Page 27 of The Mad Baron's Bride
“’Tis the only way a woman might be granted complete freedom over her life,” she answered. “Though of course, that life is greatly eased by a comfortable income.”
“But not a man?”
She glanced his way, as if surprised by his grim tone. He was surprised himself. He had been taught, as a youth, that man was made to rule the world, and woman made to ease the burden of man. He had known Anne-Marie was not happy with her lot, but not before Leda had he wondered why.
“I imagine many a merry widow has been pleased to adorn her life with a man,” Leda responded. “As companion and bedfellow, a lover with whom she might amuse herself, and then send him home where others are obliged to clean and cook and do for him, or he must look after himself.”
He flushed. She spoke of beds. Of the pleasures he had imagined enjoying with her, giving her, since their hands first met in the minuet.
They walked the path through the growing grasses studded with wildflowers and the scent of rich, watered earth. “So you enjoy managing people, but not in a housewifely capacity.”
“Precisely.”
“As a sort of manager of relationships.”
“Or a disinterested friend. Without my own motives clouding the question.”
“We all have motives,” Jack said. “Which way?”
“This way. That road leads to Langley Burrell.”
“How is it you know the area? Did you live in Chippenham?”
“A…family member moved here. At her marriage. I visited many times.” She walked briskly along beside him, but her manner was stiff and disjointed, not at all her usual grace. “When my marriage…dissolved, our servants needed someplace to go. We found a lodging near here, where they could live in peace.”
“They did not wish to stay on at the house?”
She hesitated for a long time. There was something afoot here.
“When my husband died, his nephew inherited. My husband was a harsh, self-serving man, and I feared his nephew might be even crueler.”
“He, your husband, left you nothing to live on? No jointure?”
“He left me nothing but scars and shame. My marriage was a horror for me and for the people you will meet. That is why I hope you will ask them no questions. I do not wish to stir painful memories.” Her jaw set as if she braced herself against memories of her own.
“I see why you have no good opinion of marriage,” Jack said quietly.
“From what I have seen, marriage at best is a yoke for a woman, and at its worst can cost her life, or drive her to madness.” She marched on.
They passed a small village, farmhouses clustered near the street, women throwing wash over bushes, dogs chasing boys as small girls picked flowers and herbs. They came to a bridge, no more than boards set over a stream.
“The Clapper Bridge,” Leda said. “Not far now.”
Jack smarted the whole time. Her remark about madness. An accusation? Did she know what had happened to Anne-Marie? Did she blame him?
Of course she did. Everyone had. Hewasto blame.
They crossed a wider bridge over what Jack guessed was the Avon, breaching its banks in a spring rise. Leda looked with dismay at the wooden boards that had once constituted the Causeway, some planks floating off their wooden piles, some underwater.
“I had not considered this. Oh, dear.”
“Hold this.” Jack thrust the butcher’s parcel into her hands and held out his arms. “If I may?”
Her brows knit together, that sign of exasperation he was beginning to adore. “I don’t see what—” Her words ended in a gasp as he swept her into his arms.
“You warned me I would wet my boots.”
She clutched his arms. “But I did not mean…this.”
