by Cari Hislop
He stared at the mound of bed clothes with satisfaction. He was pleased with his morning’s work. His baser nature was pleased that Rosamund’s schemes to make her daughter the Countess of Carmarthen would be disappointment, but it was the fact Lily would live the rest of her life safe under his roof that caused an inexplicably heady satisfaction. The thought of waking every morning knowing he could step into the next room and crawl into her bed fuelled the warmth in his chest that had been ignited by brown adoring eyes that first visit with William. No one would ever hurt her again; he’d make sure of it. He scowled as he remembered the doctor’s pronouncement; if she hadn’t been so fat several of the blows might have killed her. The large bump on her head gave cause for alarm, but the doctor could only leave a bottle of laudanum and hope there was no long term brain damage. The bruised woman refused to name the perpetrator which either meant she was frightened Mr Philips would kill her or it wasn’t Mr Philips and Lily was afraid he wouldn’t believe her. It didn’t really matter; the culprit would feel his wrath if they touched her again.
He forced his eyes off his sleeping bride and patted his pockets. Thoughts of touching his wife’s ample curves were making his cravat feel like a noose; he needed his pipe and his mistress. Turning towards the door his thoughts momentarily cleared allowing his ears to hear strange noises coming from the hall. Forgetting his needs he rushed out of the room and towards the stairs as a crescendo of rage echoed off well polished floors and uncluttered walls. Jones was being mauled by a cloaked female visitor trying to make her way to the stairs. Mrs Jones appeared with a rolling pin to defend her husband, but was attacked before her blows could do much damage. One of the footmen jumped into the fray, grabbing the raging woman pulling her off the housekeeper, but he was soon on the floor moaning in pain. “Rosamund?” Penryth’s voice floated calmly down the stairs capturing his unwanted guest’s attention.
The woman jerked around and glared up at him. “You lying bastard, I nearly froze my backside to a pew waiting for you. Was that your idea of revenge? Tricking me into thinking you’d accepted my offer and then stealing my sister while I was out of the way? I won’t let you ruin my family by parading that fat lazy slut as your live in whore.”
Penryth slowly descended the stairs and stared at his old fiancé with distaste. Her eyes were wild with hate, her beauty transformed into a mask of ugliness. How could he ever have thought he loved her? “Are you referring to my wife?”
The wild eyes blinked in shock. “Wife?” The thin lips curled back over yellow teeth as an odd choking sound escaped from her throat. Was she laughing or having a fit? Penryth tugged on his cravat and unwound it from his neck to use as a restraint. “Where is she? I want to hear that lazy traitorous heifer explain her lies. Lily Leigh! Come down here you fat slut.”
“My wife is sedated to ease the pain from wounds, doubtless inflicted by her dear sister.”
“She deserved every bruise.”
“Then you’ll be grateful I’ve taken her off your hands.”
The angry woman stood there speechless wringing her hands as if she were imagining his throat at her mercy. “Lily has cost me a fortune, just look at the size of her. She’s eaten enough for three people over the years and every time I buy her a dress it takes three times the fabric. She owes me. I can’t believe you’d bed that ugly lump; annul this farce and return her to me immediately. I insist she pays every farthing of her debt.”
“I wouldn’t return a dog to your care. I can only pity your less attractive children. Are your daughters with orange hair going to get a dowry or have you pooled your resources to secure a title for your precious blonde darling?”
Wild eyes filled with hatred. “I’m the best of mothers!”
“Are you?”
“You’re doing this to ruin the wedding, aren’t you? You’re going to punish my Grace because I chose to marry a better man…”
“If, after he turns twenty-one, William chooses to chain himself to a spoilt brat prone to tantrums, that’s his business. A man who can’t support a wife or offspring has no business tying the knot.”
The wild eyes filled with horror at the mention of children. “You wouldn’t actually bed her?”
“Why wouldn’t I? She’s my wife.”
“She’s fat!”
“At least she’s not a trying to relive her wasted youth through her eldest daughter.” An ear splitting scream pierced Penryth’s ears and then she was clawing his neck and face trying to draw blood. Wrestling her face down to the ground he wrenched her arms behind her back and tied her hands together with his cravat as she sobbed out her impotent rage. Standing up he sighed with relief as he noticed Mr and Mrs Jones hugging each other and the footman back on his feet a few feet away. “How did she come?”
“Her carriage…it’s outside.”
“Good. Cheer up Rosamund; you’re going home unmolested unlike my poor servants.” The woman screamed an unintelligible reply. “Don’t bother inviting us to dinner; I’ll be keeping country hours so I can spend my evenings pleasuring my wife.”
“I hate you!”
“Good. You can let me help you to your feet and walk to your carriage or we can carry you outside and heave you inside like a she-devil. There’s bound to be someone looking out a nearby window after all of your noise. I highly recommend you use your feet.”
“Untie me!”
“I prefer my eyes in my head.” He dragged her to her feet and immediately regretted not tying her legs. He winced in pain as her boot struck his shin. “Kick me again…” She kicked him harder. Spinning her around he dragged her backwards out of his house and shoved her into her carriage and shut the door. “Take her home.” She was still screaming insults as the carriage rolled away down the street. Back inside he closed the door. “That was my new sister-in-law.” The servants stopped dabbing their wounds to stare at him with horror. “Don’t ever let her in if I’m not here. If she tries to scratch out your eyes you have my permission to push her into the street and lock the door. I’m going to call on Lady Gillingham. If William comes home in a state…tell him I’ll explain later.”
Chapter 5
Comfortably fatigued, Penryth tucked his wrists under his neck as he returned Lady Gillingham’s smile as she propped her chin on his naked chest. “You grow lovelier every time I see you.” Her young cheeks flushed a dainty pink as she briefly pressed her lips to his ribs. “If I were your husband I’d be sick with jealousy at the thought of you smiling at some other man like that.”
“If you were my husband you wouldn’t leave me behind like excess baggage. You’d take me everywhere.”
“I wouldn’t take my wife to India; she might catch one of those deadly fevers.”
“I don’t want to go to India; I want to go to Wales.”
“I’d best warn the natives.”
“Seriously Penryth; I’d like to visit next summer. Boring Bertram won’t be home for at least a year and with luck he’ll die before he can get back on the boat. We could travel together. I could tell people I was your wife.” She kissed his chest again before fluttering her eyelashes. “I’d enjoy being your wife.”
“Being a lowly Mrs Bowen wouldn’t suit you my Lady.”
“I wouldn’t be Mrs Bowen for long. Carmarthen is bound to die soon. Being Lady Carmarthen would suit me very well.”
“I thought you wanted to be Lady Oldham. Isn’t he still in love with you?”
“Yes, but Oldham’s so…I don’t know if I could marry someone who says he loves me and then chews on his fingers like a madman.”
“Perhaps they itch to caress you?”
“Hardly, he’s just terrified of his mother’s reaction and you know he spends half the year at home with his parents. I don’t think I could bear it. Have you ever shared a dinner table with his mother? The woman is frightening; a Valkyrie in the flesh. Every time our eyes meet I get the feeling she dreams of disembowelling me.”
“Oldham is her only surviving son. Perh
aps you should be content with your present lot. Your husband isn’t a bad fellow, if a little too trusting for his own sake. Is his eldest son his own?”
“Yes of course, but I prefer a more manly man, like you.”
“Your husband is a manly man. I’ll never forget his enthusiastic demonstration of strength at your house party where he declared he’d win you or be damned. Remember how he drew back his bow farther than the rest of us? The arrow flew past the target, over the far fence into your father’s prize bull. I’m surprised the old man let you wed.”
“But Bertram’s so boring. If I’d known he’d spend hours talking about the Indian trading Company and profitable trade routes instead of me I’d have turned him down. Hopefully India is more dangerous than the Colonies.”
“Many men visit India and return home in perfectly good health.”
“Yes, but Bertram has the worst of luck. If anyone dies, he will and I’ll be free to marry you. We could make love every morning, noon and night.”
“I’d be dead from exhaustion by the end of the first week. You’d have to resume your search for a more manly man unless Oldham’s mother flies off to Valhalla.”
“You’d enjoy being married to me…”
“Perhaps if I could forget you have a habit of keeping three lovers on the go at any one time I would, but I’m afraid the position has been filled.” His naked companion abruptly sat up mesmerising him with her wobbly breasts.
“Filled?”
Staring at his lover’s breasts made him think of the ones waiting at home. His wife’s breasts were a trifle large, but they were a much more pleasing shape. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that Lady Gillingham’s breasts drooped unevenly? “Did you know your left breast is larger than the right?” Her breasts jiggled faster as she slapped his chest dragging his attention back to her angry eyes.
“What do you mean the position is filled?”
“I’ve taken a wife.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“Today? You married some poor woman and then left her to see me? Are you heartless?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“Sleeping? You never mentioned you were looking for a wife.”
“I wasn’t.”
“What happened to change your mind?”
“Nothing that concerns you; I don’t see why you’re so upset.”
“I was planning to marry you!”
“You have a husband…”
“I might already be a widow; you could have married me.”
“I was never going to offer you the position. I had every intention of dying a bachelor, but I changed my mind last night and there it is. I refuse to explain my actions to my mistress.”
“Is that all I am; your mistress?”
“Yes, like I’m one of your many lovers. We enjoy each other’s…”
She thumped his chest with her fist making him grunt in pain. “You’re my favourite!”
“I thought Oldham was your favourite. He’ll certainly be the richest when his father dies.”
“Is she beautiful?”
“Not next to you.” The woman kneeling over him seemed momentarily mollified.
“Is she rich?”
“Penniless.”
“Is she well connected?”
“Not really.”
“She must have perfect breasts.”
“She’s too fat for perfection.”
“You married a penniless ugly fat woman?”
“I didn’t say she was ugly.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Well you can’t be in love with her or you wouldn’t leave her sleeping alone.”
“I’m not in love.”
“Then why did you marry her?”
“That’s my business.”
“Well who is she?”
“Mrs Rosamund Philip’s sister, Miss Lily Leigh.”
“The vapid orange haired creature who follows Mrs Philips like a fat subservient shadow?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t going to marry me, but you chained yourself to an ugly drudge?”
“She isn’t ugly; she’s quite pretty.”
“Get out of my bed. Get out of my house.”
“What’s the matter? I told you a thousand times I wouldn’t marry you…”
“And all the while you gave me a thousand reasons to hope you’d change your mind.”
“Hope? What are you talking about? I made it clear…” She thumped him again before jumping off the bed and racing towards the mantel and picking up the first thing that came to hand; a Chinese vase smashed on the floor beside the bed and was soon joined by an Indian God.”
“I can’t believe all I’ve been to you is a minute of pleasure…” A ceramic shepherd landed on the bed and bounced off onto the floor.
“I understood it to be mutual pleasure…”
“Go away you horrid Welsh turd or I’ll write to my husband and tell him you ravaged me.”
“That won’t do you any good if he’s already died of fever.”
“Put your clothes on and don’t bother calling again because I won’t be in.”
“Why don’t you come here and let me kiss you…”
“Out!” Penryth sighed in irritation at having to move before he was rested. Reluctantly rolling off the bed he leisurely pulled on his clothes as objects flew past his head. He sighed again as she burst into tears. Why did women have to cry so much? Melisande was a stunning woman, but… His eyes returned to her uneven breasts. How could he make love to a woman for over two years and not notice she had one breast larger than the other? She was crying harder now. He could almost hear her wishing him to take her in his arms and tell him his wife was a jest. He approached the fire and brushed her back with his elbow as he filled and lit his pipe. “You’re a wretched heartless Welshman and I hate you.”
“Does this mean you won’t be visiting my country next summer?”
“I hate Wales…there’s nothing there, but stupid boring sheep.”
“Don’t forget the mountains and manly men.” He blew a lungful of smoke into her hair as he admired her ear. His wife had pretty ears; they had a pleasing curve that brought to mind the heart in the wooden love-spoon his father had carved for his mother.
“You’re hateful…I thought you loved me.” She flung herself into his arms and sobbed into his coat.
“Melisande, you know it wouldn’t mean anything to you if I did. Your husband loves you; the man sails off, risking death, to increase his fortune so he can build the house you want and all you muster in gratitude is that you hope he’s dead.”
