To Be Seduced (11 page)

Bethany stared at his back as he left, swallowing tears. She didn’t know if they came from hurt or from anger, but the latter quickly won out. The tankard in her hand flew across the room and clanged against the wooden slabs of the door. A sob tore out of her throat, followed by another. Before she knew it, she shook with the strength of her weeping.

Much later, she examined her swollen-eyed reflection in the mirror hanging in her bedchamber with one thought in her head. If Richard Harcourt wanted a fashionable marriage, she vowed, she would give him one. With that, she shoved the chest in front of the chamber door and crawled into bed.

The next several days passed in a state of armed truce between Lord Harcourt and his new Lady. She gladly took over the details of setting up housekeeping in Saint Clement’s Lane. Keeping busy helped her from demonstrating the pain she felt at her husband’s rejection.

He seemed satisfied to leave the process of removing from his lodgings to her and even unbent enough to deal with such matters as paying his overdue rent and several other bills. When she asked Lane about wages owed to him, he informed her that “Master Richard” had paid him to date from Mr. Armitage’s purse.

Bethany had directed the banker to reimburse himself of the funds owed, which he had done with alacrity. His manner toward her had changed since her unfeminine insistence on gaining the use of her own money before she wed. He now regarded her with as much disapproval as he did her lord, although his naturally scrupulous nature did not permit him to tamper with her funds.

Happily, Mr. Leafley’s tone of mind was not so nice. He proved as good as his word when she turned to him for assistance. With his good advice, she drew up a plan for the best use of her funds. She admitted to disappointment that she would not be able to live as extravagantly as she might have liked, but the gratification of making her own decisions for the first time in her life compensated for it.

She discharged some of Richard’s bills relating to housekeeping, but left the rest for him. And she refused to touch his gambling debts. She noticed the pile of old notes of hand on the writing table decreasing steadily, although new ones appeared regularly. At least those amounts appeared to be much smaller than the older ones.

While Richard spent most of his time away from their rooms, he did respond to her queries about his preferences for their living arrangements. She refused to ask him more than absolutely necessary, but could not avoid such subjects as his requirements in a valet or his preferences for a cook.

Thanks to Lane, she acquired a maid in the person of his sweetheart from the Mermaid. A plump little creature of thirty years, optimistically named Faith, she took over cleaning and the little cooking done in their rooms as well as fulfilling Bethany’s basic needs for a lady’s maid. She quickly decided to teach the girl to read in hopes that she might someday prove a valuable housekeeper.

Meanwhile the maid accompanied her to shops for propriety’s sake. Lady Harcourt had no intention of hiding at home while her husband roamed all over town, and she took care to select a suitable wardrobe. It also allowed her to avoid the loneliness she felt in his absence.

It struck her the night before they were to settle into Lord Rothley’s house that she might suffer from Richard’s absence less in a larger house than in the two rooms where reminders of him surrounded her.

The next day her husband acknowledged their marriage long enough to escort her to Saint Clement’s Lane. They spoke little during their walk from Henrietta Street, although he treated her with his customary courtesy. Her heart sank lower with every passing step.

He had not come to her since their wedding night. On the rare occasions he had returned home from his carousing before dawn, he had simply rolled up in his cloak before the fireplace. When she began moving about the room, he would awake and move into the bedchamber, there to sleep well into the day.

Even the sight of their new quarters failed to cheer her up. A smooth brick front rose straight up from the walkway, with diamond-paned windows set in whitewashed frames above and on either side of the door. Inside, fireplaces warmed each room on the first two floors, giving it an atmosphere of ease and comfort. Lane and Faith had arrived earlier by wagon with the Harcourts’ small store of possessions.

His uncle bade them welcome with tankards of Lady Rothley’s best cider, sent down in his returned coach. He also informed Bethany that the coach had delivered her things from Abberley as well. She cheered up slightly at this sign that her mother had acceded to the marriage.

“I have a chest full of bed linens and a few hangings I embroidered, and I’m sure she sent my psalms and books as well. I do hope she remembered to put in my notebook of recipes.” Her voiced faded away as she noticed the blank stares on the faces of the two men. She chuckled. “All of which means nothing to either of you. But it means a great deal to me, my lord, and I thank you for your kindness in letting us use your vehicle.”

“Doubtless my lady would be all agog to hear about it, my dear, but all this domestic stuff is lost on me.” With a wink, Lord Rothley turned to Richard. “Nephew, your bride won’t impress anyone chattering about sheets and pillowslips. Take her out and about so she can hear the latest gossip. Tell you what, I leave for home in the morning, but I’ve a fancy to see a play this afternoon. You two come along.”

“In that case, you must allow me to treat you, sir. I have already engaged seats with the King’s Men for the rest of the season.” Richard fixed his eyes on Bethany as he drawled the invitation. “I do not know if my wife’s upbringing will permit her to join us.”

She gave him look for look. “I shall accompany you and judge for myself.”

A slight flush rose to his cheeks. “How very fortunate you are in not having a husband who dictates your actions, my dear, as I am fully entitled to do.”

Before the impending quarrel escalated, Lord Rothley interrupted them. “Nonsense, Rickon, there’s no need to worry about Bethany. She’s uncommonly level-headed.”

“Of that, Uncle, I am fully aware.” She drew in an angry breath at his faint sneer. “I trust you have a gown to wear for the occasion, my dear?”

She swallowed her irritation, smiling blandly. “I’m sure I can find something suitable.”

After a tasty dinner finished off with bread pudding and apples, Bethany and Richard followed the housekeeper upstairs. There, they made the disagreeable discovery that she had placed them in the same chamber. They hid their vexation until the good soul left the room.

“This was none of my doing.” Richard paced the handsomely appointed room.

“Obviously, since my charms have decreased markedly since our marriage.” She snapped her mouth shut as soon as she spoke, unwilling to further expose her hurt at his neglect. She appeared to have scored a hit, however, for her husband glowered at her and changed the subject.

“If you do not mind, madam, I should like to change in privacy.”

She tittered angrily. “I guessed as much, sir. If you would be so good as to inform me when you are finished? I shall be in the parlour consulting with the housekeeper.” She sketched a curtsey and quit the room.

If Mistress Cade found it peculiar that Lady Harcourt wished to discuss menus for the upcoming week instead of dressing for the theater, she said nothing. Bethany asked several redundant questions and gave the appearance of listening attentively as minutes passed. An interminable time later, Richard appeared in the doorway. Declaring their chamber free for her use, he left before she could accuse him of lingering over his ensemble for the sole purpose of exasperating her.

Bethany promptly ended the interview, requesting to have her maid attend her. She rushed to their room to find that Faith stood waiting to help her.

The former chambermaid, enthralled by her elevation to the household of a Peer, had declared her intention to provide full satisfaction in the performance of her duties. She had already unpacked her mistress’s wardrobe and stored it in one of the room’s two clothes presses. On the bed lay one of Bethany’s first purchases, a damask gown of bisque interwoven with amber. She curtsied properly at the younger woman’s exclamations of gratitude, then told her they had no time for chatter.

Due to Faith’s industriousness, Bethany emerged only a quarter of an hour past the departure time decreed by the gentlemen. She made her way down the stairs at the back of the long hall and approached them where they stood by the door. She bridled at their disappointed expressions, for she had dressed as well as possible with her still limited wardrobe.

Her gown, adorned only by the richness of the material, was cut in the latest mode with a pointed bodice. The lace edging of her chemise peeped over the low neckline and spilled from under her tucked-up sleeves. In lieu of the jeweled pins or strand of pearls favored as hair ornaments, she had threaded a pale satin ribbon through her curls.

Richard, resplendent in gray-green satin, frowned slightly at her bare neck and ears. “You have no jewelry?”

“Mother did not approve of it.”

“That won’t do.” Without further explanation, he strode down the hall and disappeared up the stairs. Bethany looked at Lord Rothley, who shook his head in mystification. Several minutes later, her husband reappeared with a long gold chain dangling from his hand.

His fingertips brushed her skin as he wound the polished links around her neck. Walking around her, he adjusted them on her bosom. She inhaled softly as his knuckles lightly traced their path over the soft mounds and lifted to stroke her cheek. His lips, inches from hers, parted slightly.

“Come, come, lad! There’ll be enough time for that when we return.” Lord Rothley swung his black cloak over his shoulders. “We’re late enough as is.” Not waiting for them, he went out to the street, grumbling about doting newlyweds.

They followed, Bethany’s mortification allayed by her husband’s red face. She forgot her embarrassment at the sight of the sedan chair awaiting her. At her thanks, he replied in bemusement that his wife could not be seen walking along the streets in her best dress. She allowed him to hand her in and shut the small door.

The porters picked up the poles and the three of them traversed the streets to the theater. As she emerged, she looked about, unsure what to expect. The late afternoon sun shone down on the rectangular theater building. A throng of men and women converged on it by chair and on foot. Despite Lord Rothley’s complaint of tardiness, it seemed they were not the latest arrivals.

Porters added to the hubbub as they vied with one another for passage. Sundry individuals called out greetings, and occasionally insults, to one another. Men and women of all ages rubbed shoulders, some dressed in bright velvets and satins, and some in more sober woolens or serge.

Hand at her elbow, Richard guided her through the crowd to the correct entrance. Inside they climbed a stairway leading up to their seats. Once settled, she turned her head one way and another, fascinated. She knew she appeared the veriest bumpkin, but neither of her companions teased her for gawking.

She guessed that the raised platform at one end of the former tennis court must be the stage. On it, a quartet of musicians had just finished playing. After a brief round of applause from those members of the audience attending to the performance, they bowed and gathered up their instruments and music racks.

Above them, chandeliers set with myriad candles glowed. Their light sparkled off the jewels worn by the privileged ladies and gentlemen in the galleries lining the sides and back of the great room. Below, on the main floor, it glowed off oranges sold by girls of varying states of attractiveness.

Most of their customers appeared to be single men, several dressed as grandly as those in the boxes, and it soon became clear to Bethany that the girls sold more than the wares in their baskets. Other men occupying the backless wooden benches in the pit exhibited more discriminating taste by flirting with ladies in the gallery above. At the plethora of bows, arch glances, and blown kisses exchanged between the two levels, Bethany did not know whether to laugh or leave.

The antics in the pit carried on even after the piece started. The crowd did quiet slightly as the prologue ended, although the continual motion and talk all about them prompted her to whisper to Richard that she could hardly follow the story.

“Faith, no one comes for the play, my dear.” He nodded at the busy mass of bodies in the pit. “The most fascinating action is usually off the stage, not on it.”

“Shhhh!” Lord Rothley leaned forward, his intent gaze riveted to the play. Every man present echoed his posture and silence finally fell over the entire audience. It felt as though everyone coalesced into one giant creature waiting for a single event.

And then it happened. The crowd collectively caught its breath as a woman emerged from the wings and declaimed her first lines. Bethany gulped. If her mother found out she had witnessed such an immoral display, she would disavow her utterly.

“An actoress,” breathed Lord Rothley at her side.

She glanced over at her husband, concerned how he might react to the sight of a female performer. She discovered his amused gaze resting on her rather than the stage, as if he expected her to faint or demand that they leave immediately. Rising to the challenge in his green eyes, she returned her attention to the performance.

“You do not appear to share the general amazement at the sight of a woman acting in public.”

She heard the rustle of his satin clothes as he leaned in to answer. “I attended the theater as often as I could in France. Actresses have appeared on the stage there for decades.” He paused to observe the entrance of a second female character. “Alas, neither of these two compare well to their French sisters. Nor do I find them exceptionally attractive.”

Good, Bethany thought as she watched the plot unfold.

At the interval, Richard noticed Lord Thomas in the pit with a group of his acquaintances, attempting to gain his attention. Leaving Bethany in the care of his uncle, he excused himself and made his way down the stairs.

The floor hummed with activity as he pushed through the press of bodies. Unaccountably, his companions stood in the same spot, their attention still focused up at the galleries. As he leaned over to speak to the man at his side, Tom noticed him and hastened over.

“Rickon, who is she? Who? You must introduce us, dear boy. I insist upon it!”

“Who is who? God’s teeth, Tom, you sound like a madman.” Richard laughed, wondering what fair creature had now caught his friend’s eye. And those of several of their companions, by the looks of it.