Granger looked puzzled, not liking the course of the conversation.
“That, Granger, means you’ll have to find other lodgings and look elsewhere for an allowance. My parents will close this house and take up residence at the summer house. There, they’ll live modestly and quietly. And Granger, there’ll be no room for you,” Tori stated ominously.
“But . . . but . . .”
“I’m truly sorry, but that is the way of it. I sorely wish there was some way I could help you.”
“Oh, but there is, dear cousin.” Granger smiled meaningfully, his emphasis on the “dear.” “When you have wed Lord Fowler-Greene you will invite me to stay with you.”
“Granger!” Tori said, shocked, “I cannot do it! Why, Lord Fowler-Greene will want me all to himself. After all, he is buying a wife, not all her poor relatives. Think, cousin, how will it look? Surely you jest!”
Granger examined the sincerity of Tori’s expression. “You’re right, Tori, I was jesting.” The glumness of Granger’s face almost gave Tori up to her secret laughter. Poor boy, so worried was he for his future he could not see past his nose to her tricks.
“But, Tori, what am I to do? Turn into a beggar?”
“Better yet, why don’t you join Scarblade’s men? They could use a member who has some breeding. I feel so sorry for you, Granger.”
“Don’t waste your sympathies on me, Tori; I still have my wits to live by. But you, poor cousin, you’ll have naught but a pretty face and a fashionable figure with which to secure your future. And once Lord Fowler-Greene learns of your temper and lack of breeding in the wifely arts, you can be sure you’ll be kept at home, away from polite society, where your spirit will not embarrass him.”
“Embarrass him? What are you speaking of, Granger? How could I embarrass Lord Fowler-Greene? He should be ecstatic that I should consent to this marriage!”
Granger smiled wickedly; his recriminations against Tori always carried weight. He knew which road led to her sorest parts, the one that led directly to her pride. “But of course if you’re a good girl and only speak with the ladies and never smile in a gentleman’s direction, Lord Fowler-Greene will have naught to complain of. So you see, Tori, once again you are mistress of your own destiny.”
“Granger,” Tori exclaimed hotly, “if you do not drop this, this . . . I demand you speak the King’s English! What do you mean I’ll be kept at home? You know I cannot live a life of solitude. Speak now, Granger, explain yourself!”
Granger sat for a moment arranging the lace at his sleeves, pretending Tori’s excited statements were unheard. At last, unable to withstand the sheer willfulness of her stare and the pitiful picture she made sitting there with her future at stake, actually fearful of his next words, Granger’s core of cruelty rejoiced in satisfaction. How often Tori had placed him in just this situation, how many times she had threatened to do something which would see Granger cast out on his ear, left to fend for himself. But then, she was his cousin and he loved her only slightly less than he loved himself. No matter how great was his enjoyment of this verbal sparring in which Tori ranked among the most witty, he must now make his move to put an end to her anxiety over his statement.
“Odds fish, cousin, what I am about to tell you is the honest truth, I swear on my sainted mother’s watery grave.” Tori sighed audibly and settled back in her seat. “Of course, this is only taproom talk, but you know as well as I that there is no smoke without fire.”
“Yes, Granger, now get on with what you have to tell me. I fear I cannot abide your philosophizing this night.”
Granger sneered slightly in annoyance at Tori’s disinterest in his sage impressions. “All right then, if you would have me come straight to the point, here it is. Lord Fowler-Greene has been a bachelor these many years, his first wife succumbing to a fever almost thirty years ago. Lady Fowler-Greene was a woman of quality and title. A bit long in the tooth when she married, true, but nevertheless, her wit and charm won for your betrothed the titles and manor which he now holds. One cannot say it was a love match, but the good lord fawned and doted on her. Who would not, seeing the great advantages one could gain by association with her?”
“To the point, Granger, to the point!” Tori said impatiently.
“It is this, Tori. Lord Fowler-Greene has been heard to say time and time over that never would he bed a woman who could not match his wife for manners and culture. The poor gentleman has never been known to avail himself of the wenches who would fall at his feet for the recompense he could well afford. Rumor has it that he has been celibate these many years since the demise of his dear wife.”
“Hrmmmph! And why would anyone, be she wench or lady, seek to faire l’amour with that obese, sweating, scratching. . .”
“Tut, tut, Tori! Have you forgotten, you speak of your intended?”
“Oooh, Granger!” Tori raged, “I believe you are actually enjoying my predicament!”
“No, Tori. I know better than that! Our fortunes have been too closely linked these past years. I know that whatever is best for you is also best for me.”
“On that you can depend. Were it not for me, Father would never have increased your allowance to much above that of a schoolboy’s. I have not yet decided on a plan to gracefully withdraw from this engagement but when I do, Granger, I will depend on you to assist me.”
“Your imperious tone irritates me, cousin. Do not be too sure of me. For once it might bring me pleasure to see you brought down.”
Tori swallowed her rage. At all costs she would deny Granger the satisfaction of seeing her cowed. She gathered her poise and smiled sweetly. “As I said, you will assist me. Think, Granger, soon it will be cold and wintry. I can see you trouncing down the road, cold, hungry, destitute, begging for a crust of bread. Just when you think you cannot go one step farther, the highwaymen will be upon you. Oh, Granger, what they will do to your poor person. I can see it as if it has happened already. I will cry openly over your poor frozen body. The tears will freeze upon my cheeks. I shall pray for you, dear cousin,” Tori mocked sadly. “Alas, it appears only the women in this family have any kind of stamina. Poor, poor Granger.”
Granger trembled at her softly spoken words. He, himself, could picture the scene she had painted.
Tori reached out a slim white hand and offered him three gold sovereigns and her meager jewels. “You jest, cousin. This paltry sum would not keep me but a month.”
“’Tis all I have!” she protested.
Granger looked Tori in the eye. “Lazy I may be, but a fool, never! Let us see the rest of the booty.”
Grudgingly, Tori withdrew the small leather pouch from her pocket and threw it on his lap. She watched the greedy leer spread over Granger’s face.
“That is more like it! You snitched this, didn’t you?” he said suddenly. “You never owned anything like this in your life. Where did you get it? Never mind, I have no wish to know. This way, when I turn it into cash I’ll not see your poor mother’s face before me.” Deftly Granger tossed the brillant necklace into the air and caught it.
Suddenly Tori snatched the necklace and stuffed it into her pocket. “Not so fast, cousin, you only get this,” she said, patting her pocket, “when you agree to help me in whatever course I decide to take. A promise, Granger, your word as a gentleman!”
“Develop your scheme, Tori; you can rely on me for my assistance,” he said, eying the pocket.
Later that evening, a weary Tori climbed into bed and pushed aside all thought of her predicament concerning Lord Fowler-Greene. Instead she clung to the memory of strong arms pressing her closer and black eyes caressing her.
Morning brought no solution to Tori’s problem. Tori rose hollow-eyed and exhausted, feeling as though she had never slept. Dressing hurriedly in a pale-green morning gown which matched her eyes, she trudged tiredly down the stairs. She breakfasted in silence, picking at her food and glancing out the high, wide windows.
“Tori, you’re not listening to me!�
�� Lady Lydia’s high, clear voice complained.
“Yes I am, Mother. I heard you. I fear I had a bad night. You are going to have a dinner party tomorrow evening, and, yes, it is quite all right with me.”
“Your betrothed will be here, Tori,” Lady Lydia chattered brightly. “The footman, just this past hour, has left with the invitation from your father. I am sure Lord Fowler-Greene will accept with haste. Do you not agree?”
“Yes, Mother,” Tori said wanly.
Lady Lydia looked at her daughter with something akin to fear. The child looked ill. ’Tis the thought of the coming marriage. Lady Lydia brightened as she remembered how nervous she had been at a similar time in her life. That’s all it is, she consoled herself. The child is just nervous. Immediately the lady felt better; after all, the child was bound to marry someday, and it might as well be now when she would still look lovely in a wedding gown. There are too many brides I’ve seen who were too long in the tooth. They never should have had formal weddings. Posh and tother to all that business about doing it for their mothers. The dear ladies should be grateful enough to see their daughters marry, let alone quibble over the grandeur of large ceremonies.
Her attention came back to Tori, who was picking at her food. “I hope, dear, that you will wear the green silk, it brings out the color of your eyes. We do so want to leave a good impression with Lord Fowler-Greene, don’t we?”
“Yes, Mother.” Tori pushed a thick slice of ham from side to side on her plate as her stomach heaved. She thought of her eager bridegroom and her years of association with him. Tori had had occasion to meet Lord Sidney Fowler-Greene numerous times since her childhood. She moaned inwardly as she remembered his fat, white, eternally damp hand which never lost an opportunity to tweak her chin or pat her cheek. His distasteful teasing, instructing her to hurry and grow up so he could make her his bride. Thank God, he had restrained himself when she had become a young lady. Only then was she saved from being pulled onto his lap and pressed against his enormous belly to suffer his foul breath on her face.
The years had not improved the lord. If anything, they had been most unkind. Where his face had once been round and plump, it now had fallen into folds of flesh that quivered at his every word. His nose resembled a lump of bread dough molded into a swollen ball and pressed into the middle of his face. His mouth was overgenerous, overmoist; a hint of what in his youth must have been sensual still remained, but now it was disfigured by years of imbibing and discolored by too frequent use of Indian snuff. The thought of coming into intimate contact with that mouth caused Tori to gag. Abruptly, she stood up and asked to be excused. Without waiting for an answer, she clamped a white hand over her mouth and ran from the room.
Startled by her daughter’s abrupt action, Lady Lydia looked askance at the fleeing figure. “Nelson,” she cried, “where are you? I must speak with you!” Her cry went unanswered. Lady Lydia’s thoughts began to run together. She must be mistaken. It was probably due to her restless night’s sleep. She dreamed that Tori had asked for the marriage necklace. Tori, who had no use for jewels!
Chapter Six
“If I need you, Annie, I’ll ring for you!” Tori snapped. “I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself this evening. My head is pounding and I wish to be alone!” The little maid scuttered away. She had never seen her mistress in such a bad humor. She should be happy, what with her wedding so close.
Tori dressed in a state of dejection. Bovine, pompous old man, she fumed inwardly. I don’t love him and I could never learn to love him. I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to marry anyone! Silent tears splashed her cheeks and then a glimmer of an idea came to her. Granger says my good lord will only wed and bed a lady of quality, a woman of taste and manners. Why, it’s a point of honor with him! Ooh, wouldn’t I like to see society laugh in his face. Perhaps if I’m miserable and rude to him this evening he will change his mind and think I’m not good enough for him. “Would that it were so easy, Tori girl.” She knew her father would never demand this marriage of her if it were not for the money involved. No, any overt action on her part to discourage Lord Fowler-Greene would not be taken well by Lord Rawlings, not well at all. Any attempt made in those directions would have to be subtle, very subtle indeed for Lord Rawlings not to catch on. Tori brightened. Perhaps, she thought, if Lord Fowler-Greene were to become, let us say, disenchanted with me, and he himself were to break the engagement, it might be just possible his embarrassment would incline him to pay Lord Rawlings the purse at any rate.
“If only it were so,” Tori wished aloud as she looked at her reflection in her small mirror. “I have it!” she exclaimed. Hurriedly, she applied bright vermillion to her cheeks and lips and smiled at her reflection. “That should set Lord Fowler-Greene on his ear.” Defiantly, she tossed her head and set a few stray curls to dancing. She sniffed and gathered up the hem of her skirt and left the room.
Lord Nelson eyed the color on his daughter’s face and squirmed in his chair. If he were to make an issue of the matter, he knew full well that Tori would run off to her bedchamber and refuse to return. He could picture himself dragging her as she kicked and fought all the way down the stairs to meet her intended.
Lady Lydia looked at her beautiful daughter and smiled. I wonder if she has the fever? she mused. It was probably the excitement of meeting Lord Fowler-Greene again.
“I’m so glad you’ve chosen that particular gown to wear this special evening, dear,” Lady Lydia said, nodding her approval at a peach-colored silk tied with soft blue ribbons. “I’ve always said it gives your skin the color of spun honey.” Actually Lady Lydia was perturbed over the fact that Tori had not worn the green silk as she had promised, but Lady Lydia used good judgment in refraining from making a point of it. She, too, could imagine Tori using the mere comment as an excuse to argue and be absent from this important dinner.
Suddenly, there was a sound of carriage wheels and the bustle of footmen heading for the front door. “Ah, it appears our guest and Lady Helen have arrived.” Lord Nelson cast a stern eye in his daughter’s direction, and rose to greet his guests.
Tori fought the urge to stick out her tongue at her father’s retreating back. She would do it later, she promised herself. As she reclined languidly on the small sofa next to her mother, she worked her face into a semblance of a smile. Granger would have described it as a grimace.
At the first sound of footsteps at the doorway, Tori jumped to her feet in deference to the ages of the entering guests. Lady Helen, Lord Fowler-Greene’s widowed sister, preceded her brother into the room. She was a gaunt, tightlipped woman, the direct opposite in appearance of her brother.
“Darling!” Lady Helen gushed, coming forth to embrace Tori as she scrutinized the girl’s high color. Her narrow, black eyes flicked in disapproval while syrupy phrases dripped from her pinched lips. “How wonderful it will be to have you in the family, Victoria dear. I’ve long been lonely for a companion and Sidney must see to it that you spend considerable time with me at my home in Sussex. The country air is so invigorating.”
Tori smiled politely and groaned inwardly. Why had she never thought of it? Of course Lady Helen would expect her sister-in-law to sit with her and embroider and read the French classics. As if Lord Sidney would not be enough to bear, now this too!
Lord Fowler-Greene approached, limping slightly from a recent attack of the gout. “Victoria, beloved!” he exclaimed, reaching for her hand. “You are more beautiful than ever.” He kissed Tori’s unwilling hand, then turned it and bestowed another kiss on the inside of her wrist, leaving a trail of saliva. His plump, hot hands clamped her shoulders and Tori could feel her flesh crawl as he pecked her on each cheek.
“Dear Victoria,” Lord Sidney said unctuously, “I’m so happy to be here in the capacity of your betrothed. In fact I am deliriously happy at the thought of our coming marriage. I see that you are, too,” he said, noticing the high color in Tori’s cheeks. “And you, dear friend,” Lord Fowler-Greene
said, extending his hand in Lord Rawlings’ direction, “we have been good friends and now we shall be more, much more.”
Lord Rawlings smiled and allowed Lord Fowler-Greene to pound him on the back. He felt a little displaced, a bit more than chagrined that soon, very soon, the slathering Lord Fowler-Greene would be his son-in-law. And if he didn’t miss his guess, the pompous ass would take to calling him “Father.” A taste of bile rose in Lord Rawlings’ throat and the bitterness made his lip curl.
“How good to see you smile, my good man,” Lord Fowler-Greene boomed. “I know if it were myself about to lose my beautiful daughter, I would find little to smile about.”
Then, turning to Lady Lydia, he said in a quite serious tone, “My good lady, I want to assure you that I will dote on your daughter day and night.”
Lady Lydia smiled sweetly and then suddenly brightened perceptibly. “A moat!” she cried, thinking she had at last understood. “Lord Sidney, I did not know your house had a moat! Tori, is it not enchanting? A moat! Fancy that!” Lady Lydia tittered at the romantic thought. “Then you two shall be safe and secure against the elements, not to mention outlaws. Delightful!”
Granger, just entering the room, heard Lady Lydia’s last remark. He choked slightly and had to be pounded on the back by Lord Nelson.
Dinner was announced and Lord Fowler-Greene led Tori by the arm, surreptitiously pinching her smooth skin. Outraged, Tori hissed quietly, “Do not be so familiar, sir. We are not married . . . yet!”
“Hrmmmph. Yes, yes. Quite. There are some ladies who like that sort of attention,” Lord Fowler-Greene whispered. “I can see you are not one of them and I am grateful. I, myself, believe a lady should never accept advances from men; however, since I am your intended, I’m sure you’ll forgive my little, shall we say. faux pas.” Seeing the vicious look on Tori’s face, he added hastily, “I shall save my fondlings for the bedchamber,” then smiled lewdly.
Fate & Fortune Page 5
