CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Rejection
Miss Emily had never played second best to anyone; it was simply not her forte. The Lord of Ashley Manor bedded a servant. The practice was commonplace, and she was no prude. She accepted that men had need of their sport. However, she now favoured Thomas and that made all the difference. Lord Ashley had an air of worldliness about him that other men did not possess, and being a scholar in the arts of love, she could deduce the ones that would not disappoint. His build, strong and masculine, differed from the sops that generally moped about her. She quivered in anticipation. Visualising his naked body on top of hers, she savoured her response, her base cravings spurring her on as she approached him in the ballroom.
“Lord Ashley, sadly my fiancé is neglecting me. I find my dance card does me an injustice on an occasion I would have expected to win the attention of every man. I beg of you to inform me that I shall not be left alone to cope with my distress?”
Miss Emily openly shouted seduction and flirting. Left without choice, Thomas satisfied her needs. He offered his condolences along with a gallant salute.
“Madam, you are the most exquisite woman in attendance. How could this offence have taken place?”
Thomas played along with Miss Emily’s fondness for the artificial before adding the expected shallow response. “However, if this be so, then I must immediately rectify the situation or be held to account for my lack of chivalry.”
Thomas’ superficial banter appeared to pacify Miss Emily. “You are very kind, sir, and since your stroll was interrupted earlier, perhaps you may find the company you keep a second time of a superior, more experienced quality.”
The woman lacked subtlety. “Madam, the benefit is all mine,” said, as Thomas cocked his arm, indicating his eagerness to comply.
Miss Emily’s constant chatter amused Thomas in the initial phases; however, as they strolled deeper within the grounds, the talk become less and her purpose clearer. Miss Emily flirted outrageously and obviously expected results.
“Tell me once more how beautiful I am, sir, and perhaps you shall be rewarded for your efforts.”
Miss Emily’s breed of women was not uncommon. They were spoilt brats with egos that required constant feeding. They were also practised in using beauty and wealth for personal gain. The people they manipulated rarely entered the equation.
Thomas’ bed had once welcomed women like Miss Emily, but he had soon learned to be wary and with good cause. A woman scorned often became an enemy more deadly than one on the battlefield. But, righteousness aside, he had long since lost the compulsion to satisfy his base urges with a beauty that was only skin-deep.
Miss Emily tilted her face upward, anticipating the kiss that was destined to kindle desire, a kiss that would never arrive.
Thomas made a crucial mistake. His face exhibited his true thoughts.
Miss Emily cringed. “Your Lordship seems to be preoccupied,” she commented, her voice adopting an adolescent pitch. “I pray that it is not I prompting your obvious indifference? But perhaps I place emphasis upon myself unnecessarily when the truth is that your heart lies elsewhere?” she added, now exacting.
Thomas considered himself well versed with female conceit; the trick was to let the woman walk away with her pride intact.
“Ma’am, you do me a grave injustice, and I declare to be wounded by your implications of treachery. It is a physical impossibility that my reflections could centre elsewhere when your company is on offer.”
Thomas removed himself from Miss Emily’s close proximity, pacing as though driven by apprehension and harmed by the mortal damage that she had inflicted by calling him to account.
“Madam, I concede that my concern lies elsewhere and that I am troubled; however, the facts are not as you suspect and you may not take kindly to my answer. Lord Henry is my friend, your fiancé, and my diversion.”
Lord Ashley’s forthrightness took Miss Emily aback, his statement robbing her of the cover of pretence. The man played her for an imbecile, but nevertheless she could not press him further without lowering the tone of the conversation. The situation could easily deteriorate and become indecent. A professional to the end, Miss Emily maintained her decorum and replied in all sweetness.
“It seems that you are a friend, sir, in every sense of the word. If this be so, then you are a colleague of Lord Marlbrook’s that he doubtless does not deserve. But come, my Lord, we shall not ruin a night that guarantees to delight. Let you and I forget these romantic fancies raised in jest.”
Upon Thomas’ return to the ballroom, he was ambushed. The grand hall was rife with scheming mothers on the lookout for a suitable catch for their mostly average daughters. Matrons attacked him from all sides, until little hope survived of him pursuing Laura for a second time this night. The polite small talk each dance had obliged him to undertake near drove him to madness.
“Lord Ashley!” Lady Cynthia’s unexpected, and very loud, summons startled Thomas.
“I had heard rumours of your restoration of Ashley Manor but did not believe them, and now in the wake of my shameful mistrust I am placed in an awkward position.” Lady Cynthia paused only to snatch her breath. “Since you have proved me wrong, am I now to be forced to digest my words in repentance?” Lady Cynthia adored indulging herself in dialogue of this nature.
Thomas smiled and his effort seemed quite sufficient to keep Lady Cynthia happy, as she continued her rampage.
“You have returned to us a rather distinguished specimen of a man. If I were only a year of two younger, I would snare you in a trice.” Lady Cynthia’s fan ran amok, her tittering as coy as that of any youngster’s.
Thomas bent to kiss Lady Cynthia’s outstretched hand, subsequently setting her off on another rampage.
“Lady Cynthia,” Thomas began, “age is not our barrier. We have only your husband to thank for coming between us.”
In the background, Lady Catherine huffed and puffed, and when she could bear no more, she scolded her friend before unceremoniously pulling her out of Lord Ashley’s way.
Lady Catherine had nothing to say to Lord Ashley, but only she paid heed to the fact. However, despite her best efforts, her friend would not allow the conversation to rest.
“Has no one thought to set up a match?” Cynthia probed of Lady Catherine. “Observe his dance with Lady Maureen. See how his spirit breathes life into her listless manner. Do look, Catherine!”
“It is none of our concern, Cynthia, and considering that neither of us has a daughter to benefit from the occurrence, I see no reason for us to go poking our noses where they do not belong.”
Lady Cynthia tried her best to keep the subject of Lord Ashley alive, but Lady Catherine would hear none of it. “Lord Ashley is an extremely eligible bachelor. With the gaggle of mothers surrounding us, it will not take long before he is snared in one their silken traps.” Lady Catherine walked on ahead, her exit making it quite clear that the discussions on this particular topic had ended.
Alone, Thomas withdrew the priceless package from his breast pocket. Over the next few months, his workload would double. The manor had reached a critical stage of repair, and time was the one precious asset he lacked. His future with Laura depended upon his ability to deliver the note safely into her hands.
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The stupidity of the people that surrounded Sarah irritated her. Unlike her sister, Sarah sat watching the proceedings with hatred festering away at her insides. Sarah directed her resentment at her dead father. Had the half-witted man not lost his money, then she too would be wearing a fine gown, stepping to the music and wallowing in admiration. Lord Marlbrook, the other target of her venom, had also proven himself to be a dolt. The man’s chances of bedding her sister were remote yet he persisted in his efforts and continued to dismiss her.
The butler’s incessant tapping on Sarah’s shoulder annoyed her. Unsound thoughts were amassing and the unsolicited action disturbed those that had begun to form. She brushed his hand away wit
h unconcealed contempt, but her attitude quickly altered as the purpose of his harassment became known. Summoned before him, Sarah found herself introduced to Lord Thomas Ashley, a gentleman she immediately recognised that could be put to good use. She had not been aware of his title at their first meeting.
“Good evening, my Lord.” Sarah addressed Lord Ashley in a suitably subdued manner, completing a sweet curtsey that enabled him to gain an excellent view her ample cleavage.
Recent months had seen Sarah reach a maturity absent when they had last met, but Thomas could not place aside the girl’s uncaring attitude.
“Miss Townsend, I trust I find you entertained by what this splendid evening has to offer?” Thomas’ speech was formal, absent of his normal charm.
“Yes, indeed I am. I have a great deal to be thankful for.” A brilliant smile accompanied Sarah’s equally formal lie.
Pleasantries done with, Thomas attached urgency to his words. “I have a request to make of you that is rather delicate in nature. Your utmost confidence is required in a matter concerning your sister.”
Jealousy no longer surprised Sarah, but nevertheless an internal struggle took place, forcing her to master her natural reactions and play out the sham.
Thomas observed Sarah’s conflict. “I can see by your expression that this petition does not sit well with you. Perhaps I should not progress this conversation?”
“You are mistaken, sir. My hesitation is due to anxiety and the sincere conviction that I would see no harm come to my sister,” came the fictional reply.
Thomas relaxed. “You have my word that I would see no wrong befall Laura, indeed my intentions are quite the opposite. My request is uncomplicated. With your permission, I shall now deliver this letter into your trustworthy hands.”
Lord Ashley’s tone had adopted a sincerity that charmed Sarah, temporarily erasing her hostility.
“Sir, Laura is all I have in this world, therefore her happiness is of paramount importance to me. Since I believe your appeal to be genuine, I shall do as you ask.”
Sarah read the note. After all, no one would expect her to hand something to Laura that might be injurious in nature.
The letter occupied the wastebasket in her chamber, and the venom that had accompanied the destruction of the message was obvious in the repeatedly torn remnants of paper.
Sarah did not need anyone to tell her that youth and beauty were hers or that her experience was way beyond that of her spinster sister. Life was unfair and the injustice of it all caused Sarah to vent her violent temper upon anything within her reach. Her chamber took on the appearance of a war zone.
“I hate her!” Sarah screamed, before proceeding to yell a steady stream of obscenities until, exhausted, she halted, thoroughly bored with the whole affair.
Sarah waited for the last of the guests to take their leave, observing the closing scenes from the private recesses. Miss Emily and her maid had been safely locked away, leaving Lord Henry to his own company. He surveyed his territory from the balcony below.
The smell of Lord Henry’s cigar enticed Sarah. Quietly, she left the safety of her chamber, attired in a see-through nightgown. Her ink black hair hung seductively to her waist, the dark locks gleaming from the brutal brushing they had received.
The impact took place in the corridor, and for a split second, the incident reminded Lord Henry of his encounter with another, but this time the eyes that captured his were not those of an innocent.
And as the door closed behind them, Sarah began on the road that would eventually bring about her downfall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – The Marriage
The chapel was small and the adornments dramatic and ancient. The original foundations of Marlbrook had been laid prior to those of the few remaining ruins dotted about the vast estate. Marlbrook’s church signified more than just hallowed ground; the house of worship represented the resilience of its masters. Politically aware, the House of Marlbrook had succeeded in reading the times and while most had succumbed, they had not. The face may have altered over the centuries, but the core of its significance had never mutated.
Lady Catherine’s grin appeared smug. Her manoeuvring had secured her son's marriage and she harboured no regrets; such feelings were redundant. There would be no love match for Henry, but in all fairness, he had shown no signs of achieving the same for himself. If her estimations were correct, Henry would continue his womanising away from home, and Emily would enjoy the freedom afforded a woman bound by a marriage of convenience.
Friends joined with family lining the church pews, their finery in conflict with the sombre setting of the ancient chapel. Lord Henry’s aristocratic statue made a fine spectacle. He carried about him an air of resignation, his grim condition unbecoming to the festive nature of the ceremony.
Melodic music, produced by a lone flute, accompanied Miss Emily, as she walked the final few steps to join Lord Henry. A triumphant dressmaker had created an illusion of purity. Miss Emily’s gown, overlaid with a garment of gossamer, shimmered in the subdued candlelight, the intricate bodice supporting her ample bosom. Strawberry tinged locks, supported by buckles of gold, fell in ringlets, providing a colourful framework for her flawless features. Together, the ensemble outwardly made for perfection.
The preacher, solemn in his duty, appeared to be predicting events to come. The priest spoke of the failings of man, and perhaps his consideration of Marlbrook’s various scandals throughout the years helped him assemble his words.
The wedding festivities continued until the majority of men had drunk themselves into a stupor, which in some cases had been a protracted task.
Laura was thankful. The heavy workload distracted her mind which of late had taken to wandering to a dark place. Lord Ashley had been notably absent. He had made no attempt to contact her since their last meeting, his failure to do so inflicting pain on Laura’s very core. Any declarations of love were now redundant.
Over the lonely days, remedies were sought and applied but they failed to lessen Laura’s heartache. Laura’s journal recorded her phrases in hesitant waves, her flow of thought obstructed.
“I raised my expectations to a degree that now haunts me, and I am duly paying the price. My instincts shunned - no, refused outright to accept - the reality that Thomas was of a class that I could never have hoped to attain. My thoughts of my mother are now confirmed. Had Thomas been a caretaker, I am sure that we would be together now. I do not feel betrayed, but I have come to realise that it is not just the women of my mother’s class that suffer. I pray that he is not a casualty as am I.”
Sarah had no idea as to the depths of despair to which Laura had descended; Sarah’s excessive self-indulgence sheltered her. Sarah struggled with her own set of woes; she had gone to great lengths to ensure that Lord Ashley did not attend the wedding. He could only have spoilt her plans. His timely diversion to London on urgent business had personally cost Sarah dearly. The messenger had reneged on their original agreement and extracted a hefty price in payment for his work. The man had been greedy, and it had taken Sarah a long time to wash the disgusting traces of his hands and lips from her body.
For a short time, Sarah’s mystery ailment inconvenienced everyone. As a new bride, Lady Emily could hardly have been expected to travel without her companion, or her husband without his mistress. However, it did not take Sarah long to declare herself well enough to accompany the newlyweds and to allow quiet to once again descend upon Marlbrook.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – The Return
Winter naturally brought with it isolation, compacting the resources of the estate, with most of the inhabitants content not to stray too far from an open fire. The absence of Sarah and Lord Henry deprived Laura of her normal chaotic routine, the quiet playing havoc with her thoughts. The weeks treated Laura poorly. Despite her best efforts, she sustained her faith in Thomas, and until she conquered her self-pity, she knew she would continue to suffer.
With the passing of time, the snow trans
formed into a grey slush, the deposits warranting removal from the immediate area of the front steps. An icy chill bit at the bones of the staff, made to stand at attention by the entrance. White aprons decorated stark black backgrounds, the flimsy material fluttering in the breeze. All appeared in harmony with the setting nature had provided.
Lady Emily stepped from the carriage to the sound of the butler announcing her new title. Lady Emily flaunted her newly acquired supremacy, exhibiting her power for all to see and heed. The display was designed to warn the staff of things to come.
Laura had taken up her position at the top of the stairs. Lady Emily approached her last and, for whatever reason, Laura came to understand that she had an enemy and she would be wise not to dismiss her.
What Laura had yet to find out was that Lady Emily owned another virtue to add to her erstwhile repertoire of negative ones, a quality that would soon rear its ugly head and impact all within her radius.
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Upon Sarah’s return, Laura enjoyed a brief lull in their relationship struggles, a welcome change in Sarah having taken place.
“Laura,” Sarah began, “when I am wealthy, I shall live in London and not here in the boring countryside.” Sarah’s features came alive and her manner was animated. “Although, I admit to being overwhelmed by a world where money has no meaning, so much so that then I dare not think what surprises it would hold for the likes of you.”
Sarah recounted stories of a place neither sister had ever dreamed existed, while Laura sat quietly and listened attentively. Sarah shared her gossip, along with her knowledge of fashion and food from the London bill of fare.
Instinctively, Laura gave Sarah a hug, grateful for the temporary reprieve from at least one of her troubles. Sarah, it seemed, had come to accept her role. In all honesty, Laura had expected Sarah to be sent home, banished and in disgrace. To be proved wrong was a happy event.
Journey's End (Marlbrook) Page 10
