by Autumn Rain
But in the salon, Thomas Ashton faced Arthur Kingsley, hating what he did, but knowing it had to be done. "I'd have twenty-five thousand in settlements, my lord."
"Preposterous!" the old man snorted. "I could get a duke's daughter for that, sir!"
"I offer you that rarest of gems," she heard her papa declare stiffly. "She will grow into a remarkable beauty— indeed, but she already shows promise of it."
"I should rather count her an uncut stone," Kingsley countered. "Each facet must be carefully done and polished before she shows to advantage."
"Still—"
"Ten thousand."
"I cannot allow it. I have need of more than that."
"And I had hoped for higher birth," the old man snapped.
"There have been Ashtons at Edgehill for four centuries, sir! Can you say the same for your family?" her father demanded angrily. "Of course you cannot! And naught's wrong with her birth—her mother is a Conniston!" Then, perceiving that perhaps the other baron was sensitive about the lateness of his title, Thomas Ashton backed off to try another tack. "There's not a man breathing as will not envy you for my Nell, Kingsley. And if she were to bear a child for you—"
The elderly baron cut him short. "I have an heir. My late son left a boy."
"Still—"
The old man's eyes narrowed shrewdly as he regarded Ashton. Very deliberately, he took out an enameled snuffbox, opened it, and held it out. "Would you take a pinch? It's excellent sort—East Indian, in fact."
"Thank you—no."
Kingsley snapped the box shut and returned it to his coat pocket. "A pity. Like everything else I have, it's the best I can obtain." For a moment, his blue eyes met Thomas Ashton's. "Tell me, my lord—and I shall expect you to be quite straightforward about it—how much do you owe?"
"What are you doing eavesdropping on Papa, Nell?" the girl whispered behind her.
"Shhh."
"I'll tell him."
"Be still. I am praying." Elinor leaned forward, closing her eyes tightly, and her lips moved fervently, silently, beseeching the Almighty to deliver her from the old man. Twelve-year-old Charlotte Ashton plopped down on the stairs next to Elinor.
"Whatever for?"
"Papa is trying to sell me to Baron Kingsley," the elder girl answered through clenched teeth. "I'd not do it. Now will you cease prattling?"
"How diverting," Charlotte murmured. "Is he rich and handsome?"
"He's old!" Nell retorted. "Be quiet."
Thomas Ashton appeared to be considering the question still, then he finally cleared his throat. "That, sir, is none of your affair."
"Then the ten thousand is my last offer," Kingsley told him coldly. "We are wasting our time."
"Dash it, sir—ten thousand will not do it!"
"Your debts, Ashton."
Again there was a pregnant silence, then the girls heard their father admit, "It will take sixteen thousand in the least, and I should like to have enough beyond that I may settle something on my other daughters. And of course I should expect—"
"It's never wise to expect another man's money. How do I know you will not come to this pass again?"
"I assure you—"
"A gamester's word is no better than that of an opium eater—both will lie to satisfy their habits," Kingsley responded acidly. "And I'd have my wife's family do me credit."
Hope rose in Elinor's breast, then was dashed almost immediately when the old man added, "But I am not adverse to extending you an allowance, Ashton—shall we say something in the area of two thousand per year?— and the clearance of your current debts, of course. The latter I will settle once and once only, you understand."
The younger baron had hoped for more, and he stalled, thinking perhaps to gain a little more. But Kingsley was impatient. "It will not support further gaming, but it's all I mean to pay, so you may accept it or we are done. A little economy and you can live quite comfortably on that, Thomas."
"The other girls—"
"I should not expect my wife's relations to come to London as paupers, but"—the old man paused, fixing Ashton with his gaze—"but I shall merely frank their entry into society when the time comes."
"Dash it, but—they cannot make matches without money!"
"You may give it out that I mean to settle decent sums on them—upon their marriages, of course."
"How much?"
"Shall we say five thousand? That ought to gain them respectable offers."
"The money—"
"The money goes to their husbands."
It was an utterly demeaning arrangement, but knowing that he faced complete disgrace without Kingsley's money, Ashton exhaled heavily and capitulated. "I would like the matter expedited. I'd have my creditors know they are to be paid."
"Send them announcements of the wedding." The old man leaned forward and favored Thomas Ashton with a thin smile. "I shall apply directly to the archbishop for a special license. Shall we say the sixteenth of December at Stoneleigh? It will allow me to have the house put in order for her by then."
"Stoneleigh? I'd thought Edgehill—"
"I do not travel much in winter, sir."
"It's soon. I'd thought to give her more time—she is but fifteen, and—well, once my creditors are told, there is no need for unseemly haste in the matter. Perhaps when she is sixteen—"
"I do not mind that she is young, Ashton—quite the contrary," the elderly baron countered. "Lady Kingsley will be precisely what I choose to make her."
"Still—"
"The sixteenth," Kingsley declared flatly. "I shall be giving a country party for her directly after the first of the year, where I may observe how she goes on in company." His gaze met Thomas Ashton's as he added meaningfully, "You are welcome to extend invitations to those who hold your most pressing vouchers, of course." He smiled thinly. "That should delay any foreclosures, I believe."
"I should not expect many to travel to Cornwall."
"The weather is milder there than here." Kingsley rose and leaned on the narrow ebony cane. "But I leave it to you to determine whom to tell. I shall, however, expect a rather complete accounting of your indebtedness for my solicitor before the settlements are drawn."
"Of course. And the allowance?"
"The allowance will commence upon the marriage, Ashton. Not one day sooner."
"You will frank the wedding?"
"As it's to be a small affair—I do not think any but her family would wish to be present—I cannot expect the expense to be great, but yes, I will." Balancing his weight on one hand, the old man reached into his coat and drew out a slim leather folder. Using his thumb, he counted out a number of crisp banknotes. "Here is five hundred pounds for the girl. See that you use it to purchase her some decent gowns before she comes to Stoneleigh."
"You are most generous, my lord."
"No insipid colors, mind you—and no stinting. And, as in the case of the other, I shall expect an accounting of every farthing. I'd see it expended on the girl and nothing else."
Trying not to betray his chagrin, Thomas Ashton bowed slightly. "It will, of course, be as you wish."
"See that it is. I did not gain my wealth by consorting with fools, sir."
"He's coming out!" Charlotte hissed excitedly. But as the black-coated figure moved slowly into the hall, and she could see his narrow, stooped shoulders, she gasped, "Lud—is that Kingsley, Nell?"
"Yes."
Instinctively, the younger girl clasped her sister's hand for comfort. The old man looked up, seeing them, and his thin mouth curved into another smile. He raised his cane to Nell. "You must not fear me, my dear, for I mean to treat you well. Indeed, but once you are at Stoneleigh, you shall want for nothing."
Elinor pulled away from her sister, and, covering her mouth, ran up the stairs. She did not stop until she reached the safety of her room, and then she was heartily sick in the washbasin. She retched violently, bringing up the contents of her nuncheon, until there was nothing left. Finally, sh
e flung herself facedown onto her bed and cried.
"Here now, missy—what's this?" her papa asked from the door.
"I won't wed him," came the muffled reply. "I won't!"
He deeply regretted what he had done, and he felt for her, but he had to make her understand. "Aye, you will, Nell."
"I'd rather die!"
He moved closer, reaching out to her, then he sighed. "I had to do it, puss—I had to." When she said nothing, he dropped to sit beside her. "I did it for you, Nell. And for the other girls. Would you see them on the street? Would you have them begging for parish alms?"
"Papa, I cannot!" she wailed.
"Aye, you can." With uncharacteristic gentleness, he smoothed the copper hair against the back of her muslin gown. "Nell—"
"How could you?" she demanded miserably, her face buried in the covers. "He's old! And—and you let him touch me!"
"He is sixty-one, puss." He leaned over her. "Think on it—the man's rich as Croesus, Nell, and he cannot live forever. You'll be a rich widow before long," he reasoned softly. "You'll want for nothing—nothing. You'll have jewels, fancy gowns—a hundred servants to do your bidding—and you will be in a position to help your sisters."
"I am but fifteen, Papa! I have my own life yet to live!"
"I know, puss. I would that we could wait, but we cannot. As it is, I know not if I can fob off my creditors another month even. I had a note of Longford the other day—and that is not to mention the dozens of tradesmen—well, I have to count it a stroke of fortune that Kingsley wants you." When she did not move or speak again, he rose and stood awkwardly over her. "Someday you will understand, Nell—someday you will believe I do this for you." Her shoulders shook silently, shaming him. "Aye—one day you will remember and thank me for this."
"No."
"Nell—" It was useless. There were no words to ease what he did to her. Sighing heavily, he turned away.
As he left, she bit her knuckles to stifle an awful urge to scream. Thank him? she cried in silent anguish. For what? For selling her into an old man's arms? For denying her the love of a younger, stronger man? For a time, she wept pitifully into the bedcover, telling herself she would remember this day forever—it was the day her girlish dreams died.
She knew not how long she lay there, only that everything seemed to hurt from the hollowness in her chest to the ache in her throat. Beneath her, the covers were soaked with her tears until it seemed there could be no more, but there were.
The bed creaked beside her, and she felt her mother's hands upon her shoulders. "Dearest Nell," she crooned softly, smoothing the tangled hair.
For answer, Elinor turned into her mother's arms and sobbed. "Don't let him do this to me, Mama—I beg of you—" She choked, unable to go on as she was drawn into the comfort of her mother's lap.
For a time, they rocked together, a woman and a girl of nearly equal size, and the bed creaked against its posts. All the while Mary Ashton stroked her daughter's hair. Finally, against the comfort of her mother's breasts, Elinor ceased sobbing.
"You won't let him sell me, will you, Mama?"
Mary felt as though her own heart was breaking, and she had to wipe her own streaming eyes before she answered. "Nell—oh, Nell, I would that things were different," she whispered, betraying her anguish.
It was then that Elinor knew. There was no one to help her, no one to save her.
"I'm sorry, love." Even as she spoke, Mary's chin quivered and the tears spilled onto her cheeks. "But you will survive, Nell," she added fiercely. "You will survive. "
"Oh, Mama—I cannot!"
"Yes, you can. Look at me, Nell—look at me! Do you think I wanted to wed a gamester? Do you think I wanted to live like this?" Her slender fingers brushed the tangled strands back from Elinor's face. "But I have survived, dearest—I have survived! And you will also."
"Mama—"
"No. Listen to me, Nell. At least Lord Kingsley is old. You will not have to suffer a lifetime before you are freed. Thomas says he is over sixty, you know—and how many live much longer than that? Next year—or the year after—or the year after that, you will find yourself alone and well fixed."
"I don't want—"
"Hush, dearest. Neither do I. But when he is gone, there will be someone else to cherish you. You will still be young, Nell."
"And Papa will sell me again," the girl reminded her bitterly.
"No. I have wrung from Thomas the promise that the next choice is yours."
"How?"
"I have told him that I will leave him before I let this happen twice." Mary Ashton's mouth twisted as she met her daughter's startled gaze. "I would have this time, but for you and the girls. Don't you see, Nell?" she pleaded. "This is the only way we have. But there will be no next time—not like this—again. Even if I have nowhere to go, I will leave him."
"Oh, Mama." Elinor's arms closed around her mother's neck. "When Lord Kingsley dies, you can live with me."
"Nonsense. You will have a far different life than that we live here, dearest." Very gently, she disengaged her daughter's arms, and forced a watery smile. "Your papa really believes he does this for you."
"It's because he could not leave the cards and dice alone," Elinor retorted, rubbing at her swollen eyes.
"It's a weakness he cannot help, I'm afraid. And weak men make excuses that they come to believe." Mary Ashton rose from the bed and turned away. "I did try, you know."
To Elinor, it was as though the last gate had closed, trapping her. "I know," she managed miserably. "But I shall hate Lord Kingsley—I know it."
Later, when all tears were spent, when she could do naught but stare into the faded canopy over her bed, Elinor heard her father's words again. You'll want for nothing—nothing. You '11 have jewels, fancy gowns—a hundred servants to do your bidding—and you will be in a position to help your sisters. What had the vicar once preached? Be careful what you seek. Well, even God was against her, she decided bitterly, for He'd fulfilled her dreams in the cruellest way. She'd dared to hope for someone young and handsome like Longford. Instead, she faced a life with an old man.
CHAPTER 3
Stoneleigh, Cornwall: December 16, 1807
It did not seem possible that this was happening to her, but after six weeks of tears interspersed between frenetic shopping and fittings, Elinor Elizabeth Anne Ashton faced her unwanted bridegroom in the elegantly appointed saloon and said the words that bound her to him, while her mother wept silently behind her. To her credit, the girl did not even flinch when he slipped the ring onto her finger. Telling herself that she no longer cared, she allowed Arthur Charles William Kingsley to lead her to the parish book, and there, on the carefully lined and numbered vellum page, she signed her name.
It was over. At fifteen, she was married. She now belonged to a man more than twenty years older than her own father. She stepped back, and her parents signed for witness. Behind her, her husband's grandson, a boy her own age, murmured his good wishes.
It was over. There would be but the elegant, intimate supper, an hour or so of quiet conversation, and then... her thoughts stopped there. She was not at all certain what to expect later. Whatever it would be, it would not matter either, she told herself. She cast a sidewise glance at her elderly bridegroom, wondering if he knew how much she wished him dead. Not dead precisely, she corrected herself guiltily. Just gone. Anywhere.
"Tired, my dear?" Arthur Kingsley asked her solicitously.
"No."
"Nonetheless, I should insist that you rest before we dine. I'd not have you out of looks tonight."
"Really, I—"
"Lord Kingsley is quite right, dearest," her mother declared a trifle too brightly. "I shall be happy to go up with you."
"Go on, puss—plain to see your husband has business with me," Thomas Ashton said. "Got to be obedient— no time to argue with the man."
"Papa—"
"Not to look at me, Nell—got to learn to look to him."
"I
want to go with Nell," Charlotte announced.
"Me, too," a six-year-old Frances chimed in.
The elderly baron exchanged a significant glance with Elinor's mother, making her color uncomfortably. "Yes, well—really, but I think Lord Kingsley has ordered entertainment for you, my dears," she murmured. "And I should like a few moments alone with Nell."
Dismissed, Elinor trod the stairs slowly, reluctantly, to the elegant bedchamber above. Behind her, her mother sucked in her breath. "Well, you cannot say he does not value you," she murmured. "I vow I have never seen the like."
"Yes," the girl answered without enthusiasm. "I shall be like a bird in a golden cage."
"It's not forever, dearest."
"I doubt he will die today, Mama."
"No—no, of course not. Indeed, you should not wish it—the settlements—"
"Hang the settlements, Mama!" Elinor cried. "Is that all any can think on? What about me? I am your daughter!" Looking around her, she sighed. "Your pardon, Mama—I do not blame you for this. But Papa—"
"There was nothing he could do—the situation was quite desperate."
"I know. It's done, in any event, isn't it?"
The girl studied the rose silk-covered walls, the ornately painted ceiling, the marble-faced fireplace, the elegant, polished mahogany furniture—and the high, four-poster bed with its floral damask hangings. Her mother followed her gaze, then cleared her throat.
"You are a married lady now."
"I don't feel it—I don't feel any different at all, Mama."
"Yes—well, no doubt you will." Her mother hesitated, then blurted out, "Do you have any notion, Nell— about tonight, I mean?"
Elinor started to say that Miss Roberts did not teach about that at the academy, then forebore. It was childish to lash out now, and whether she wished it or not, she was no longer a child. "No," she answered finally.
It was the first time she could remember her mother ever blushing. The older woman sank into one of the French chairs and looked away, her face reddening uncomfortably. "Well," she began, "I did not think so, of course." For the briefest moment, her brown eyes met Nell's, then she hastily averted them again. "I cannot know precisely what Lord Kingsley will wish, but—" Words failed her, then she collected herself. "You must not struggle when he lifts up your nightgown, dearest."
