Sticking to that sentiment would be much easier if she weren’t so incredibly suited to not be an innocent. The girl had passion down to the very core of her being; she burned from his touch, and not like some doxy who pretended to revel the act. Miss Hessworth responded to his touch in the most deeply satisfying way, holding nothing back.
He could feel himself growing hard again and growled into the pillow. Last night had given him a set of much clearer memories that he was sure would present themselves every time he looked upon her. A much bigger problem was that he wasn’t entirely sure he could go back to the cold and calculated touch of girls he typically engaged to meet his needs; it would be a pale imitation and the contrast would be glaringly obvious.
Some revenge this would be if the recipient of it—the unfortunately delectable Miss Hessworth—ruined him for other women. The thought made him laugh cynically. There was a natural downside to being a predator; it can’t live without its prey. No, that would not do at all, he needed to change this dynamic that they had gotten into. This could not continue, or he would be lifting her skirts up every time he caught her near a broom cupboard.
He should be cold in feeling and sentiment toward her, which was the plan and the aim of this endeavor. The ruination of her was a part of the plan, but for some reason something objected strenuously to watching her go from the innocent and buddingly passionate woman to a drained and deflated wretch that this world creates. He had seen so many of those over the years, women as well as men, who have learned that the world is a cruel place—lessons he’d learnt himself.
He needed to harden up, her ignorance of the realities of life was not his fault or his problem. She would not present a blockage for where he needed to go; he’d sworn that he would decimate anyone who got in his way, as well as wreak hell on the family that caused so much pain to him and his family. The pain inflicted on them had been real and brutal and he was not going to let some girl’s thighs let him forget that, no matter how heavenly they were.
The thought of him brought a blush to her face. She’d tried to think rationally upon the evening before, but there was something about it that had nothing to do with rationality.
The excitement and joy that resulted from the act still made her stomach flip. She had never expected that relations between men and women could be such. She also felt unendingly grateful to Celeste for pushing her in this direction. Now her whole future lay in front of her, a future with intimacy and intensity. If she could just find a man who loved her and whom she loved in return, what more was there to be had? She knew without a doubt what she was after now—it had all become clear.
No, she felt she was ready to turn her attention to finding the man for her, someone kind, who made her heart and body melt. She had high hopes for Henry as he made her stomach bubble with excitement and he thought for himself; he didn’t mindlessly follow the edicts and values of society. It had become clear to her that society didn’t really have her best interests at heart. She wasn’t exactly sure whose interests it served, maybe Lord Eldridge’s—he seemed to be eagerly accepted back; she could tell from the level and quality of invitations he received. Invitations that used to be for her had now neatly transferred to him—not that she minded because she knew she had found a new purpose, an authentic purpose.
“I think the apples are starting to form,” Amelia said to her aunt as they stood out in the garden. The spring sunshine was warm if one could avoid the wind. Amelia revelled it in after the long winter than had been. “It will be a good crop this year.”
“I hope so,” Edna said, “George so loves apples. I will ask Cook to prepare an apple pie for when he comes. Don’t you think he’d like that, Maddie?”
Amelia stroked her aunt’s arm. It was the first time the Edna had confused her with her mother. She felt sad, like she was losing her relationship with her aunt. George had been Edna’s fiancé a very long time ago, who unfortunately died in a riding fall during a visit to the continent. Edna had never recovered from it. It had been quite a romance; they had grown up as neighbors before they realized they were right for each other and petitioning their parents. She never normally mentions him, but Amelia realized that Edna believed that she was back in the time when both George and Madeleine were still alive.
“I think so,” Amelia said with a sad smile, “there should be plenty of apples for pies.”
“It’s a special tree, did you know?” It was planted for the birth of the young master of the house before we came. It is such a lovely tradition to plant trees to signify births. You must do so when your daughter comes.”
Amelia looked at the tree. It certainly was an established one. It must have been planted to celebrate the birth of Lord Eldridge. She still had difficulty reconciling him with a version that was a child, or that there was a family behind him that had loved him enough for such a sentimental act. It was odd how their histories crossed the same space, just like the generations melded in Edna’s mind.
Amelia felt a little the same; her divergent emotions were trying to occupy the same space. She felt terrible sadness at the incremental loss of her aunt’s memories and presence of mind. It was also poignant to think of the past and all its promise, which for all intents and purposes only still existed in Edna’s mind. It made her wonder what stayed firm in her mind against the passage of time.
Edna patted her hand gingerly. “I need some more ribbon, my dear, when you go out could you pick some up, red I think.”
“Of course, I’ll go this morning.”
“Good, I think I want to rest now,” Edna said and retreated back into the house. Amelia felt unready to give up the sunshine just yet.
“Who is Maddie?” she heard his now familiar voice, a voice that seemed to gently stroke her skin as it moved toward her and transformed into meaning. A voice she knew was capable of promising such sweet things. He really would be a formidable man if their interests were aligned, which they, for the record, she repeated to herself, were absolutely not. He was petty, vindictive, and supremely concerned with power, position and wealth—the polar opposite from the person she wanted. She reassured herself that she could not forget this, no matter how his voice sent shivers along her skin.
She cleared her throat bringing her attention back to the question he’d asked. “She was my mother.”
“So I am your father, and you are my wife. And for how long shall we carry on with this delusion?”
Amelia didn’t have an answer; she didn’t know what to do, her aunt was getting worse. “It would be distressing to her to try to dissuade her of her illusion. She has reverted to a time when she was very happy, I think. It is her way of coping with these changes.”
“Or a way of not coping,” he said quietly. “Is your intention that we play the happily married couple to please your aunt’s delusional take on the world?”
“No, of course not. I just … I don’t know what to do.” She felt uncomfortable confessing it to him as he tended to pounce on every weakness.
“She is not going to get better,” he said. Amelia tried to blink the unpleasant thought away. She knew it was true and it mirrored her own worry; she just didn’t want to hear it confirmed by another person. He was pressing her for answers and she had none to give him. If that gave him ammunition then so be it.
“Was the tree really planted to celebrate your birth?” she asked both as a distraction and for curiosity’s sake.
“No, that is my sister’s, I am the pear.”
Amelia laughed, “I used to climb that pear tree. I hid in it whenever someone wanted me and I didn’t want to be found.”
He didn’t say anything and the silence stretched.
“Where is your sister?” Amelia asked after a while. Growing up there had never been as much evidence of the girl’s existence as there had been of his. She’d known of her, but hadn’t come across many of her things.
“She died when we were small,” he said without emotions.
“I’m sorry, I
didn’t know.” He didn’t say anything further.
“Well, on a conceptual level, I am glad you have your tree back.” She knew the estate was of supreme importance to him.
“Why would you be glad that I have it back when you have lost it?”
“I don’t begrudge you achieving what you wanted. It would be lost to me either way, even if I married, I would have to move on from here.”
“Does this mean nothing to you then?” he said looking down at her.
“No, it is my past, just as it is yours, but staying here was never an option for me.” She regretted starting this conversation. She now knew more about the things that had hurt him, the things that had made him so hard and cold, and the drivers behind his actions and behavior. She also knew that if she looked deeper, it was likely that she would see loneliness that she could not bear to look at, and she did not want to see that. She could not afford to pity him, it would do her a bad turn as it would ultimately do nothing but distract her from her own goals, because her future was not with him.
She decided that she must stay away from him in the future. As repellent as his character was, the acts of intimacy she’d experienced were powerful. No more would she put herself in a situation without any possible good outcomes.
Richard spent the afternoon at his club. He felt the need to get away from the house and the problems it contained. The Hessworth ladies were proving to be a problem he could find no answer for. Getting rid of them would prove intensely distressing for the old woman, but equally, he could not carry on with his plan for settling on a bride with two women living in the house—of which one he was having intimacies with. That was no way to start a marriage. While he didn’t have a high regard for the institution, he did believe in showing a certain amount of respect to the woman that was one’s wife and the mother of one’s children. Having one’s dalliances in the same house was plain disrespectful.
It wasn’t a pressing problem as he had not found anyone he could tolerate enough to want to see them each morning. He didn’t expect that it would be someone he would wake up next to. His father had never shared a room with his wife and Richard expected to continue in the tradition, here was only so far one should integrate one’s life with a woman. A bit of distance helps keep the stability, and it avoided awkward questions if he sought out his pleasures elsewhere.
Richard didn’t expect that he would like his wife enough to not require the company of others. He had been informed early in life that high born women did not enjoy the marriage bed. His father had taken him aside and informed him of the difference in women and how they should be treated. Both of his parents had been relatively loving to him, but he had never seen any real affection toward each other in their marriage and his expectations for himself had always been the same. In the end, marriage was a business proposition.
Miss Amelia Hessworth was not what a high born wife should be, she was passionate and giving. There was no doubt that she enjoyed his touch, maybe even revelled in it. It told of her base nature—not that he didn’t appreciate it; it spoke to the basest parts of his nature. It hit him in the gut like a craving he had always known was there, but never truly been able to completely fill. Doxies seemed to know it was there, played to it, but it was always a pretence; they showed you what it may look like to have that need fulfilled—a caricature.
The previous night she had given like it had no value. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her; there was part of him that was profoundly grateful. He didn’t quite understand the deep satisfaction he felt. He’d been with many women, but never had he felt satisfaction that lasted beyond the immediate aftermath. On the other hand, he was annoyed that she would give so freely, without cause. Women always required something in return for their affections; it just annoyed him that he hadn’t quite worked out what she was after.
He’d found her in the garden this morning and approached her, given her the opportunity to propose whatever it was she was after. He’d expected her to try to formalize their situation and to secure her position, but she hadn’t. She’d talked about the stupid tree, and then some tripe about how she didn’t begrudge his rise at the expense of her fall. He wasn’t sure what game she was playing, but she was playing a long game.
Perhaps she was setting up a position of competition where he must bargain for her. If that was her intent, she was playing a very smart game, because he’d experienced the delights and he wasn’t sure he would be able to give it up when it came down to it. Even though he knew her experience was entirely with him, she had managed to raise the bar considerably. The little minx had flexed her power and the predator had to pay her its due. It seemed the predator may have to admit that it would be very hungry if not for its prey.
It didn’t bother him if the game got a bit more complicated. He would play and he would win, he always did.
Chapter 11
Richard should have been going to a ball that evening, but he decided not to, instead staying home with his house guests. He was curious to see what Miss Hessworth’s next step would be and he would push her to take it that evening.
The older Miss Hessworth played along nicely by insisting on one of their ‘family’ suppers, while the older woman talked about events and people long gone. Interestingly, there was a change in Amelia’s attitude toward him; she was not as nervous and uncomfortable around him—neither was she paying him much regard.
He wasn’t sure whether that was part of her game, but he suspected that it was, and that he was dealing with a much wilier creature than he’d given her credit for. Considering whose daughter she was, he should have expected it.
She looked tempting, not in any way lascivious, but like the proper young lady she’d been raised as. The light blue dress she wore showed little of her décolletage; the short puff sleeves highlighted the creamy skin of her arms and a small cameo sat in the small indentation between her shoulders and neck, drawing attention to her slim neck.
“We simply must go to Bath this year,” Edna said. “I know how much you’ve always enjoyed Bath, Edward.” It was something Richard hadn’t known about his former nemesis. “Maddie can use with some of the strengthening waters, couldn’t you, my dear?” Amelia smiled tightly.
He wondered if they’d taken rooms in Bath often. His family had little time for Bath as his father hated travelling and would only do so to their country estate.
“It will be so romantic,” Edna continued. “We can reminisce about the autumn that you two met.”
Amelia looked at him; her eyes were filled with concern and sadness.
“Perhaps in the autumn, aunt,” Amelia said, but her gentle reminder of their true relation did nothing to dissuade the older woman.
“You two should definitely take a stroll after supper. It is such a lovely evening.”
The Sole was a little dry that evening, but otherwise the meal had been pleasant. He’d had to order some new claret as the existing stocks were running low. It was nice to return to some of his typical vintages, even though they were not of the quality that Edward Hessworth enjoyed, the comfort of tastes he was used to had a certain sway over him.
“Young people need a bit of exercise after dinner,” Edna stated. Then she grew quiet, which he had learnt was not the woman’s natural state. “Who are you?” she asked looking straight at him.
“Aunt?” Amelia said with eagerness. “This is Lord Eldridge. He has been very kind to us.”
The statement surprised him, it was a stretch to call him kind. He had grudgingly given his assistance because he hadn’t been able to find another solution.
Concern drew the older woman’s face into a deep frown. “I don’t feel well. I think I will return to my room.”
“I’ll assist you,” Amelia said and rose to assist her aunt. The woman seemed much frailer than before when she was chatting away about life in the past.
The silence was stark when they’d gone. Granson returned with the decanter of port to find a mostly empty room. “Por
t, my Lord?”
“Please,” he said.
Amelia returned just as he finished. She looked a bit uncertain. “I will bid you good evening,” she said and turned to go back upstairs.
“I believe we agreed to go for a stroll this evening,” he said before she disappeared.
She froze and turned around, “Uhh..” she started.
“It is a lovely evening, and we said we would. I do believe in honoring one’s commitments, even if to a senile woman who won’t remember it in the morning.”
She took a hesitant step, then said, “I will get my shawl.”
He waited in his seat at the head of the table while she returned upstairs, wondering if this would be a typical activity he would engage in when married, taking his wife for a stroll. It was not something his parents did, but obviously a common occurrence for the Hessworths. It was a nice tradition, he supposed—more importantly, he would have a chat with Miss Hessworth as planned that evening.
She returned with a shawl, an elaborate looking material that looked sourced in the Far East. He got up and put his coat on before opening the front door for her. The air was brisk outside, and dusk was lighting up the sky in marvellous colors.
She seemed apprehensive and she wasn’t regarding him directly. A part of him felt that he shouldn’t have her out here, she would be seen and the gossips would make hay. The more pragmatic side of him knew full well that her ship had already sailed, the best outcome for her was to settle into her future as soon as possible.
He just wasn’t sure how to have this conversation. He felt like it needed to be said, in case the girl had unrealistic expectations. It would not do for her to anticipate that he would offer for her—she was beyond such measures. “I can be of great assistance to you,” he finally said, just to get the conversation going.
Undoing One's Enemy Page 11
