Page 52 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“Civility requires both parties to agree to its enactment,” Rebecca said, her anger growing at Edward, who was behaving like the cat who had got the cream.
She detested his smug sense of superiority and the thought of his having given her uncle money to possess her. Rebecca was no one’s possession; she had freely chosen her marriage to Nicholas and seeing the two of them together in the drawing room that night made her realize that she had made the right decision.
“I am quite civil, thank you, Rebecca,” Edward growled, and Rebecca could tell he had been drinking.
She had smelt it upon him as he entered the room, and the vacant expression in his eyes and the slight slur in his words suggested the demon drink was in him. She might have pitied him if he had not entirely brought this sad situation upon himself by his jealousy and greed.
Just then, a footfall upon the steps outside caused Nicholas to look up and catch Rebecca’s eye. She glanced out of the window just in time to see the figure of her uncle being admitted by the butler, and now Edward appeared startled by this new arrival, rising to his feet, and looking warily toward the door.
“The Earl of Weston, your Lordship,” the butler announced, as Rebecca’s uncle was admitted to the drawing room.
“Ah, Nicholas, I … oh,” he said, entering the room and catching sight of Edward.
The two men eyed each other with suspicion, for it was evident that neither had anticipated the presence of the other.
“What ishedoing here?” Edward asked, and Nicholas smiled.
“I may invite whomsoever I wish to my home, Edward. Can we not all simply enjoy dinner together in a civilized manner? After all, there is much to discuss,” he replied as Rebecca’s uncle scowled.
“There is little that we can discuss in the company of one another,” he said, but Nicholas shook his head.
“On the contrary, your Lordship, there is much that we can discuss. The two of you are well acquainted, are you not?” he said, and neither of the two men made any reply.
Rebecca could not help but delight in seeing her uncle lost for words. In years gone by, he had always been so quick with an insult or criticism, ever reminding Rebecca of her place. Now she could only admire Nicholas for putting him in his.
“Laura is well, uncle,” Rebecca said, deciding to have some fun at her uncle’s expense, whilst they awaited the arrival of their final and most formidable guest.
“I am sure she is flourishing,” her uncle replied.
“Tell me, did you value her equally to me?” Rebecca asked, and her uncle looked at her in confusion.
“Value? What do you mean? You are both my nieces,” he began, but Rebecca shook her head.
“No, uncle, I mean in monetary terms. Tell me, what is the value of a niece? Ten guineas? Twenty? A hundred? A thousand? How much is a niece worth? Hypothetically, of course,” she asked, and her uncle shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“Look here, what is all this? What are you talking about?” Edward asked, running his finger around his collar, a sweat appearing upon his brow.
“Do you know the cost of a niece, Edward? Is it the same as the cost of a daughter, say, or a friend? What is the price of friendship? Goodness me, it seems as though we are at a market,” Rebecca continued, suddenly finding a confidence she had never known before.
Neither Edward nor her uncle scared her any longer. They were pitiable men, and she had escaped from their clutches. Never again would she be subject to the whims of another or priced like a prized pig at an auction.
“The price? There is no price,” her uncle spluttered, but Rebecca shook her head.
“There was a price, uncle, a price you were only too willing to accept,” she said, her gaze unwavering as he shook his head and scowled.
Edward was about to reply, an incredulous look coming over his face as he evidently guessed that Rebecca knew the truth, but at that moment, a commotion outside the door caused them all to look up.
“Your Lordship,” the butler cried as the door burst open.
“Out of my way, servant, I am here at the invitation of the Marquess of Somerset. Do you not know who I am? The mother of his child,” came an angry voice behind him, and the countess appeared before them.
She looked even more formidable than ever, dressed in a long, flowing, red satin gown, her face heavily made up, and her hair combed up into a coiffure, so that it added an extra head to her height. As she entered the room, she faltered for a moment, evidently not expecting to find Edward and Rebecca’s uncle in attendance, but she soon regained her composure, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene around her.
“I am sorry, your Lordship,” the butler gasped, but Nicholas shook his head.
“It is quite all right, you may bring in the sherry and tell Mrs. Thrip to have the first course served in half an hour,” Nicholas said, and the flustered butler bowed and left the room.
“So, the players are assembled,” the countess said, and she fixed her eyes upon Rebecca, who suddenly felt her nerves return.
