by Eliza Lloyd
“I’m doing this for Imogene. I know you have all suffered during the past years.”
“She can work on the farm. She won’t bother you. You know, after.”
“I’ve asked Imogene to stay with me. You understand why I must marry. I’ll be the earl someday and I can’t—”
“You don’t know Imo if you think she’ll stay with you after you marry.” He laughed a bit. “I’d be worried for your wife’s safety.”
“I think she’ll see reason, and I’ll make it worth her while.”
“Take my advice—don’t tell her your plans. And what about Charlie? Can you help him?”
“Let me think about it.” Jack had already been thinking about it. He had an acquaintance at Harrow who might be able to influence the board into taking a charity student. And Charlie would need a tutor. Someone who could influence him in a fatherly fashion. Maybe his own father and mother would be willing to assist. He didn’t want to make a decision without talking to Charlie.
“I know she’s your sister,” Jack said lamely. “But I will take care of her as much as I am able. And I am much able.”
“Thank you,” Danny said. When he pulled away, there were tears in his eyes. “She’s my family, Mr. Davenport. Money won’t mean nothing without her and Charlie.”
* * * * *
The day Frank was transported, the Farrells were at the dock. Danny was in Prescott livery, standing on the runner while Imogene and Charlie remained inside the carriage. Jack stood outside—he wasn’t part of the family and resisted the urge to comfort Imogene when it was her brothers she needed. He could hear Charlie bawling while Imogene tried to soothe him with soft words. He could offer no consolation other than the knowledge Frank was strong, cunning and still alive—and chance might favor him in the new colony.
Jack had paid to have Frank brought up on deck. Danny must have seen him because he jumped down from the runner and waved before he put the back of his hand to his mouth and then turned away.
Imogene sobbed. Jack turned to see her press her cheek to Charlie’s head, her arm firmly about his shoulder. Finally, the ship lifted anchor, the rattle of chain and the gush of water signaling the ship’s departure. Imogene and Charlie jumped from the carriage and were joined by Danny, standing at the edge of the wooden dock as they waved goodbye to their brother. The slow ship lumbered and swayed as the wind caught sail.
It seemed a long time to say goodbye, but not long enough.
Imogene turned away when she saw the two guards near Frank jerk him about and force him into the dank hull where the prisoners were kept.
The Farrells were a tough bunch and their eyes had dried when they turned away from the ship. Jack offered to buy them beef stew and warm ale, along with bread and milk for Charlie. All for a penny a plate.
* * * * *
Jack stared at Imogene’s reflection in the mirror. He wore yesterday’s trousers, intending to bathe before he had to dress and depart to the church. She wore a thin shift and sat cross-legged on the messy bed while her forearms were braced against her knees.
How had all of his days with Imogene passed so quickly? Why could he not have one more day? Or a lifetime of days?
To say that their last night together had been wonderful would be a lie. She had serviced him in every way, but it had none of the playful joy or deep passion they had shared to this point. And she hadn’t allowed him to do anything for her.
She had found no pleasure. He at least knew his boyish hellion that much.
He’d dismissed the valet who normally assisted with his grooming, wanting to spend the morning with Imogene. He plied the blade against his cheek then cleaned the edge against the towel over his bare shoulder.
“What if she makes you unhappy?” she asked.
An honorable man would not be having this conversation with his mistress the morning of his wedding.
He caught her gaze through the mirror. “We will be content. It is all any man can ask for.”
“I won’t be here when you get back.”
“I don’t expect you to be.” He wiped the towel across his face and then tossed it aside. “But you can stay. We can go on as before.”
“It won’t be the same. You’ll have a wife and I ain’t sneaking around. Besides... Besides, I got business to attend to.”
“What sort of business?” he asked. He sat beside her on the bed and took her delicate hand. She might have lived her life on the street and spent too much time living as a boy, but there was no doubt she was a woman. If only she could have spent the past five years in a girls’ school, she would have all the fine manners of a lady born and bred.
If only she were suitable for a ton marriage.
“None of your business. Not anymore.”
“You made a promise to me.”
“The Scot don’t want me.”
“You have enough money to take care of yourself and Charlie, if you want.”
“Don’t marry her, Jack. She’s not the girl for you.”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “This is the way it has to be.” He cupped her neck, his thumb caressing her jaw. “Stay. We can be together when I get back.”
“You want me to wait six months while you are busy shagging your wife? She’ll be the mother of your children.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t love her.”
“I am marrying Catherine because it is the right thing to do.”
Imo glanced up at him. Tears ran down her face and she did nothing to stop them or deny why she was shedding them at all.
“It’s not fair. She will never love you like I do.”
What could he say? She was probably right.
“You have the use of this house as long as you want it. Charlie can stay with you. You can play cards and take baths and enjoy your life.” He smiled and ran his fingers through her hair, tucking wild strands behind her ear. “But I do expect Maxwell to be here when I return, so don’t steal all of his money playing commerce.”
“He’s the worst commerce player in London. You ought to leave him some extra funds.”
All along Jack had denied that he loved Imogene. He could not tell her now, nor would he ever. It was one of those truths that had to remain hidden, because to bring it to light would only bring pain. And there was nothing he could do about it anyway.
He tried to press his lips to hers, but she turned her face away.
“You should get ready,” she said.
Jack pushed to his feet and reached for the bell pull. When he left the room, he saw her curl into a ball, hugging his pillow to her chest.
Nothing he could say would make it less painful for her. He dared not think about the future. He dared not hope she would still be waiting for him when he returned from his honeymoon.
Catherine deserved his undivided attention and loyalty.
He would give up the Prescott title to have Imogene.
He would not, however, shame his family and dishonor Catherine.
Once dressed, he stood outside Imogene’s door for a moment. There was every reason to say some final consoling words. To somehow make it easier.
But why prolong the agony? He heard the carriage arrive and almost turned around at the bottom of the stairs.
“Imogene,” he whispered as he glanced up to her window to see her staring down at him. She let the curtain fall back and he jumped into the carriage, wanting to get away from the truth.
* * * * *
Imogene almost convinced herself she could stay. She could enjoy the simple things Jack provided and take baths every day. In three or four hours everyone would be back from the wedding and everything would be normal again.
Except she would wake each morning and go to bed each evening debating the same argument.
Could she be the other woman in Jack’s life?
Could she watch as he and Catherine had children? Would she have Jack’s illegitimate children? Would he treat them the same? Would he spend less time with
her? Would she perish from jealousy?
Charlie said he would come over to play cards while the wedding went on without the Farrells. She wanted her brother. He would offer some strange little profound words that would make everything clear, then shrug as if everyone ought to know it. Whatever it was.
“He doesn’t love you, Imo. Why do you want to be with a man who doesn’t love you?” Danny would say. Charlie would be more perceptive. He would say something that would keep her hope alive.
Finally, she heard his footsteps, tromping up the stairs. The servants’ door would have been left open.
“Charlie, I’m up here,” she hollered. She wasn’t leaving this house as Jack Davenport’s fancy piece. She was leaving with her trousers and jacket and cap. And she was going to cut her hair. At the edge of the bed she reached for Jack’s pillow and buried her face for a moment.
The footsteps stopped outside her door. It wasn’t Charlie.
Jack!
Imogene ran to the door and yanked it open.
“You’re not Jack.”
“Miss Farrell.” Shiffington held his hat in his hands. He smiled and, in the mood she was, decided he looked like a sneaky backwater rat that needed to be drowned.
“Jack already left.”
“So you’re all alone now?”
Yes, she was all alone. The servants’ departure had been over an hour ago. The house eerily quiet.
“Not for long. My brother will be here soon.”
She turned away from him, realizing she only wore her shift. She hurried toward the end of the bed and grabbed her robe. When she turned back, he was inside her room and the door was closed. She pulled the ties of her robe and knotted them quickly.
“What do you want?” she demanded. She had never liked Shiffington and she liked him even less knowing that he claimed to be Jack’s friend when in reality he was a bottom-of-the-barrel prick.
“I have an offer for you.”
“For me? About what?” She had said only a few words to Shiffington in her life and had avoided him any time he’d arrived for Jack. She had noticed his hot gaze. Had Jack?
“Now that Jack is married, I would assume you are looking for a new protector.”
“I belong to Jack. We are going to be together when he gets back.”
“That doesn’t sound like Jack. He probably doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“Maybe. But I don’t need a protector.”
“I would be generous.”
“Like you are with Catherine?”
Something changed in his expression. A frisson of fear and anger spread along her nerves.
“Catherine? What about Catherine?”
“Being Jack’s friend and all, I think you better leave.”
“Or what?”
He was too close and she could smell him—the smell of a man who had been out all night, drinking mostly, but also rubbing against whores and smoking cigars. The stale stench of desperation.
She moved to the left, intending to go around him, but he caught her arm.
“You haven’t heard my offer.”
“I have, and the answer is no.”
His grip tightened and he took a step toward the bed, nearly dragging her along. Then with a quick yank, he flung her to the mattress.
She scrambled to get away, but he caught her ankle. “Jack will kill you for this.”
“Who’s he going to believe? His best friend or his whore?”
Imogene kicked out at him with her other foot but did no lasting damage.
“Then I will kill you,” she yelled.
He reached into his pocket and threw some coins at her, which landed on the floor and rolled away. “You’re a whore. Spread yourself like you do for Jack.”
“You fucking bastard.” She yanked her leg, but it only drew him closer as he dropped to one knee on the bed. She twisted away, but he landed over her, his weight crushing her.
She reached between their bodies and grabbed at his cock, squeezing until he screamed and rolled from her. He grabbed her wrist, attempting to subdue her. She jerked and scampered away, slipping his grasp.
“You bitch. Everyone knows what you are.”
He escaped the bed and she dashed toward the door, trying to pry it open. One arm caught her around the middle and lifted her from the floor. He hauled her to the bed again and threw her down before forcing her to her stomach.
“You do it and I’ll tell Jack. I’ll tell him everything.”
“No you won’t. Because I’ll tell Jack you wanted a new patron. I’ll tell Jack you offered me the same thing you offered him.”
He wrenched her arm behind her back and held it high.
She screamed, and he pressed her face into the covers.
“No one will hear you.”
She had nothing with which to defend herself. Was she going to let him rape her? Was there such a thing when a man handed over money? She went limp beneath and stopped struggling. There was a poker in the fireplace. She had to get it or get out the door.
“That’s better. I always knew there was a brain in that pretty little head of yours.” He eased back on her arm, testing to see if she had been tamed. He moved slowly. So did she, bringing her arm from behind her back and tucking it beneath her. The pain diminished to a dull ache.
“Now, we can both have a little fun if you’re nice to me. Take off your gown, Imogene. I’ve waited long enough to see you.”
She peered over her shoulder. He was on his feet again, working at his trousers. When he brought his cock into view, Imogene scrambled to the other side of the bed and reached for the poker.
He swung his fist and landed a blow to her temple. She kept a grip on the weapon but fell to her knees. She swung at him, catching him on the hip. He hit her again with a slap across the face. She couldn’t help the groan.
He knocked the poker away, tearing a gash in her hand, and grabbed a hank of her hair. She reached back with both hands. She knew she was swearing, but she didn’t know what she said.
Again she was on the bed, but this time he didn’t wait for pleasantries. His hand crushed her neck and he kneed her thighs apart.
And then he was over her, tearing at the thin layer of her robe, shoving his cock into her and causing more pain with the brutal force of his entry.
“I will kill you,” she screamed, her words muffled by the bed coverings. “I will kill you and cut your balls off and shove them down your throat.”
He grunted over her. She’d heard it a hundred times. A man who wanted his lust satisfied any way possible. Hatred hardened her heart. With each invasion, she swore vengeance.
When he finished, Imogene lay still on the bed until he moved from her, flopping to his back on the bed. Panting.
“Get out,” she muttered.
“Yes, I wouldn’t want to miss my best friend’s wedding.” He laughed and sat up, buttoning his trousers as he walked toward the mirror. “We ought to do that again soon. Tonight, perhaps. And the next time I’ll expect more enthusiasm or you’ll see what I am capable of.”
She didn’t move until she heard the door shut and his footsteps echo down the stairs.
It was bound to happen sooner or later, but she was determined it would never happen again. There were few choices for women like her. She’d always known that. Imogene hurried to the cupboard and pulled out a towel. The water in the basin was cold, but she didn’t care. She dropped the robe around her feet and stood naked in the swathes of fine material.
She poured the water over her chest and washed away his scent and the discharge between her legs. He hadn’t kissed her. At least she would not have to taste him for the next year. Her face throbbed, but she didn’t have time for pampering.
Her old clothes where washed and folded neatly away in the bottom drawer of her wardrobe. Stow it! She should take everything and never look back.
Staring down at the brown, worn wool, she realized it was easier to think about her clothes than to think about Shiffington.
She should take one of her dresses. Something to remind her of Jack and their time together. Go. Go as she had come? With nothing but the clothes on her back?
She gripped the bureau.
“Imo?” Charlie was coming up the stairs as if he owned the place.
“Shit,” she muttered and grabbed the worn clothes, slipping into the oversized trousers and pulling on the white linen shirt. “Just a minute, Charlie!” she shouted back.
“What the hell happened in here?” Charlie stood at the door with his hand on the knob. She glanced at him, taking in the sight of his angelic face and messed hair.
“Leave. Wait for me downstairs.”
He stared at her. “You’re bleeding.”
She swiped at her wound, blood staining her hand. She wasn’t going to stare in the mirror and fret about it. “I’m fine. We’re leaving and I need you to wait for me downstairs.”
“Does Jack know?”
“Hell yes. He’s the one marrying.” She spat out the words, anger and all. This was all Jack’s fault. Brainless man. And that shit Shiffington. If she ever saw him again, she would kill him. She’d learned a thing or two from Frank.
Charlie must have seen the coins because he walked across the room and bent down.
“Leave it.”
“But it’s money.”
“I said leave it.”
She yanked the plainest, most serviceable dress and a good pair of leather shoes from the closet and stuffed them into a bag. She glanced toward the bed, a mess of memories. She removed the casing from Jack’s pillow and stuffed it inside.
“Let’s go,” she said to Charlie, who looked as though he had something to say.
“To where?”
“You’re going back to Mrs. FitzPatrick and I’ve got things to take care of.”
“But what about your stuff? What Jack gave you?”
“What Jack gave me?” She laughed, because to do anything else would make her cry. He gave her heartbreak. “Jack’s not part of our lives anymore.”
“But he helped
She brushed past Charlie, slung the bag over her shoulder, and didn’t look back. She heard his footfalls, hurrying after her.
She had no key to lock the door. She didn’t suppose anyone would bother to enter his home or be lucky enough to know the house was empty. Jack wouldn’t be back for months, the others a few hours.
