She made no move to engage Alice, didn’t even look at her, just stared across at the window, as if wishing she were elsewhere. For a girl supposedly determined to enter society and marry a lord, she wasn’t trying very hard.
“My daughter, Miss Lucille Bamber, my lady.” Bamber snapped his fingers at his daughter. “Well, get on with it, girl. Make your curtsy to her ladyship.”
Was that a flash in the girl’s eyes? Alice couldn’t be sure. The girl sank into a graceful curtsy and said in a low voice, “How do you do, Lady Charlton?”
Alice inclined her head in acknowledgement. Someone had schooled the girl in deportment, at least. And her accent was good, better than her father’s.
“Prettily done. Now, don’t stand there like a looby, girl, come and sit down.” Bamber patted the space beside him.
Alice compressed her lips. The way he spoke to his daughter annoyed her, but there was more at stake here than bad manners.
Miss Bamber crossed the room and seated herself on a chair—not beside her father on the sofa. Interesting.
“I understand you wish to enter society, Miss Bamber,” Alice said.
The girl gave an indifferent shrug. She didn’t even look at Alice.
“Of course she does. She’s very eager to mix with all the lords and ladies,” Bamber said in a honeyed voice that failed to disguise his irritation. “Come, tell that to Lady Charlton, puss.”
“I’m very eager to mix with all the lords and ladies,” Miss Bamber repeated in a wooden voice.
“There, you see?” Bamber sat back.
Alice did see. The girl might have been taught to curtsy, but her manners were appalling. “Have you had much experience of parties and balls before, Miss Bamber?”
“No.”
“But she can dance,” her father said. “She’s as light as a feather on her toes, and as you can see, she’s been well trained in doing the pretty.”
Doing the pretty? Hardly. But Alice persisted with the interview. It was all a farce anyway. Unless she could find some way out of this mess, she was going to have to launch this overdressed, sullen girl into the ton anyway. Thaddeus’s horrid letters were an axe over her head. But success was looking more and more unlikely, for if the girl wasn’t enthusiastic, what hope did Alice have?
“And you are looking for a husband?” Alice prompted her.
For the first time, the girl met Alice’s gaze—a brief, flat, unreadable look—but she said nothing.
“Of course she is, it’s her dearest wish,” her father said. “Forgive my little puss, Lady Charlton. She’s shy, a little overwhelmed at being in such refined company. But that will change, won’t it, Lucy?” Beneath his coaxing tone was a hint of threat.
“If you say so, Papa.”
“Good, now wait outside, my dear, while I have a word in private with Lady Charlton.” Lucy left.
“Well? What do you say, Lady Charlton? Do we have a deal?” Bamber said.
Alice stared at him helplessly. She had no choice, she knew that—the thought of those letters being made public was too dreadful to contemplate—but introduce this stiff, churlish creature to society? Finding her anyone to marry would be hard enough, let alone a lord. She couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be done.
She opened her mouth, but her throat was dry, and she couldn’t bring herself to agree, couldn’t even speak. It was all too soon, too sudden. Too impossible. Too ghastly.
There was a long silence. Then Bamber pursed his lips. “Perhaps you need time to think it over.” He indicated Thaddeus’s letter, still crumpled in her fist. “Read that again, Lady Charlton, and consider the consequences of refusing me. I’ll call again tomorrow at ten. Be prepared for a christening.” Without waiting for her response, he left.
As soon as she heard the front door close, Alice dropped weakly back onto her chair.
“Is everything all right, m’lady?” Tweed asked from the doorway. He looked worried. His glance fell to the letter she was still clutching. Repressing the impulse to throw it in the fire, she folded the letter and tucked it away.
“I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea,” she managed.
Tweed hesitated. “Did I do right by admitting him, m’lady?”
Lord, if he hadn’t, who knew what Bamber might have done? What if he’d gone straight to a publisher . . . Let society drool and snigger over your husband’s letters.
She repressed a shudder. “Yes, Tweed, your instincts were not at fault. You did the right thing.”
A troubled furrow appeared between his brows. “Will we be seeing more of him, m’lady?”
“I’m afraid so. He will be calling again tomorrow morning.” She hoped that would be all. With any luck, Octavius Bamber would fall into the Thames overnight and drown, taking the letters with him. But fate would not be so kind.
* * *
* * *
That night, Alice climbed into bed, took out Thaddeus’s letter and read it for the dozenth time. The scorn, the mockery implicit in his words, in his description of the intimate act of her wedding night—her wedding night!—brought it all back to her. That night . . .
She’d been so young, so very nervous. She hardly knew him, after all—their entire courtship had lasted only a few weeks, and they’d never been alone together—but she’d thought she could fall in love with him, her new husband, so tall, not exactly handsome but very impressive. So worldly and knowledgeable compared with her country-girl naïveté.
She’d been just eighteen. Innocent, ignorant, hesitant, shy.
He’d been drunk. Rough. Crude. Hasty.
He’d ripped open her nightgown, the one she’d so carefully embroidered, anticipating the night she would finally become a woman, a wife. He’d stared down at her nakedness and made some disparaging comment about the size of her breasts, and then he’d shoved her legs apart and thrust roughly into her.
She’d had no idea of what to expect. She wasn’t prepared for the pain, the rough squeezing of her breasts, the shock of his brutal invasion of her unprepared body.
She endured it as best she could, and he finally rolled off her and staggered out of the room—he hadn’t even undressed, just unfastened his breeches. She lay for a long time, unmoving—in shock, she thought now, looking back—until finally the cold air chilled her bare skin enough to make her curl up and haul the bedcovers around her.
And then, finally, the tears came, slowly at first, then in great choking sobs.
Before the wedding, Mama had told her that it wouldn’t be pleasant the first time, but she’d added vaguely that it would probably get better with time.