The Brideship Wife Page 2

  I had no inkling about what was on Wiggles’s mind, but I was happy to have a good excuse to call on her. In the three years since I moved into Harriet’s home, I’d seen her less and less, and I missed her dearly. She was always the calm voice of reason, something I could definitely use right now. I scribbled a note of acceptance to Wiggles and passed it back to the abigail for delivery.

  “Your sister is ready for you downstairs,” Jane said.

  “Thank you, Jane. Tell her I’ll be right down.”

  After she left, I looked at my face one more time in the mirror. I thought of Harriet and Charles. I owed them a great debt. Harriet and I did not inherit our father’s estate, and I had nowhere to go after Papa’s funeral. Hari and Charles had immediately taken me in. As much as I complained about Charles, he had shown me great kindness when I needed it most. And now I must return the favour. I just wished I had more time. I closed the jewellery box and steeled myself for the night to come.

  Chapter Three

  I caught my breath as the butler flung open the doors to the stone patio, and Hari and I stepped through the glass-paned French doors and took in the rolling lawn, formal gardens, and Lake Lily. My sister was always one to make a grand entrance. Her smile was wide, and her face glowed without a trace of our earlier fraught discussion.

  Harriet had christened her glittering Mayday evening soirée “A Fairy’s Garden Party,” and I had to admit, it was fair billing. Her reputation as a brilliant hostess was well-earned.

  Delicate lights shimmered about the grounds and glowed throughout the formal gardens. Long glass cylinders each housing a candle hung on the acacia trees dotting the lawn, and small lanterns wound around the garden pathways, from the patio to the lake, and along a hundred or so feet of shoreline, creating what looked like laneways for wood nymphs. Harriet, with an ever-present eye for detail, had directed the gardeners to row over to the small island, just offshore, and place lights along its dock. It made me want to visit the island to see the view of the party from there.

  I squeezed Hari’s hand. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “You can have a home like this too if you play your cards right,” she said, already surveying the crowd of guests, nodding and exchanging smiles. “Oh there’s Lady Persephone Fitzwilliam, the prime minister’s cousin. Good! I wasn’t sure she would come. I’ll be sure to sit with her during the midnight supper.”

  The idea of my own elegant home was a bit seductive, I thought, as I inhaled the intoxicating aroma of fresh-cut grass, lavender, and camellias. Nearby, the string quartet struck up a Mozart minuet. I reached for a flute of champagne from a passing tray. It was tart but delicious, and the tiny bubbles burst and tickled my nose.

  Just as I was beginning to lose myself in the fantasy of Hari’s make-believe world, I noticed the patio tables that were set up for games of cards and chance.

  “You’re your mother’s daughter,” I told Hari. “It’s not a party without card games.”

  “But you were the one most like her when it came to cards. You always won,” she said with a laugh.

  Mama gambled, in a very ladylike fashion, of course, but she taught herself strategies and became an expert in games of chance. Tea and cards games at our home always involved small bets. She taught me as well, so that I could be a fourth when needed, and I loved to play. It was one of the few ways my mother took interest in me. A brilliant marriage for Hari was all she had focused on. “Hari is our one great hope,” she’d say. “She will restore the fortunes of our family and save us all.” It was too bad Mama hadn’t lived to see her wish come true.

  I didn’t notice Charles until he was standing next to us. “There you are, Charlotte,” he said. “Perfect timing, and I’ll say again, you do look exceptionally lovely this evening.” He took my elbow and propelled me forward. “I just saw George chatting with a group of men over on the lawn. Follow me.”

  Hari took my other arm, and I allowed myself to be led, still reluctant to seal my fate with George. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason why, but something nagged at me. Of the handful of times I’d seen him, he seemed like a perfectly good sort, but dull as dishwater.

  Our progress was slow. It was always like that when I tried to walk anywhere in public with Charles and Hari. As we passed groups of guests, they broke apart, the men approaching us to shake Charles’s hand and the women nodding respectfully to Hari. It seemed everyone wanted a word. Charles took it all in good humour; in fact, he revelled in it.

  The only one who didn’t step forward to shake Charles’s hand was a very distinguished man I recognized as Lord Ralston, a grizzled old warhorse in a top hat and tails. Charles didn’t move to greet him either.

  Beside me, Harriet whispered, “Don’t they remind you of a couple of stallions fighting for control of the herd?”

  Lord Ralston stood very still, taking the measure of the up-and-comer. I could see that he was reluctant to cede the turf Charles was moving into, but after a moment, he tipped his hat and Charles acknowledged the gesture with a slight, smug nod.

  Harriet fit well into Charles’s political circles, looking every bit the part. Her gold taffeta gown fell in soft folds over her statuesque figure and set off her pale, patrician face with its high cheekbones, square jaw, and long, thin nose. The final touch was a tiara expertly entwined in her artfully constructed blond curls. Our mother would have been so proud. Harriet was everything I was not, and I suspected people thought that she was the one beauty of the family.

  “Poor, dear Charlotte,” I could imagine them saying. “Her star can never hope to burn as bright as her sister’s. Such a pity she didn’t inherit the tall, willowy frame and the taste in clothing to show it off.”

  I caught sight of our destination, a group of men engaged in an animated discussion, and my throat went dry. I knew I would be expected to make witty small talk, something I dreaded. As we neared the men, there was a burst of raucous laughter at some shared joke, but it faded when Harriet held out her hand. The group parted to make room for the three of us, and each man gallantly took Hari’s hand, bestowing a small kiss, an homage to her beauty and to her place in society. I tried to stay back, but Charles pushed me forward once again.

  “Gentlemen, I am sure you all know my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Harding?” he said.

  George was the only one to reach for my hand. His was large and fleshy with surprisingly soft skin.

  “Of course, the lovely Miss Harding,” he murmured as he held my hand to his lips and brushed it with his sticky-wet moustache. “A delight to see you again. I hope you’ll do me the honour of stepping out with me tonight. Perhaps a walk along the shoreline to admire the lanterns?”

  “Charlotte will be flattered to join you, George,” Charles said with an ingratiating smile.

  “Yes, I’m sure I should enjoy that,” I murmured dutifully.

  George seemed pleased, and Charles nodded to Sandwell. His butler snapped his fingers at one of the servants carrying champagne, and within seconds, we were offered fresh glasses.

  I took a glass and held it to the light, pretending to examine the colour and lustre of the wine, while I looked anew at the man with whom I might spend the rest of my life. He was clearly beginning to show the first signs of oncoming middle age. His gold hair was thinning but still no sign of grey. The cheeks of his jovial face were rounding, the neck thickening. A slightly bulbous red nose was crisscrossed with spider veins, the telltale signs that he drank to excess. His throat bulged over the tight, high collar of his dress shirt, while his stomach strained against the confines of a cummerbund. Clearly not the Prince Charming of most young girls’ dreams, but he had a comfortable, solid look.

  As the servant bent forward to offer a delicate flute of champagne, I heard George quietly mutter, “Have you got anything more substantial? I’m not a big fan of the bubbly.” The man nodded and headed off discreetly.

  “I distinctly heard a peal of laughter as we approached your group,” Harr
iet said, commanding the group’s attention. “And I demand to be let in on your joke.”

  “Ah, that. We were making light of the petition brought to the House of Lords demanding the vote for women,” George explained on behalf of the group. “Someone suggested that getting the vote would surely encourage women to become involved in politics, a soul-destroying enterprise if there ever was one. Another countered that it wouldn’t be a problem because he wasn’t sure women actually have souls.” He sputtered with laughter and the rest of the group joined in. The servant returned with a tray carrying a large tumbler of Scotch for George, who drained it within a few seconds.

  What a bunch of buffoons, I thought, but I kept a polite smile on my face. Charles would not appreciate me looking at George like he was an unbridled idiot.

  Harriet fluttered her ivory-and-feather fan. “I am more than happy to leave the politics in the family to my husband. It’s his passion, not mine. My one role is to be his hostess.”

  “But you’re forgetting your other, more important role, that of a wife and mother,” George said.

  A shadow seemed to flit across Harriet’s face.

  “My wife would never forget those obligations, would you, dear?” Charles’s look held little affection.

  I felt embarrassed for Harriet and struck up the courage to change the topic. “Charles tells me you are the government’s whip, Mr. Chalmers. I know little of what that role entails. I imagine it’s very challenging?”

  “Yes, indeed. It seems the prime minister doesn’t wish to make a single decision without my input, and on the other end of things, I have to ride the junior members of Parliament very hard to keep them in line. Long hours with no time off, but I don’t complain. It’s for the good of the nation and the empire.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Charles interrupted. “I’ll leave you to get better acquainted while I attend to some of the other guests.”

  As he moved off, the conversation shifted to the questionable thrills of foxhunting. George then began telling a dull story that had something to do with the construction of the perfect duck blinds. Stifling a yawn, I glanced longingly over at the card games, and when I turned back to the dwindling circle, I caught Harriet scanning the crowd of a hundred or so people.

  “Who are you looking for?” I asked under my breath.

  “Just making sure everything is as it should be,” she replied, but I saw her eyes rest on Charles. He was speaking with a young woman I knew to be a recent widow.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and raised her eyebrows towards George as she brushed past me.

  I nodded, then drained my glass. Fortification for completing the task before me. Eying my empty drink, George stepped forward and offered his hand. “Shall we?”

  He took my arm and steered me in the direction of the lake. As we walked along the well-lit path that wound through the flower gardens and acacia trees from the house to the lake, he talked about his speaking engagements. It seemed that all the best men’s clubs in London were perpetually begging him to enlighten their members regarding the state of the empire. Then, when I stopped to examine a rose, he took the opportunity to lean close to me.

  “You look ravishing tonight, Miss Harding.” I felt his lips brush my ear. “Good enough to get a man thinking thoughts he ought not to. Do you know you torture me?”

  I focused on the flower in front of me, unsure how to react. Part of me wanted to wave him away, but another part wanted to hear more. I felt a small fluttering thrill to think I could have this effect on a man. It would make marriage to him so much more palatable if he was truly captivated by me.

  “Look here.” George pointed through the twilight to the shoreline. “A rowboat. How about we take a romantic ride over to the island and see what the party looks like from that vantage point. A fine treat for us both, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I would love to do just that.” I smiled, pleased that we shared a certain sensibility. Perhaps he had just been trying to impress me with his self-importance. He was probably feeling a bit nervous, as I was. Maybe we would find we had much in common as we got to know each other better. “I’ve never actually been to the island before,” I said as we neared the dock. “Hari only has the boats brought out for parties.”

  “Charles and I used to row out there when we were children and swim all day.”

  The thought of Charles as a young, carefree boy made me laugh. As an adult he was always so serious, so bent on his future in politics.

  With surprising dexterity, George helped me step off the short dock and into the boat, then settled himself easily onto the opposite seat. He pushed away from shore and started to row with determination. When he began to perspire, he asked my permission to remove his jacket.

  “Certainly,” then catching sight of a cluster of lily pads, I said, “Oh, look, let’s row over there. I can pick a flower for my hair. The yellow ones are especially lovely, don’t you think?”

  “My vision is already filled with a picture of loveliness,” he said, gazing intently at me. “A mere water lily can’t compete.”

  I smiled sweetly at his attempt at gallantry. I imagined us ten years on, a couple who had grown very fond of each other. We would have pet names, and I could see us stepping out in matching tweed outfits for our daily strolls. Comfortable, if unexceptional.

  George did not stop to pick a flower but continued to make a beeline for the island. As the boat rammed the dock, I lurched forward in my seat and fought a wave of nausea. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and when I opened them, I saw that George was already up and out of the boat, securing it to the dock.

  “Come along, my dear,” he said.

  “Just a minute.” I struggled to untuck my feet from my long skirts and clamber up beside him. As I was brushing my gown, I felt his hand on the small of my back.

  “Look up,” he said softly.

  “Oh! It’s gorgeous.” From where we stood together on the dock, the lights and sounds of Harriet’s party were truly a thing of beauty. The starry sky above the haloed lights, the soft lilting notes of the string quartet occasionally interrupted by happy shouts of laughter, were even more appealing with distance and perspective.

  It was enchanting, and rather romantic, and I moved to lean into him, thinking this was the moment he might propose. But he was twisting away, scanning the topography of the island.

  “There it is.” He gestured to a tiny cottage tucked away in the trees. “The old summer bathing house. Its front porch has a large swing chair just big enough for two. Let’s give it a try.”

  “But what about the party?” I asked.

  “We’ll go back. Don’t worry,” he said, giving me a sheepish look. “I’m afraid I’m not as young as I used to be. I just need a moment to rest before rowing again.”

  I hesitated for a moment, then remembered Harriet’s and Charles’s admonishments to not let them down. The swing chair sounded like the perfect spot.

  As we moved inland through the looming trees, the yellow light from the lanterns along the shore faded into a muted grey and the tinkling music and giddy laughter from the party dulled into flat noise. It was difficult to see in the increasing darkness, but George guided me over the ground brush. We stumbled a little as we went, and a thornbush snagged my bare forearm, leaving itchy pricks in my skin. When we finally mounted the wooden steps of the porch, I felt a surge of relief. There was a charming old swing, just as George had described, though the unmistakable sweet odour of rotting wood hung in the air. With a sigh, I dropped into the chair, leaving ample room for George, but he immediately went to the cottage door and gave it a resounding kick with the heel of his boot to open it.

  “You must see this first, my dear. It’s quite exquisite—a lovely representation of the arts-and-crafts style of interior design. Charles’s family never did spare any extravagance.”

  I reluctantly got up and peered in. “I can’t quite make it out now. Perhaps we will have to come back to see it in the
light of day.”

  “No, no. Just move inside a little ways while I light this old lantern from the porch.”

  Darkness enveloped me as I stepped over the threshold, then a light flared behind me, just bright enough for me to make out the room. The space held nothing more than a large metal-frame bed with an old, stained mattress, pushed up against one wall.

  My earlier nausea returned with a vengeance. This was not decent. Surely George knew that. What was he thinking? Before I could turn to leave, I felt a sharp blow to the base of my neck. A bright yellow light exploded in the back of my eyes, and hot tendrils of pain flared upwards from the bottom of my skull. I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t breathe. I felt myself falling, and then all went black.

  Chapter Four

  When I came to, my first clear thought was for air. I gasped, taking long jagged breaths as the scene before me came into focus. In the half-light of the lantern, George was pulling at his clothing, his face flushed a deepening shade of red. My head throbbing, I looked down at myself. My skirts were lifted to my waist, garters broken, stockings sagging. My bloomers were torn and at my knees. Panic washed over me, a dizzying wave of nausea and fear.

  “George!” I cried, reaching for my underclothes. “You’re Charles’s friend. He would be shock—”

  “Shut up, you silly bitch!”

  A slap stung my face and I tasted blood. Who was this man before me? My body began to tremble as my heart thumped in my chest. How could I stop him?

  George cursed as he struggled with the tiny clasps that held his cummerbund in place. “Stupid goddamned monkey suit.” At that moment, the final clasp on his cummerbund gave way and he flung it to the floor, then shed his trousers, revealing his undershorts. His manhood bulged beneath the thin fabric.

  “No, no, no!” I protested, tears springing to my eyes.

  George knelt on my legs, pinning them down. “It’s always much more civilized if you just lay still. I’ll be done in a minute.”

  With sickening dread, I realized this wasn’t the first time he had done this. I began to scream, but he covered my mouth with his hand. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll tell them you seduced me in order to force marriage. Whose version do you think people will believe?” His words stung like the slap. I knew his story would be unquestioned. “There’s no future for you if you talk. No one else will want my leavings. Do you understand?”