Autumn Rain (4 page)

He moved closer, reaching out to her, then he sighed. "I had to do it, puss—I had to." When she said nothing, he dropped to sit beside her. "I did it for you, Nell. And for the other girls. Would you see them on the street? Would you have them begging for parish alms?"

"Papa, I cannot!" she wailed.

"Aye, you can." With uncharacteristic gentleness, he smoothed the copper hair against the back of her muslin gown. "Nell—"

"How could you?" she demanded miserably, her face buried in the covers. "He's old! And—and you let him touch me!"

"He is sixty-one, puss." He leaned over her. "Think on it—the man's rich as Croesus, Nell, and he cannot live forever. You'll be a rich widow before long," he reasoned softly. "You'll want for nothing—nothing. You'll have jewels, fancy gowns—a hundred servants to do your bidding—and you will be in a position to help your sisters."

"I am but fifteen, Papa! I have my own life yet to live!"

"I know, puss. I would that we could wait, but we cannot. As it is, I know not if I can fob off my creditors another month even. I had a note of Longford the other day—and that is not to mention the dozens of tradesmen—well, I have to count it a stroke of fortune that Kingsley wants you." When she did not move or speak again, he rose and stood awkwardly over her. "Someday you will understand, Nell—someday you will believe I do this for you." Her shoulders shook silently, shaming him. "Aye—one day you will remember and thank me for this."

"No."

"Nell—" It was useless. There were no words to ease what he did to her. Sighing heavily, he turned away.

As he left, she bit her knuckles to stifle an awful urge to scream. Thank him? she cried in silent anguish. For what? For selling her into an old man's arms? For denying her the love of a younger, stronger man? For a time, she wept pitifully into the bedcover, telling herself she would remember this day forever—it was the day her girlish dreams died.

She knew not how long she lay there, only that everything seemed to hurt from the hollowness in her chest to the ache in her throat. Beneath her, the covers were soaked with her tears until it seemed there could be no more, but there were.

The bed creaked beside her, and she felt her mother's hands upon her shoulders. "Dearest Nell," she crooned softly, smoothing the tangled hair.

For answer, Elinor turned into her mother's arms and sobbed. "Don't let him do this to me, Mama—I beg of you—" She choked, unable to go on as she was drawn into the comfort of her mother's lap.

For a time, they rocked together, a woman and a girl of nearly equal size, and the bed creaked against its posts. All the while Mary Ashton stroked her daughter's hair. Finally, against the comfort of her mother's breasts, Elinor ceased sobbing.

"You won't let him sell me, will you, Mama?"

Mary felt as though her own heart was breaking, and she had to wipe her own streaming eyes before she answered. "Nell—oh, Nell, I would that things were different," she whispered, betraying her anguish.

It was then that Elinor
knew.
There was no one to help her, no one to save her.

"I'm sorry, love." Even as she spoke, Mary's chin quivered and the tears spilled onto her cheeks. "But you will survive, Nell," she added fiercely.
"You will survive. "

"Oh, Mama—I cannot!"

"Yes, you can. Look at me, Nell—look at me! Do you think I wanted to wed a gamester? Do you think I wanted to live like this?" Her slender fingers brushed the tangled strands back from Elinor's face. "But I have survived, dearest—I
have
survived! And you will also."

"Mama—"

"No. Listen to me, Nell. At least Lord Kingsley is old. You will not have to suffer a lifetime before you are freed. Thomas says he is over sixty, you know—and how many live much longer than that? Next year—or the year after—or the year after that, you will find yourself alone and well fixed."

"I don't want—"

"Hush, dearest. Neither do I. But when he is gone, there will be someone else to cherish you. You will still be young, Nell."

"And Papa will sell me again," the girl reminded her bitterly.

"No. I have wrung from Thomas the promise that the next choice is yours."

"How?"

"I have told him that I will leave him before I let this happen twice." Mary Ashton's mouth twisted as she met her daughter's startled gaze. "I would have this time, but for you and the girls. Don't you see, Nell?" she pleaded. "This is the only way we have. But there will be no next time—not like this—again. Even if I have nowhere to go, I will leave him."

"Oh, Mama." Elinor's arms closed around her mother's neck. "When Lord Kingsley dies, you can live with me."

"Nonsense. You will have a far different life than that we live here, dearest." Very gently, she disengaged her daughter's arms, and forced a watery smile. "Your papa really believes he does this for you."

"It's because he could not leave the cards and dice alone," Elinor retorted, rubbing at her swollen eyes.

"It's a weakness he cannot help, I'm afraid. And weak men make excuses that they come to believe." Mary Ashton rose from the bed and turned away. "I did try, you know."

To Elinor, it was as though the last gate had closed, trapping her. "I know," she managed miserably. "But I shall hate Lord Kingsley—I know it."

Later, when all tears were spent, when she could do naught but stare into the faded canopy over her bed, Elinor heard her father's words again.
You'll want for nothing—nothing. You '11 have jewels, fancy gowns—a hundred
servants to do your bidding—and you will be in a position to help your sisters.
What had the vicar once preached?
Be careful what you seek.
Well, even God was against her, she decided bitterly, for He'd fulfilled her dreams in the cruellest way. She'd dared to hope for someone young and handsome like Longford. Instead, she faced a life with an old man.

CHAPTER 3

Stoneleigh, Cornwall: December 16, 1807

It did not seem possible that this was happening to her, but after six weeks of tears interspersed between frenetic shopping and fittings, Elinor Elizabeth Anne Ashton faced her unwanted bridegroom in the elegantly appointed saloon and said the words that bound her to him, while her mother wept silently behind her. To her credit, the girl did not even flinch when he slipped the ring onto her finger. Telling herself that she no longer cared, she allowed Arthur Charles William Kingsley to lead her to the parish book, and there, on the carefully lined and numbered vellum page, she signed her name.

It was over. At fifteen, she was married. She now belonged to a man more than twenty years older than her own father. She stepped back, and her parents signed for witness. Behind her, her husband's grandson, a boy her own age, murmured his good wishes.

It was over. There would be but the elegant, intimate supper, an hour or so of quiet conversation, and then... her thoughts stopped there. She was not at all certain what to expect later. Whatever it would be, it would not matter either, she told herself. She cast a sidewise glance at her elderly bridegroom, wondering if he knew how much she wished him dead. Not dead precisely, she corrected herself guiltily. Just gone. Anywhere.

"Tired, my dear?" Arthur Kingsley asked her solicitously.

"No."

"Nonetheless, I should insist that you rest before we dine. I'd not have you out of looks tonight."

"Really, I—"

"Lord Kingsley is quite right, dearest," her mother declared a trifle too brightly. "I shall be happy to go up with you."

"Go on, puss—plain to see your husband has business with me," Thomas Ashton said. "Got to be obedient— no time to argue with the man."

"Papa—"

"Not to look at me, Nell—got to learn to look to him."

"I want to go with Nell," Charlotte announced.

"Me, too," a six-year-old Frances chimed in.

The elderly baron exchanged a significant glance with Elinor's mother, making her color uncomfortably. "Yes, well—really, but I think Lord Kingsley has ordered entertainment for you, my dears," she murmured. "And I should like a few moments alone with Nell."

Dismissed, Elinor trod the stairs slowly, reluctantly, to the elegant bedchamber above. Behind her, her mother sucked in her breath. "Well, you cannot say he does not value you," she murmured. "I vow I have never seen the like."

"Yes," the girl answered without enthusiasm. "I shall be like a bird in a golden cage."

"It's not forever, dearest."

"I doubt he will die today, Mama."

"No—no, of course not. Indeed, you should not wish it—the settlements—"

"Hang the settlements, Mama!" Elinor cried. "Is that all any can think on? What about me? I am your daughter!" Looking around her, she sighed. "Your pardon, Mama—I do not blame you for this. But Papa—"

"There was nothing he could do—the situation was quite desperate."

"I know. It's done, in any event, isn't it?"

The girl studied the rose silk-covered walls, the ornately painted ceiling, the marble-faced fireplace, the elegant, polished mahogany furniture—and the high, four-poster bed with its floral damask hangings. Her mother followed her gaze, then cleared her throat.

"You are a married lady now."

"I don't feel it—I don't feel any different at all, Mama."

"Yes—well, no doubt you will." Her mother hesitated, then blurted out, "Do you have any notion, Nell— about tonight, I mean?"

Elinor started to say that Miss Roberts did not teach about that at the academy, then forebore. It was childish to lash out now, and whether she wished it or not, she was no longer a child. "No," she answered finally.

It was the first time she could remember her mother ever blushing. The older woman sank into one of the French chairs and looked away, her face reddening uncomfortably. "Well," she began, "I did not think so, of course." For the briefest moment, her brown eyes met Nell's, then she hastily averted them again. "I cannot know precisely what Lord Kingsley will wish, but—" Words failed her, then she collected herself. "You must not struggle when he lifts up your nightgown, dearest."

"Lifts up my
nightgown,
Mama?" the girl demanded incredulously. "Surely he would not!"

"Yes, well—he will do a great deal more than that, I'm afraid. He might even prefer that you take it off entirely."

Elinor regarded her mother suspiciously. "Why?"

"Well, he is your husband—and—and"—she floundered a bit, then blurted out—"and it gets in the way."

"In the way of what?" the girl asked bluntly. "Mama, what are you trying to say?"

By now, the woman's face was a deep red. Nonetheless, she drew in a deep breath, then persevered. "Well, you know the Bible does say that the two shall become one flesh, you know. And once you are wed, your body becomes your husband's property, so to speak." She fixed her gaze on one of the roses woven into the thick carpet. "He has the right to touch you anywhere he pleases, Nell. Even—even down there. There—I have said it."

"Down where? Mama—
where?"

"In your most private places."

Revulsion washed over her. "I think I should rather die," Elinor declared flatly.

"It's the way of things between a man and a woman." Her mother rose quickly. "Yes—well, you ought to rest, dearest—truly you should. I know it's a trying day for you."

"Mama—"

"And you must not think I do not feel for you. However, I know that you will survive—we all do. You have but to lie there and let him have his way."

"Mama!"

"It will soon be over, anyway. Men are selfish creatures, you know." She leaned over to brush a kiss against her daughter's cheek, then embraced her, squeezing the girl's stiff shoulders. "On the morrow, you will think you worried for naught, I assure you."

After she left, Elinor lay wide-awake upon the high bed, staring up into the rich canopy, trying to imagine what Arthur Kingsley would do to her. But every time she thought of him touching her
there,
she felt sick in the pit of her stomach. Surely he would not expect anything like that. But she knew he would.

The wedding supper was a sumptuous, elegant repast served for only five, with Elinor's sisters taking their meal elsewhere in the house. As it was, a footman had placed Lord Kingsley at one end of the table and her at the other, with her parents on one side and young Charles across from them. Aside from murmurs of approval as each new dish was presented, there was little conversation beyond her father's forced attempts to engage Kingsley. For her part, Elinor could scarcely taste any of it, her mind dwelling gloomily instead on what would befall her later.

Finally, her father noted her, and his voice boomed out, "Here now, puss—don't look so pulled! You got Christmas coming, and after, Kingsley's giving you a party! Ain't that so, my lord?"

"Indeed." The older baron nodded. "We are accustomed here to having tenants and neighbors call after the holidays, of course, but this year I should like to have a somewhat larger affair to introduce Elinor to Cornish society."

"Be a bang-up affair, from all I have heard of it." Charles Kingsley spoke up. "Wish I was to be here, but I got to go back to school—unless Grandpapa relents."

"I am sure Elinor will write you about it, won't you, my dear?" the old man said smoothly. "I have hopes you will be friends, after all." He turned his attention to Thomas Ashford. "If you are meaning to invite any," he added meaningfully, "you'd best give over your list to Pemberly, that the cards may be posted forthwith."

"I doubt any would wish to travel this far, but I'd thought Longford—and perhaps Collinson—and Car-stairs. They are among the more pressing ones."

"Longford?" Elinor looked up, surprised. Then, recalling her encounter with the earl, she dropped her head, reddening. "Oh."

Arthur Kingsley's eyebrows rose, and he frowned. "I shouldn't think—"

"Oh, she don't know him—do you, puss?" her father hastened to warn her. "But you yourself said—" He looked to his aging son-in-law. "That is, I thought—"

"Man's a devil!" Charles Kingsley snorted.

"That will be enough, Charles," his grandfather said sternly.

The boy lapsed into silence, piquing Elinor's curiosity. "What has he done?" she inquired cautiously.

"A sordid affair, I'm afraid," the old man murmured. Looking again to her father, he explained, "No doubt you cannot have heard it yet, but it will be a dreadful scandal when it's known."

Her father shook his head. "His damnable temper, I should suppose. Fellow can be deuced unpleasant when he wants. Still—"

"It wasn't a duel," Charles piped up again. Then, perceiving the old man's frown, he dropped his eyes and stabbed at the meat on his plate.

"I'm afraid he's done it this time. Wilcox, carry the peas to Lady Kingsley, if you please."

"Thank you, Wilcox, but I have had enough," Elinor told the footman, shaking her head. "But what has this Longford done?"

"It's not a fit matter for your ears, my dear," Lord Kingsley told her.

"Yes, well—if you do not wish it, I shall not ask him," his father decided. "Any objection to the others, my lord?"

"I have no objection to any of them, not even Longford, my dear Thomas. I merely meant that I doubt he will wish to show his face anywhere."

"He don't care," Charles declared. "Had it of m'friend Fenton that he don't."

"Fenton?" Elinor's father asked. "Ain't he married to a Fenton?"

"Yes. Next time, dear boy, you may dine with the children in the nursery," the old man said, glowering. "When I say enough, I mean enough."

"Yes, sir."

The brief diversion thus ended, the meal again became an ordeal of silence for Elinor. She found it rather irritating that she was somehow old enough to wed, yet too innocent to hear the tale of Longford's scandal. Briefly, she considered cornering the hapless Charles after dinner, then realized she probably would not get the chance. Yet as she pushed her food around her plate, she could not help wondering about the black-haired, black-eyed earl who'd told her he was a damnable husband.

Mercifully, no one was inclined to linger over dessert, a confection of sponge cake soaked in rum-laced, sweetened cream, and thus supper came to an end. As the last covers were removed, Lord Kingsley raised his half-empty wineglass to her.

"To Elinor—my lovely, lovely little bride." As her father joined him in the toast, her husband added, "No doubt you would wish to retire, my dear. I shall join you directly."

She'd expected to withdraw with her mother, to share a glass of ratafia or punch with her. Casting about helplessly for the means to delay, she directed a mute appeal to her mother, who merely looked away. Finding no ally, she rose, trying not to betray her nervousness. "Of course, my lord," she managed, dry-mouthed.

"Good night, puss," her father told her.

"In the future, you will address her as Elinor," Lord Kingsley declared coldly. "I had meant to mention that to you earlier, Thomas. She is my baroness now, and as such must command the dignity of her station."

Holding her back straight, she left the room, hearing her father change the subject once again to the Earl of Longford, wondering aloud what the "young devil" had done. She lingered as long as she dared, wanting to know also.

"It's scarcely fit for Lady Ashford's ears, either," Kingsley protested. Then, lowering his voice, he continued, "It will out anyway, I suppose, but Charles had it of young Fenton, the girl's brother, a schoolmate at Harrow."

"Yes—yes," her father interrupted impatiently. "Had what?"

"My dear Thomas, Longford's wife has made him the laughingstock—cuckolded him with Bellamy Town-send."

"Cannot say I blame her," her father admitted. "Fellow's cold. But I thought Townsend was his friend."

"Ah, but she played him false before he got his heir," Lord Kingsley reminded him. "The odd thing was that he didn't call Townsend out."

"I should have thought he'd have killed him anyway. Man's got pride, you know."

"Well, Townsend ain't a complete fool!" Charles snorted. "He wouldn't have gone anyway—denied everything even when caught! Said he was in his cups! Said he wasn't the only one, too. Named a couple of others."

"How very loyal of him," Lady Ashton murmured sarcastically.

"Yes, well, the short of it is that Longford has sued for a separation from his wife, claiming adultery," Kingsley explained.

"Case of the proverbial pot, ain't it?" the boy insisted. "Like there ain't any as knows of his bits of fluff."

"My dear Charles"—the baron's voice was pained— "adultery is not an offense for a man."

"Is he going to sue young Townsend?" Lady Ashton wondered.

"Aye, but it's worse than that—when he was collected of Townsend, he has told the Fentons he means to seek a divorce."

"A divorce!" she gasped. "But the scandal—he will not be received!"

"Precisely," Kingsley agreed. "There is enough dirty linen there to send 'em both into exile for life. And even if he were, which he will not be, a man of his pride will need time to lick his wounds before he comes about. But we tarry needlessly—do you join me for a bit of brandy before you retire?"

Afraid that her mother would come out and catch her eavesdropping, Elinor hurried on up the stairs. But as she reached the top, she fought the urge to flee, to hide from her aged bridegroom. For a moment, she considered it, then thought of her father going to debtor's prison, of her mother struggling to provide for the girls on a pittance from the poor roll, and she knew she had to stay.

Despite the warmth of the fresh-laid fire or the beauty of the room, she wished fervently for her small chamber at Edgehill. When a maid came up behind her, she jumped, panicked.

"Would your ladyship be wishful of assistance?" the girl asked her. The girl. The maid was actually older than she was. When Elinor did not answer, she went into the room and began laying out a new embroidered lawn nightgown and a silk wrapper. "Ohhh—how lovely," she crooned, fingering the delicate stitching at the neck.