The Seduction (46 page)

"Not since we got married, which is all that would be relevant. Besides, I would have to agree to a divorce, and I assure you, I will not. A divorce is impossible."

"That's an odd thing to say, especially for you." Her smile turned mocking. "My darling husband, don't you know money can buy anything?"

"Not a divorce in England, my dear. Things may have changed in the ten years I've been away, but they haven't changed that much. To the best of my recollection, I have not committed adultery since Saturday. I am not insane, neither of us are already married, nor are we related."

He mirrored her mocking smile with one of his own. "And we both know I'm not impotent or homosexual. There are no other possible grounds. Besides, you would have to get the money to sue for divorce from your father. Given his concern for respectability, his support of this marriage, and the scandal such a proceeding would bring, I doubt you'll have much success."

"I have money of my own!"

"Which passes into my control as your husband." He saw her stricken face and realized she'd had no idea that would be the case. But he would not back down. "Feel free to try for a divorce, by all means. You can write as many letters to your solicitors as you wish, but you will do it from Ashton Park." He looked at his pocket watch and said, "It is now three minutes after nine o'clock, and we are leaving at half past. Therefore, you have exactly twenty-seven minutes to put on a dress and be downstairs in the foyer. I suggest you use less time than that if you want to take any clothes with you, since the maids will have to pack them. If you are not in the foyer and ready to leave by half-past nine, I will come up here, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you down to the carriage myself. As you well know, I am quite capable of doing such a thing, and I won't give a damn what you happen to be wearing at the time. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly," she shot back. "When reason fails, use brute force."

"Exactly so."

He stalked to the door and opened it to find a cluster of maids hovering in the hall. They parted to let him pass, and Trevor strode down the hall toward the stairs, thinking, not for the first time, that he was going to earn every shilling of his marriage settlement.

The journey to Kent
was the longest two hours of Margaret's life. Trevor's mother and sister-in-law made no attempts at conversation, and the dowager spent the journey in the dining car. Trevor did not share the train compartment with them either, preferring to spend the brief trip in the smoking car.

Her spirits sank lower with each mile they traveled away from London. Cornelia and Edward were returning to the Kettering estate in Hertfordshire in a few days, and her father planned to leave for New York the following week. She had already learned that Trevor had no plans for them to return to London for the Season, so she would not have that to look forward to. Even though her family promised to visit her in May, that seemed like little consolation to her on a cold and rainy day in March. Her new relations clearly disliked her and would be no substitute for her own
family. She had never felt so alone or so abandoned in her life.

Her mood lightened a bit when they reached the village of Waverly. The mayor and a welcoming committee of other local dignitaries greeted the new earl and his bride at the train platform. With much pomp and ceremony, the mayor made a speech, specifically mentioning the beauty and sweetness of the earl's American bride and how glad they were to meet her. The vicar's wife presented her with a bouquet, and local children sang "Yankee Doodle." The high street was decorated as if for a holiday and crowded with people who waved flags and handkerchiefs and cheered as the two Ashton carriages passed by.

Another stop was made at a platform especially erected for the occasion in the center of town. There were more speeches, more curious stares, and more bouquets.

These people had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to welcome her, and Margaret was quite touched by their efforts. But as they prepared to leave the village and continue the few remaining miles to Ashton Park, she found that it was possible for their enthusiasm to go too far. She watched in astonishment as the horses were unhitched from the carriage and a group of a dozen men prepared to take their place.

"What on earth are they doing?" she asked as Trevor climbed into the lead carriage beside her. The carriage lurched forward, and she gasped, "They aren't going to pull us to your house themselves, are they?"

"Yes, I'm afraid they are," he answered. "It's a tradition."

Margaret's staunchly democratic American heart recoiled from the sight of men pulling a carriage as if they were animals, but the men were laughing and seemed genuinely happy to do it. As they left the village, church bells rang out to send them on their way. She smiled and waved at people as they passed, and she admired the rolling hills and greenery of the countryside. But as they traveled onto Ashton lands, she couldn't help seeing that their condition did not speak of happy prosperity.

She knew nothing about agriculture or the management of country estates, but she did not need that sort of expertise to see that the Ashton lands had been shamefully neglected. About half the fields had obviously lain fallow for several years and were in no condition for spring planting. The fences surrounding the pastures were falling down, and the animals within their confines looked gaunt and listless.

The tenant cottages were in no better condition. Many of them were unoccupied, and those that were lived in looked just as ramshackle as the empty ones. The tenants waved and cheered and followed the carriages as they traveled toward the house, but their joy was a thin veneer over years of neglect. She wondered if the fervent greetings of the townspeople and tenants stemmed as much from hope that things would improve as from tradition.

For the first time, Margaret began to appreciate the enormity of Trevor's responsibilities. She knew how depressed the English economy had been, and how dependent tenants were on the prosperity of their landlords. By all accounts, his brother had been a spendthrift and a fool, and when he had died, Trevor had inherited an incredible burden. She slanted a sideways glance at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet, and she found his handsome profile grimly resigned. It was evident that he fully appreciated the difficulties that lay ahead of him.

Margaret looked down at her hands, hardening her heart. She refused to feel sorry for him. Trevor might have needed an heiress to save his estates, but that did not justify how he had tricked her. There were plenty of American heiresses who would have jumped at the chance to buy the title of Lady Ashton. Why couldn't he have just chosen one of them?

The men pulled the carriage off the main road and down a lane that curved through a forest of chestnut and maple trees. She was beginning to wonder how far these poor men were going to have to haul them when she caught her first glimpse of the house between the trees.

She leaned forward, hoping to see more, but it was not until they had topped a short rise where the forest ended and a valley spread out before them that she got a good look at Ashton Park. Situated on the opposite side of the valley, it was an imposing structure, and Margaret could not help catching her breath at the sight of it.

Centuries had mellowed the limestone walls to the color of honey, and the house was beautifully situated, with fine views in every direction. A stream curved in perfect parallel with the sweeping arc of the graveled drive. Four stories high, with beautifully laid out gardens, terraces and fountains, Ashton Park was the equal in size and architectural beauty to any of the opulent mansions of Newport.

But any similarities to the luxurious houses she was accustomed to ended there, and the closer they got to the building, the more dismayed she became. As they crossed a charming stone bridge and pulled into the drive, where a group of servants were waiting to greet them, she noticed that the stream and ponds were clogged with algae, the gardens hopelessly overgrown, and the magnificent fountains were silent. Everything showed the potential for beauty, but she knew that restoring Ashton Park to its former grandeur would require a great deal of money. Her money, she reminded herself.

The carriage stopped in front of the wide stone steps that led into the house. Trevor jumped down from the carriage and offered his hand to her. She took it and stepped down, glancing around her at the shabby gardens. Something of her dismay must have shown in her face, for his lips tightened into a thin line, but he said nothing.

They walked past the servants and up the front steps, where they paused for more speeches. Trevor spoke to the tenants, saying that although many changes had taken place during the years he had been away, he was glad to see that the tradition of bringing home the bride had not changed one bit. He spoke of continuity, of the land, and of his hopes for a prosperous future.

He held out his hand to Margaret and presented her to the tenants, who cheered more fervently than ever. Trevor released her hand and stepped back, and she realized that she was expected to speak. Totally unprepared, she looked over her shoulder at her husband, shaking her head frantically, but Trevor looked back at her with a resolute expression, and, unless she wanted to make a fool of herself in front of all these people, she knew she had to say something.

"Thank you," she said haltingly, staring down at the sea of faces. Since she fully intended to petition for a divorce, she would be an utter hypocrite to talk of the future or her happiness in her marriage. She simply said, "I am overwhelmed by your kindness. You have truly made me feel welcome."

If they were disappointed by this, they did not show it. There was more cheering and more speeches.

The butler,
Chivers
, spoke next. He presented the bride with a gift from the household, a massive tea tray of solid silver. She accepted it graciously, posed for photographs, and was introduced to the household staff, which consisted of only a dozen servants. They went inside the house, and her first view of the interior did nothing to improve her spirits. It was hideously dark, incredibly ugly, and overly ornate. It was also freezing cold.

They took afternoon tea in the library, a room which, in Margaret's opinion, had only one positive attribute—a blazing fire in the grate. If it was this cold in the house in March, she thought, what must it be like in January?

Trevor did not have tea with them. His steward, Blakeney, called him away to discuss business, and she watched him walk out of the library with a sickening lurch in her stomach. Although he had seemed like a remote stranger ever since their confrontation the day before and was completely different from the exciting, adventurous man she thought she had married, he was still the closest thing to an ally that she had. That was a depressing thought, indeed.

She took tea with the rest of her new family, who made no attempt to include her in their conversation. She sat in an uncomfortable chair of worn velvet that stood in one corner of the room, while the dowager devoured seed cake and cups of tea. Caroline and Elizabeth discussed local gossip involving people of whom she knew nothing.

She knew the two women were shutting her out deliberately, but she was too tired and heartsick to care. She remained silent, wondering wearily just how long it was going to be before she could go to her own room and collapse.

Just when she thought she wouldn't be able to stand it another moment, Trevor reappeared. He took one look at her huddled in the corner and crossed the room to her side. "You look tired, my dear. You must want to rest before dinner."

He held out his hand to her, and she was so grateful for the acknowledgment of her existence that she didn't care about his lies. She put her hand in his and stood up. "I am tired."