained a careful distance from such women, for they were a risk if they could not make a show of indifference or at least polite acquaintance in public. Once or twice a lady had grown fond of him, and he had been flattered but gently detached himself from them. The easiest way to clarify his position was to be seen with another lady, thus signalling that the previous liaison was well and truly over, but when Laurence cast his mind about for a suitable woman, the options were unappealing. Lady Maurice was too talkative. Lady Harrington too fond of being seen in public with her beaus. There was Lady Lewis but… his heart was not in it. Nor his loins, oddly. None of them were appealing, even though they were all considered beauties.
“Will you be going out tonight, Sir?”
There was no shortage of options. He had barely shown his face at Boodles of late, so an evening at the club was a possibility. His friends would welcome him and he would enjoy an evening of drink and talk, perhaps gaming, a tasty meal in pleasant company. Or he could choose one of the ladies he had mulled over and attend them as their companion for the evening. Or there was a pile of unopened invitations on the silver tray left on his desk. There would be balls and dinners, theatre and opera, he need only choose a diversion and the evening was open to his pleasure. And yet… the thought of any of them bored him.Instead he thought longingly of stretching out on the sofa with an interesting book and a good dinner, a glass of wine in hand and afterwards, the comfort of his bed and an early morning ride in the park, not to see and be seen as everyone did without fail on Rotten Row each afternoon, but only for himself, for the pleasure of riding and the fresh air that always made him feel like a new man.
“No, Roberts,” he said, and a burden lifted from him as he spoke. “I will be staying in tonight. Choose a wine, nothing too heavy, and throw together a meal, I’ll dine alone.”
“Very good, Sir.”
