Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (7 page)

"I am truly sorry, my dear," said the duke gently. "I have no choice. Happiness is a transportable quality, you know."

"Not into the debauch you describe," protested Beth, raising her head. She knew there were tears on her face and was willing for once in her life to use this feminine weakness to gain her end.

If the duke was touched by them he did not show it. "If the marquess conducts debauches it will be outside his home, I can assure you of that. I can control him, and I promise you will suffer no insult. You may want to consider that one advantage of being very rich and of the highest estate is to be able to arrange your life to suit yourself. If you set up separate apartments and fill yours with poets, philosophers, and artists, no one will be surprised. Once you are with child you may live apart if you wish. No one will object."

"Not even my husband?"

"Least of all him."

Beth found that the most chilling statement of all. Where in this was Mary Wollstonecraft's ideal of marriage, one based on the highest moral standards, mutual respect, and friendship?

"But I will have to submit to this man," she said faintly, "and bear his children."

The duke nodded. "That is unfortunately true. There is no more impersonal way of achieving the purpose. I have to say, however, though you may find it indelicate, that his expertise in that matter should make it possible to achieve the purpose with as little distress to you as possible."

Expertise? Beth shuddered. Was that to be put in the scale against purity and respect? Beth knew her cheeks were red, but she would not hide them again. "I really have no choice, do I? Are you not ashamed of what you are doing?"

He made no reply, though she thought her words had reached him. She added rather helplessly, "What will Aunt Emma think?"

"I suggest you pretend to be willing. If you tell her of the coercion involved she will be obliged to refuse to accept the sacrifice. I will only find other more formidable weapons."

Feeling bruised, Beth rose unsteadily to her feet. "What do I have to do?"

He rose too and began to pull on his gloves. "I will send Arden down and you can become acquainted. He will, for common knowledge, fall madly in love and sweep you off to his family. After a suitable but short period you will be married."

Beth had felt herself no longer capable of shock but that did stun her. "I am to live in your house? What will your wife think?"

"She will be delighted," he replied. "She misses her daughters. We are all civilized people, and if we are careful this can be managed without hurt to any party."

Beth raised her chin. "Balderdash," she said and marched out to find Aunt Emma.

* * *

During the next weeks the whole school was aware of the change in Miss Armitage. Where once she had been noted for her patience and composure, now her nerves were constantly on end, her attention inclined to wander. Beth was not helped by the fact that Aunt Emma saw her swift agreement to the duke's outrageous plan as a sign that she had abandoned the principles they had shared through the years.

If it hadn't been for the daily deterioration in the situation in France, Beth knew she would have been subjected to even more questions and dissuasions. Wryly, she acknowledged she had something for which to thank the Corsican Monster. But even that could not make her feel anything but horror at the news that Napoleon was once more in Paris. He had the audacity to seek peace treaties with the other European nations, to try to have them acknowledge him again as ruler of France. That time was past, however, and for once the nations were holding together in a Grand Alliance.

Beth's satisfaction at that was drowned, however, when she was once again summoned to the parlor. She could have no illusion that the cause was anything except her own private disaster.

It was again Clarissa who came with a message that Miss Armitage was wanted in the yellow parlor. As Beth wiped suddenly damp palms on her apron the girl said, "Miss Armitage, could I speak to you—"

"Not now, Clarissa," said Beth as she hurried off.

Once more she stopped before the large mirror. Her decorous green-stripe muslin was covered by a voluminous plain white apron, for she had been teaching calligraphy, which always resulted in inky fingers and splatters from poorly mended pens. She decided to leave it on. Her neat fitted cap covered all her hair except a few chestnut curls. Roughly, she attempted to push them out of sight. The cap was decorated with a pretty bow over her left ear, and she pulled her scissors from the case in her pocket and snipped it off.

She was, after all, no beauty, and there was always the chance that if she made herself sufficiently ugly the Marquess of Arden would rebel. He was a man and a rich aristocrat and could not be as far under the duke's control as she.

When she was sure she had done her worst, she walked boldly into the room.

There was no sign of Miss Mallory, just a man. The Marquess of Arden.

Beth felt her confidence seep out through the soles of her slippers. He was not a debauched fop. Instead he was everything she feared in men—tall, strong, and arrogant. She saw the flash of disgust at her appearance before it was hidden under ice-cool manners, and even though she had hoped for it, that further depleted her confidence.

He made a slight bow. "Miss Armitage."

She did her best to compete. She made a slight curtsy, "My Lord Marquess."

They stared at one another for a moment then Beth said, "Please be seated, my lord." She chose a chair for herself, one as far away from him as possible.

How ridiculous it was to imagine herself married to such a man. He was a being from another world.

His features reminded her of pictures of the Greek gods, an impression augmented by the style of his bright curls. His eyes were the clear blue of the summer sky and ridiculously fine for a man. He was head and shoulders taller than she and twice as broad. Growing up tall in a society of women, Beth was always made uneasy by height.

Lucien wondered how anyone would believe he had fallen in love with such a plain Jane. She was not exactly ugly—her features were regular and her figure appeared average under an unbecoming gown and a concealing apron—but there was nothing remarkable about her at all. He sighed. He had no choice.

Beth heard the sigh and tightened her lips. She was not about to attempt polite conversation.

The marquess suddenly stood up again. "Come here."

Beth looked up in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"Come here. I want to look at you in the light."

"Go to the devil," said Beth clearly and was pleased to see him blink with surprise. After a moment a smile softened his beautiful mouth.

"We are in a mess, aren't we?"

Beth relaxed a little but hoped it didn't show. "Our predicament is of your family's contrivance, my lord, and the solution is to your family's benefit."

He was studying her cynically. "You see no gain for yourself in this, Miss Armitage?"

"None at all."

He sat again, his mouth retaining a trace of humor. "Is there nothing in life you want which you do not now have?" he asked indulgently in the manner of one used to purchasing anything, including people.

"My freedom," Beth replied. It wiped all humor from his face.

"None of us are ever entirely free," he said quietly. "We must marry, Miss Armitage. There is no avoiding it. But I will be as considerate of you as I can. You have my word on it."

It was, she supposed, an admirable expression of intent, but she saw it as a declaration of dominance. He, the ruler, was promising not to mistreat his vassal.

"I will have more than that," she said, having thought on the subject a great deal since the duke's visit. "I want a handsome settlement of independent income. I will not be dependent on your good will."

He stiffened. "It has already been arranged by my father, Miss Armitage. But, I'm sorry, it only comes into effect after you have borne me two sons."

Beth lowered her head. For all the boldness of her demands she had no leverage, and they both knew it. Moreover, this frank talk of children frightened her. Beth had not been raised in ignorance of the mechanics of procreation. At this moment, she wished she had been.

He stood again and walked over to stare into the fire. "There's no point in this, is there?" he asked bitterly. She hoped for a moment that he was rejecting the whole idea, but he simply turned and said, "Miss Armitage, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Beth stood, too, and swallowed. She considered a further appeal but knew it would do no good. If the de Vaux family wanted her chopped in pieces and served for dinner there was nothing she could do about it.

"I suppose I must," she said.

He produced a ring from his pocket. He would have put it on her finger, but Beth held out her right hand, palm up and after a moment he dropped the ring into it. It was a large diamond surrounded by emeralds and not new. Probably a family heirloom. She placed it on her ring finger herself. It looked utterly ridiculous there.

"What happens now?" she asked, trying to ignore the shackle. She suddenly realized he might expect a symbolic kiss and looked at him in alarm.

Such a thought had obviously not crossed his mind. "I see no point in delaying matters. Come with me now and I will take you to Belcraven."

"Tomorrow. I must gather my belongings."

"There's no need to bring much," he said with a dismissive glance at her attire. "We will buy you a new wardrobe."

Beth drew herself up. "I prefer my own clothes, thank you, Lord Arden. Your father said I need only marry you, live in your house, and bear your children. He said nothing of allowing you to dress me to suit your fancy."

"As you wish, Miss Armitage," said the marquess through tight lips.

Beth dropped him a straight-backed curtsy.

Insolently, he gave her a full court bow, then walked out of the room.

Chapter 4

The next day, waiting for the marquess to arrive, Beth was prey to a distressing degree of nervousness, not helped by Miss Mallory's poorly concealed anxiety.

"Are you
quite
sure, Beth? Do but consider. Once away from here anything could happen to you."

Beth summoned up a cheerful smile for the woman who had been like a mother. "Please don't fret, Aunt Emma. I have the twenty guineas you gave me in my hidden pocket. If anything goes amiss I will fly back to the nest. And when I have my philosophical salon established in London you must come and visit me and meet Hannah More and Mr. Wilberforce."

"Even that is not worth selling yourself for, Beth. The marquess is not a sympathetic man. I can sense such things. How will you endure it?"

"I think you malign him," said Beth, hugging Miss Mallory. It was not a total falsehood. The marquess might be a man of fashion, but he had been sensitive to all the awkwardness of their situation, and he had not forced any physical attentions or false sentiment upon her.

As the coach drew up, she saw he was showing his sensitivity further by riding alongside the luxurious chariot instead of inside with her.

After waving a last farewell to Miss Mallory and a few of the older pupils, Beth collapsed back against thickly padded silk squabs and rested her feet on an embroidered footstool. A soft woolen blanket lay nearby in case she should be cold and velvet curtains could be drawn to ensure her privacy. She admonished herself not to be swayed by such trifling luxuries, but she could not help feeling the contrast between this and her few other journeys, which had been taken on the public stage.

She leaned out for a last acknowledgment of the farewells and only realized as the coach carried her out of sight that one of the waving senior girls had been Clarissa Greystone, and she had been crying. Beth liked the girl and had talked with her from time to time, but she had not thought Clarissa would be so upset at her departure.

Then she remembered how Clarissa had tried to speak to her the day before. It was too late now, but she wished she had found the time. The girl had been unhappy lately. Perhaps she had a brother in the army, though Beth did not think so.