A Dorset Girl

by Janet Woods

  Her eyes implored him. ‘I’m nervous.’

  He patted her hand. ‘I know. Just remember, all you have learned so far has been leading towards this moment. After today, your life will change for the better.’

  Better, she’d learned, was wearing corsets to change the figure to one that fashion dictated. It was laughter stifled behind a lace handkerchief lest its raucous sound offended another’s ear. It was fanning one’s face to keep at bay the perspiration a country girl took for granted. Better was saying one thing and meaning another.

  She giggled softly as they reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘If thee really thinks I can be bettered when these poxy corsets be so bleddy tight, you be fair mazed, Edward Forbes.’

  He slid her a grin. ‘I be fair mazed right now, my sweet and innocent Dorset girl. And I expect to uncover a completely wicked creature inside that corset when we are wed. I hope you don’t disappoint me.’

  She was blushing furiously when they went into the drawing room. Edward’s eyes were full of laughter as he clinked a spoon against a glass for silence.

  ‘Ladies and sirs, with the permission of my hostess, Mrs Elizabeth Skinner, may I present Miss Siana Lewis to you. On the occasion of her eighteenth birthday, I’m delighted to inform you that Miss Lewis has just done me the honour of agreeing to become my wife. The banns will be first published on Sunday.’

  There was a moment of complete silence, then someone said almost inaudibly, ‘I’ll be damned! I thought you said the girl was a clod-hopper.’

  Siana caught Edward’s eye and they both began to laugh.

  Someone gave a cheer and their laughter was lost in the clapping, cheers and the plethora of congratulations and good wishes being aimed their way.

  Francis managed to catch her eye. He raised his glass in a regretful salute before Edward attached her to his arm and took her on a round of introductions.

  Already she was a triumph. Francis wished he could feel as happy about the marriage as Edward looked.

  17

  The people of the district had never seen such goings-on. First it had been the ungainly Isabelle, now the bastard peasant girl, Siana Lewis, who’d been brought up in the Skinner family.

  Not only was the estate church crowded, but people lined the grounds waiting to get a view. One of their own to be elevated to the ranks of the aristocracy? It was unheard of. They wanted to see it with their own eyes. Most of them didn’t much like the thought and were there to satisfy their curiosity rather than to wish the couple well.

  They were not to be disappointed. The squire’s carriage pulled up, the horses fretting, farting and snorting. They tossed their heads in lively fashion as their leathers creaked and jingled.

  The villagers crowded forward, necks craning this way and that as the door was opened and the step lowered.

  The first to descend was the squire, who assisted a woman out.

  ‘It’s Tom Skinner’s missus,’ someone said.

  ‘Shame on her. It bain’t be right, a married woman with her man lying on his deathbed, flaunting herself with another.’

  ‘Who would want that swine for a husband, anyway? A pity she didn’t cut his throat after she bashed him over the head.’

  Elizabeth gave no indication she’d heard them, though her face paled at the unjust accusation.

  The second woman to descend brought an awed gasp from the crowd. ‘There’s bonny, she be. Just like her ma when she came here.’

  ‘I can’t remember her ma being that clean and well dressed. That gown must’ve cost a pretty piece.’

  ‘ If Megan Skinner could see her now, she’d turn in her grave, poor soul. That girl didn’t get the gown by grubbing for taters in the dirt, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Good luck to thee, lass. You’ll need it. You’ve sold your soul to the very devil, that you have,’ someone said loudly.

  And so it went on, with everyone making comment of some sort, and hardly any of it complimentary.

  Siana flushed and was inclined to return to the safety of the carriage, but Edward took her arm in a firm grip. ‘You will behave with dignity and take no notice of the talk.’

  They proceeded into the church. Edward ushered them into the Forbes pew at the front then, seating himself next to Siana, patted her hand to comfort her. The coachman and Jed Hawkins took the seat behind, as if protecting their backs.

  There was an atmosphere of discontent in the church. Her face pale, Siana felt sick and apprehensive all through the service, as muttering and shuffling came from the back.

  Richard White’s voice droned on, his sermon seemingly never-ending. The second lesson was read and Richard glanced around the church.

  The congregation stared back at him, expectant expressions on their faces.

  ‘I publish the banns of marriage between Edward Forbes, widower of this parish, and Siana Lewis, spinster. If any of you know cause, or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.’

  ‘What happened to Isabelle Pross—’ a man shouted from the back, but the words were cut off when the sound of a struggle ensued.

  Edward and Elizabeth stared straight ahead. Siana couldn’t help turning her head a little, just in time to see one of the estate workers ejecting a labourer. She noticed other men in Edward’s employ scattered throughout the congregation and began to feel better.

  ‘Siana,’ Edward reprimanded in a voice meant for her ears alone. She turned back, but not before she caught sight of Francis. She sent a smile in his direction and hoped he’d wait for her after the service so they could pass the time of day.

  But when they emerged into the warm, spring sunshine he was gone, and her feelings were dampened by the slight. She’d expected Francis to be happy for the chance she’d been given to provide a secure future for herself and her siblings, but so far he hadn’t even congratulated her.

  At the reverend’s house, Gruffydd Evans had been woken by the church bells.

  ‘Sinner. You masqueraded as a holy man yet you stripped the innocence from a child of the gods. Only the child of the child can forgive you – and the time of the reckoning is near.’

  Ignoring the sibilant voice hissing in his head, he slipped out of bed and stood at the window to pray before the cross casting its invincible shadow on the church wall.

  ‘Lord, help me find Megan Lewis and the infant of my seed, spilled from the loins of this sinner into her womb. Let not the sins of the parents be visited on the child.’

  He opened his eyes in time to see the congregation streaming from the church. A goodly crowd the reverend attracted. A good man altogether. He must ask him to pray with him. Surely God would listen to both of his humble servants petitioning on this matter.

  Then he saw her, coming from the church on the arm of an older man. How pretty she looked in a gown and bonnet of pale green. And how young she still was. His withered loins stirred at the sight of her and he knew at once it was to remind him of his weakness.

  Tears coursed down his cheeks. At last, his journey was over. Now he could go to his maker with his conscience purged. But he knew he must atone for his sin in public first, confess to the Lord in the church and ask for his soul to be taken into heaven.

  He placed his hand against his heart, feeling the erratic beat against his palm. Every beat was a pain, every pain a penance. Yet, soon, he would find peace.

  His eyes clouded over and he fell to the floor. Froth filled his mouth, his teeth ground together and chattered in his jaw and he began to jerk uncontrollably.

  Elizabeth had thrown all her energy into her shop, and right from the start she knew the venture would pay off.

  Peggy Hastings had turned out to be clever and quick to learn. She used just the right amount of deference to encourage the clients to confide in her, and was discreet enough not to repeat their confidences. Soon, she and Elizabeth learned who was indulging in an affair with whom, and it was to those cu
stomers the more intimate and sensual apparel was sold.

  Drawers had become very popular amongst those of social status. Cambric and percale were worn, and silk when bathing, or when wearing pantaloons under riding habits.

  Elizabeth’s creations were fashioned from the finest silk which clung to the body in a most sensuous manner, covering the more desirable aspects of the female body but emphasizing the forbidden fruit beneath in a most erotic manner. There were frothy red petticoats to wear under the demurest dress, stockings of silk with garters of flowers and ribbon. Parisian corsets and demi-corsets designed by Delacroix with padding to enhance the breast. Silks and satins, ribbon and lace, chemises of such delicacy that the female figure could be observed right through them when light caressed them from the right direction.

  Then there was the perfume Josh supplied her with, the tiny glass flagons of precious Parisian scent, bringing her, and him, vast profits. Soon, Elizabeth could not keep up with the demand and was thinking she might open another shop to sell only the most intimate apparel.

  ‘I’ve heard the shop next door is becoming vacant,’ Peggy said. ‘If we could get that, we could put a door through, so the clients can have access to it without the embarrassment of being seen entering a shop devoted exclusively to intimate apparel.’

  Elizabeth consulted Edward about it. He had arrived just before trading ceased, giving a faint smile when he glanced over her books. ‘I hadn’t realized there was such a trade in women’s undergarments.’

  ‘You have not seen them yet.’ Elizabeth took him to the secluded back room and seated him in a cubicle whilst Peggy Hastings began to tidy everything away preparatory to closing. Soon, the table before him was displaying a range of the exotic undergarments. He picked up a chemise, allowing the material to pour through his fingers. It flowed like a fall of cool water bathed in moonlight. He examined the silk drawers, noting the flap crossing over the front and back to maintain an illusion of modesty.

  He laughed, delighted by them. ‘The cost of these titillations?’

  The price was outrageous. It stunned him. Yet he knew it would be worth every penny he owned to see Siana wearing these on her wedding night. Right away he purchased the chemise, the drawers and a lace corset designed for pleasure rather than restraint. He added several pairs of finest silk stockings and ribbon garters.

  ‘And the second shop, Edward?’

  His frown remained as, uninvited, she added an expensive flagon of perfume.

  Lightly, she said, calculating it into his bill, ‘A little aphrodisiac, Edward. Although you don’t need it, you will enjoy the effect it has on your senses.’

  He laughed, flattered by the compliment to his virility. He wondered, for old time’s sake, whether she was still attracted to him any more. She was still a beautiful woman. Regretfully, he shook his head. He could wait another week. With Siana to satisfy him then, he would not need anyone else.

  Elizabeth gave the items to her assistant to package in a pink and grey box, which was embossed with the name of the shop in gold lettering. The packaging was obviously designed to draw attention to the establishment, but he was disinclined to carry something so feminine-looking himself.

  He watched the assistant walk away, assessing her desirability out of habit, and frowning slightly at the flicker of animosity he’d surprised in her eyes. She was a handsome, capable-looking woman, in a nondescript way. Too tall for his taste. ‘What’s your employee’s name?’

  There was something slightly forced about Elizabeth’s smile. ‘Her name is Peggy Hastings. She’s a widow.’

  Edward couldn’t recall seeing the woman before, and neither did he recognize her name.

  She bobbed him a curtsy when she came back, keeping her eyes lowered. He handed the box to Elizabeth. ‘Give them to Siana to wear under her wedding gown.’

  Elizabeth had planned to make them a gift to Siana in any case, as part of her bridal outfit. Now Edward had seen them, he’d saved her the expense. She inclined her head. ‘A good choice.’

  ‘I’m nervous about this marriage, Elizabeth. Siana is so young and innocent.’

  But she wouldn’t remain innocent for much longer. The last thing Elizabeth wanted to talk about was Siana’s youth. Much as she loved the girl, she knew she would be pleased when she was off her hands now. Siana could think of nothing but her own happiness at the moment, and not a thought was spared for Elizabeth’s feelings. She found it hard to maintain her veneer of pleasure for Siana’s good fortune when sometimes her jealousy threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘You have completely won her over, Edward, so I’m sure her youth will be a bonus,’ she murmured. ‘You have not advised me yet about the idea of a second shop?’

  ‘With the initial sales figures you’ve just shown me, it cannot fail. I’ll put in a word for you with the landlord and give you an advance for stock.’

  ‘The interest?’

  He thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘If you can repay me within six months of opening, I will forgo interest. After that time any private financial arrangements between us must cease, and you must conduct further business through the bank.’

  As they shook hands, their eyes joined in a moment of intimacy. His hand tightened around hers, his thumb caressed her palm for a moment. With the slightest encouragement from her he’d take delight in making love to her right here in the shop. Edward couldn’t help himself. He was amoral. He’d enjoy the danger it would pose.

  It would mean nothing to him, of course. Nothing but instant gratification of his immediate needs. It was Siana Lewis he loved. Whatever passed between them now, whatever the words spoken, Edward would walk away from her without regret and wed another on Sunday, Elizabeth thought.

  She removed her hand from his, turning away as Peggy opened the shop door to admit a late client who was looking for a specific ribbon trimming for a hat.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said softly and, picking up his hat and cane, he departed.

  On the dawn of her wedding day Siana was nervous.

  Foremost in her mind was the thought that although she loved Edward, that love was based on little more than the enjoyment of his company and the heightened awareness of her senses when she was near him.

  She’d never felt like this about his son. Her feelings for Daniel had been innocent compared to the wicked turbulence of body and mind she experienced towards his father.

  Edward knew women. He’d set about his pursuit of her with the experience of a seasoned womanizer, using every weapon available to him in a manner so blatant that she’d overlooked his ruthlessness in the excitement of the chase. His wickedness appealed to her and she was slightly ashamed of her weakness.

  Now she was nearly his – and at least she would have the respectability of marriage. No one could call her whore any longer.

  She caressed the little silver cross at her throat, which had escaped her stepbrother’s near rape of her. Odd that such a nasty incident had brought herself and Edward together and had led to marriage. Though why Edward had been on that road at that time escaped her, for it led only to the shell of the cottage and, beyond, to Croxley Farm.

  Perhaps he’d been going to see her stepbrother. She shuddered, trying not to think of Tom Skinner, but knowing that whilst he lived she would never feel really safe.

  The cross grew warm to the touch. She would wear it on this her wedding day, she thought dreamily and an image grew in her mind.

  Her mother danced in a meadow around a stone so old it was covered in green and yellow lichen. Her long, black hair flowed down her back and was wreathed in honeysuckle. She was singing, her voice high and full of joy.

  A cloud passed over the sun. There was danger! Siana tried to call out to Megan to warn her, but her voice was strangled in her throat and all she could do was croak.

  She saw him then, striding over the long grass, his face full of purpose, his body full of power.

  Her mother saw him too. She stopped to stare at him.


  ‘Pagan!’ he screamed out. ‘The Lord wants me to punish you.’ And his eyes were burning . . . burning . . .

  Megan began to run but the Lord’s messenger caught up with her, wrapping his powerful arms around her and bearing her down into the long grass.

  Megan began to cry out a name, ‘Siana . . . Siana!’

  Siana whimpered. It was not her name that Megan was calling out. It was the name of her great-grandmother, the woman whose name was inscribed on the cross.

  ‘What is it, my dear, are you in pain?’ Elizabeth said, coming up behind her and placing a cool hand on her shoulder.

  Siana turned her face to the woman and smiled. ‘It’s wedding day nerves, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be resting,’ Elizabeth scolded and, leading her back to the bed, tucked her under the covers.

  ‘I’m much too excited to sleep.’

  ‘My dear, on this occasion you will do exactly as I tell you. The day will be taxing and you will want to look your best.’

  ‘I feel like a witch’s cauldron with everything bubbling away inside.’

  Elizabeth kissed her. ‘Close your eyes and count the bubbles, make each one a pleasant wish and it will all come true.’

  She watched the girl close her eyes and, in a little while, was rewarded with the sight and sound of deep and even breathing.

  Tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes. Siana was no longer the pinch-faced little creature she’d first met. She was glowing with health and possessed of such innocence, anticipation and beauty. Her hair was spread on the pillow like a dark cloud, her lashes rested on skin so translucent and fine the colour on her cheekbones was the merest tint of pink.

  Edward would sit and watch her sleep from this day on. Edward would change her whilst he loved her, so in time all that was ethereal and fey in her would become earthbound.

  She went through to the dressing room and began to lay out the girl’s wedding finery. First the undergarments Edward had chosen for her. Virginal white, they were designed to incite the male into possession. Siana had not seen them yet.