The Harlot Bride (5 page)

Instead, Lucy now found herself facing a handsome and powerful figure of a man who could scarcely be more than ten or fifteen years her senior. He was at least two heads taller than herself, and had piercing eyes that suggested superior intelligence and intellect. It was also clear, immediately, that Lord Tazewell was a man who was used to having his way.

“Welcome to Gorham Hall, Miss Farquhar. I apologize that I was not here last night when you arrived. I had pressing business off the estate that required my attention. I’m sure you understand.”

Lucy nodded slightly in acknowledgement of the statement, though she offered nothing to absolve him for what she still considered a serious breech of etiquette. This stubborn and ungenerous refusal to accept his apology was duly noted, and Lord Tazewell’s eyes took on a glint of displeasure with which, having only just arrived in his home, Lucy was not yet acquainted, but would, in very little time, learn to watch for most carefully.

“I trust the staff made you comfortable?” he inquired, his voice even.

“Actually,” Lucy said stiffly, recovering sufficiently from the surprise of his appearance to summon forth indignation at the humiliations she suffered last night, “I passed the night in considerable discomfort. Your man led me to entirely unsuitable quarters, and there was no convincing him that I should be moved, he making the argument that no other rooms were prepared. Nor would he admit me to your own suites, as I argued he should.”

Precisely as Lucy finished this heated soliloquy, a kitchen maid entered with a tray, and when Lord Tazewell did not respond to her grievance, Lucy assumed that he quite reasonably did not wish to discuss the failings of one servant in the presence of another. So she did not press her complaint immediately, feeling certain that he would apologize and set things right once the maid had left. Thus, feeling rather satisfied with herself for speaking up directly, Lucy took up her napkin and spread it in her lap as the serving girl set out dishes, poured tea and took up a position of waiting at the side of the table.

The maid’s continued presence by the table made conversation awkward, at least for Lucy, and in any case, Lord Tazewell seemed more interested in the morning post than in the young woman seated across from him. Lucy took his distraction as an opportunity to observe him, and as she did, she grew increasingly restless. Being generally inexperienced with matters between men and women, Lucy didn’t understand that it was quite naturally the proximity of a formidable male that had contributed to her current state, which is to say that her palms were clammy and her heart was beating faster than normal.

Finally, just as he finished his meal, Lord Tazewell set down his letters and turned his attention to Lucy. He regarded her so directly that she began to color in discomfort, and it was some moments before he spoke.

“In the future,” he said at last, “you will be in your seat before I come to the table, which I do very promptly at half–past six.”

“That’s rather early, isn’t it” Lucy said with a false smile, half as complaint and half as something to say to relieve her rising sense of unease.

He did not reply nor did his gaze falter in the least. He simply looked at her, with an air of annoyance. The serving girl, who had already started to take the dishes away, reacted visibly to the change in her master, and seemed suddenly in a hurry to return to the kitchen, retreating with considerably less than a full load.

Lucy, however, was considerably less perceptive than the maid. “I expect you’ll want me to take over management of the household, as is normal for the lady of the house,” she continued, taking advantage of the girl’s brief absence from the room, “but I’m not clear on when you wish me to assume these duties, and I note than you haven’t introduced me to the staff.”

This statement at least seemed to get his attention, but he did not respond immediately. He set down his teacup, regarding her coolly.

“You are quite right,” Lord Tazewell said at last, although he did not use the self–deprecating tone Lucy might expect from a person who had forgotten to do something so obvious. In fact, there was something vaguely menacing about the way he said those four words, and after a brief but somehow ominous pause, he continued: “I shall rectify the situation immediately.”

The serving girl had returned, and was hovering behind him in the doorway as if afraid to enter the room. He must have sensed her because he couldn’t have seen her, behind him as she was, and he addressed her without turning in her direction.

“Betts, please tell Mrs. Deegers I wish to speak with her, here, in the dining room, and that I ask that she bring Fletcher when she comes.”

It was impossible for Lucy not to note the way the maid jumped when the earl spoke, and the frightened little curtsy she made to him before she hastened off on her errand. He must be quite strict with the staff, Lucy thought idly, never for a moment thinking that his treatment of the servants might carry some implication for her own self as well.

In truth, Lucy had felt momentarily pleased that her husband had responded so quickly to her petition, but soon enough her sense of triumph began to flag slightly. If she had been honest with herself, she would have acknowledged that his immediate return to silence unnerved her. The man did not address her, nor even look at her, as he waited for the summoned servants. In fact, Lord Tazewell had simply returned to the morning’s post as if she wasn’t even there.

Mrs. Deegers, Lucy assumed, must be the housekeeper, and Fletcher, the butler. Lucy certainly would have appreciated a few words of explanation before she met the staff. They had presumably been in her husband’s service for quite some time, and it would have cost him little to offer her some small counsel about managing the household, even if it were only sharing observations concerning the various servants’ strengths and weaknesses.

Not four minutes had passed, in this uncomfortable silence, when a stout middle–aged woman in long skirts and a starched white apron and cap appeared at the door, followed by a taciturn man in uniform, the same insolent butler who had so ill–served her the previous evening.

“My Lord?” The older woman curtsied. “Betts came with a message that you wished to speak with us.”

Lord Tazewell pushed his chair back and turned it slightly to the right so he might better see the pair by the door. Then he extended his left hand in Lucy’s direction and motioned for her to stand. She was confused by the gesture, even irritated, for she felt it her right, as lady of the house, to remain seated in the presence of the servants. She hesitated, wondering if he could really intend that she should rise.

“Stand, young woman!” Lord Tazewell snapped. “Quickly!”

Lucy stood, a flush of anger rising from her bosom into her neck and face. But she held her tongue, unwilling to treat the servants on her very first morning to any display of marital discord, tempting though it was to tell this impossible man exactly how she felt about him taking that imperious tone with her.

“Fletcher, Mrs. Deegers,” he began. “I present to you Miss Lucy Farquhar, or should I say the
former
Miss Lucy Farquhar, as I have, in fact, taken her as my legal wife.”

That, at least, was an answer to one of Lucy’s many questions, but why hadn’t he had the consideration to speak to her of it directly, given that it was a matter that he could hardly suppose she considered of no consequence? The butler made a slight bow in Lucy’s direction, and the housekeeper made a grudging curtsy, but neither smiled. The older woman’s eyes were hooded and unwelcoming.

“However,” Lord Tazewell continued, his gazed fixed sternly upon his bride, “as I am certain you both, and indeed the entire staff, are well aware, Lucy comes to us under the cloud of a scandal, one entirely of her own making.”

Lucy reddened. How dare he!

“This being the case, she will, for the foreseeable future, enjoy none of the rights or privileges of a married woman, nor will she be treated, by you or me or anyone else at Gorham Hall, as the lady of the manor. You, Mrs. Deegers, may continue to manage my household as you always have done, and you remain accountable to me and me alone.”

The housekeeper nodded, a thin smile upon her lips. There was no doubt where her loyalty lay, nor how she felt about her master’s choice of a bride.

“You may address her simply as Lucy,” Lord Tazewell continued, “or Miss Lucy, if you wish. But no higher forms of address will be necessary unless I inform you otherwise, and that I am unlikely to do so for a very long time, if ever.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Lucy shall have no duties other than to obey me and to make herself available when I desire her.” Lucy reddened considerably at the insinuation of these words. “You and your staff shall serve her as you would a guest in my house, providing meals and laundering for her. Mary can be spared for an hour in the morning to tend to Lucy’s room and fire and to help her dress, but beyond that, you need not trouble yourselves at all with her comfort.”

The housekeeper’s smile had spread nearly into a smirk, one that Lucy would have loved to slap right off the hateful woman’s face.

“Within these boundaries, Lucy may make
requests
of the servants, and I trust everyone in this room has noted that I have stressed the word ‘
request.
’”

“If Lucy is anything but polite with anyone on the staff, even Mary or Betts or the stable boys, I wish it reported to me immediately so I may correct her. And I wish the staff to understand that such correction is likely to be frequent, and quite possibly public, until my young bride has been taught to conduct herself in a manner that I consider suitable. Have you any questions?”

“No, my lord.”

“Good. Then inform the rest of the staff of my instructions. Thank you, you are dismissed.”

As soon as the servants left the room, Lucy sat down hard in her seat. It may be more accurate to say that she collapsed into her chair. Yet by the time Lord Tazewell had turned back towards the table, Lucy had recovered sufficiently to find her tongue.

“How…how dare you!” she sputtered indignantly.

“You asked to be introduced to the help, Lucy, and I have done so,” Lord Tazewell said, not even trying to mask the amusement in his voice. “I would have thought you would find it sufficiently instructive to be humiliated before only the most senior members of my household, but if you prefer to pretend that you are too dull–witted to grasp your situation, then I am more than willing to stand you before an assembly of the entire staff and repeat the lesson.”

Lucy hesitated, furious yet fearful that he might well carry through with this threat. She opened her mouth, unsure what would come out, but before she could form even the first word he cut her off with a question.

“That will be fine for the present but I’ll order a proper riding habit made for you. I wish for you to accompany me on my rounds of the estate every morning. In the future, dress yourself in the morning in clothing suitable for riding, as it is my custom to set out as soon as I have taken my morning meal. I wish you to ride with me.”

Lucy started at the man in disbelief. Riding!?

Chapter 4

Having issued his instructions, Lord Tazewell naturally expected Lucy to take her leave. Thus, when she did not, he very quickly became cross.

“Go on, girl. Do as I say, and quickly! Go up to your room and change into your riding costume.”

Lucy rose hesitantly, quite unsure whether she wished to go anywhere with this impossible man. She was, in fact, an expert horsewoman, and very fond of riding, having grown up with an entire stable full of horses in India. Lucy had missed riding terribly while living with her great aunt and uncle, who could not keep horses in London, certainly not given their modest means. So, if truth be told, it was not at all unwelcome news for Lucy to hear that she would again have a horse at her disposal.

Yet it was impossible to forgive the deep affront she had just suffered in front of the servants. And, as a result, Lucy was unwilling to concede that she was pleased about the prospect of a daily ride. She kept her face impassive as she stared across the table at her adversary.

“Go upstairs immediately and change into your riding clothes,” Lord Tazewell commanded, his irritation growing. “Present yourself at the stable within the half hour, and my man Tom will fit you with a mare and lady’s saddle.”

“I prefer a regular saddle,” Lucy objected immediately. “I never used side saddles in India.”

Lord Tazewell stared at her, his displeasure now obvious, even to one as lacking in perception as Lucy.

“Be that as it may,” he said as he rose from the table, “you shall ride like a lady with me. I shan’t permit any female on my estate to shamelessly rub her fundament up and down a saddle horn in plain view of my tenants and neighbours.”

To say that this explicit language shocked Lucy would be an understatement, but, having already come to the stubborn decision that she would arrive at the stable before His Lordliness and inform the stable master that he may provide her with a regular saddle, she kept herself steady and choose not to waste any further words on the subject of the her mount. Determined not to back down on this, or anything else, for that matter, she kept her gaze steady and her chin high.

“And Lucy,” Lord Tazewell said, a new coldness in his tone, “if you attempt to circumvent my instructions on this ––I warn you here and now – I shall take hold of you right there at the stable and apply my riding crop smartly to your backside until you cry and beg for mercy. And I shall administer said discipline upon bare flesh, and in the full view of the stable master and whomsoever of his boys as may be present.”