Chapter 16
Kissing Mr Fitzroy was not a good idea. He was in a vulnerable state. Also, he had just asked me to marry him, which was proof he was not in his right mind. But despite this, he was still the most attractive man I had ever laid eyes on; and I could not deny that, by now, I was harbouring tender feelings for him. So I decided to oblige him a little.
I lowered my lips to his and gave him a chaste kiss. To my mind, it could hardly even be described as a kiss as it was so brief. He must have thought so too as he instantly said, ‘More.’
‘Well, if you insist,’ I replied with a smile, knowing he was going to be angry about this in the morning, but I could not help myself.
I lowered my lips again; and we shared a longer, deeper kiss, which caused my heart to flutter madly. Kissing him in the flesh was even better than in my fantasy—though in my fantasy, he hadn’t been rollicking drunk. But this worked in my favour as he was less inhibited than he might have been sober and was most eager to insert his tongue in my mouth.
One of his hands came up to entwine in my hair, and I gently caressed the soft down at the back of his neck. After a while, I pulled away as the position of leaning down to him was making my back ache. ‘Mmm, your lipsh tashte schweeter than wine,’ he slurred.
‘Of which you have had a lot of,’ I quipped .
He chuckled, which gave way to a hiccup.
I made to fetch him some water, but he captured me round the waist and insisted I kiss him again. I was rather liking this impetuous Mr Fitzroy, who was giving into his spontaneous passion rather than curtailing it. Caught up in his fervour of recklessness, I happily did so, plying his lips with my own and enjoying the pleasurable plundering of our tongues. Therefore, I was hardly taking notice of where his large hands were until one landed on my right buttock.
‘Mr Fitzroy!’ I gasped.
He simply gazed back at me with an innocent look.
I eyed him suspiciously. Was he still drunk after all that coffee? Or did he suddenly look brighter and more lucid?
He grinned at me. ‘Please, call me Max. My given name is Maximilian. But it’s a bit of a mouthful, so everyone calls me Max. And I think by now we are friends, are we not?’
Hmm, he now sounded completely sober to my ears! His hand stayed firmly on my bottom, massaging it a little. and I raised my eyebrows. Perhaps a little more than friends, Max .. .
I nodded. ‘Very well. I suppose so, especially after the lake and the cake.’ And the kissing and your hand on my derriere ...
He chuckled. ‘I like that—the lake and the cake.’ His free hand grasped my other buttock, and I bit my lip.
‘Max,’ I chided softly, liking saying his name.
‘I promise I will not compromise you,’ he said, his tone thickening. I did not believe him in the slightest but allowed him to kiss me again while he kneaded my buttocks with his warm hands, and I grew rather light-headed with desire.
Where all this would have ended, I do not know. But he abruptly pulled his lips away from mine, looking pale.
‘I feel slightly ... odd. I am afraid I might be ...’
He made a retching noise and vomited violently onto the flagstone floor, some of it splashing up and catching the bottom of my chemise.
I sprang out of the way and waited until he’d finished heaving, my hand lightly rubbing his back.
When it was over, Max wiped his mouth with his hand. ‘Oh my god, I am disgusting.’ He sounded distressed.
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘It is my fault. I should not have given you coffee. There was too much acidity in it.’
‘Even so ...’ He gazed at the scarlet mess on the floor in horror. Luckily, he’d managed to miss his trousers, or that would have been another pair stained.
‘Stay there. I will fetch a cloth. ’
I hurried to wet a clean rag and used it to wipe his face and hands.
‘Perhaps you should go to the parlour and rest,’ I said.
‘But ...’ He gestured to the puddle of vomit, and I shook my head. ‘I will clean it up.’ How to do that, I was not entirely sure. But I knew Mary had a mop and bucket. I had seen her use them.
‘I am so sorry.’
‘I hope my kissing didn’t cause it,’ I joked.
‘Not at all.’ He looked at me earnestly, like he wanted to resume our intimacy, but there was no way I was kissing him now. Besides, dawn was merely hours away, and I needed to mop the kitchen floor before Sue came down to start breakfast!
Depositing Max into the parlour, I helped him remove his boots; and he lay on the sofa, looking tired but snug with Harriet’s embroidered cushion under his head and a blanket tucked around him. ‘Do you think you will be ill again?’ I asked, checking the room for a suitable vessel, but he shook his head.
‘All right.’
I made to go, but he grabbed my hand. ‘Thank you, Felicity.’
‘You are welcome ... Max.’ Saying his name aloud sounded strange, but nice .
He squeezed my hand and yawned.
‘Sleep,’ I said, squeezing his hand back, then gently withdrawing my fingers from his. ‘You will feel better in the morning.’ Well, apart from a sore head ...
He nodded, closed his eyes, and instantly fell asleep. He must have been exhausted.
By the time I had finished cleaning the floor (after gagging several times), birds were tweeting the dawn chorus, and I was on my last legs too.
I crept upstairs to our room, where I stripped off my soiled chemise and carefully pulled out the dresser drawer to get a fresh one. But it squeaked, sounding very loud in the stillness.
Harriet stirred in bed. ‘Is everything all right, Fliss?’ came her sleepy mumble from behind me.
‘Yes, dearest. Go back to sleep.’
She turned over, and I let out a breath. If she only knew what a night I’d had!
Slipping into the ice-cold sheets on my side of the bed, I shivered for a bit but soon warmed up. As I drifted off, I thought about Max. It was comforting to know he was safely ensconced downstairs in the parlour and not lying sozzled in a field where he may have been trampled by a wandering cow!
** *
When I awoke, the sun was climbing a cloudless blue sky, and Harriet was not there. I lay there for a second to orient my fuzzy brain. Then one piercing thought entered: Max! Was he still here? I flung back the covers and dressed quickly, not bothering to wash or pin up my hair. He had seen me like this already and had thought well of it, if him kissing me enthusiastically and kneading my bottom were anything to go by. My face flushed pink at the memory as I ran downstairs, eager to see him.
But the parlour was as empty as a church on a Monday. The grey blanket was folded neatly on the arm of the sofa and the embroidered pillow placed alongside it. I groaned. Surely, he wasn’t having breakfast with Papa, Harriet, and Mr Humbleton? I took up the blanket, intending to return it to its original position by the fireplace. But as I did so, a square of paper fell out of its folds. It had ‘FB’ scrawled on the front, so I assumed it was for me. My hand tingled as I held it. Max had written me a letter.
But why was it penned in red crayon ?
4 September 1796
Dear Miss Blackburn,
I left at first light when the birds started chirping, loudly might I add, which did not help my headache. But I have only myself to blame.
Madam, I am wholly and utterly ashamed of myself. I apologise profusely for my uncouth behaviour and lack of propriety. I promise you that it shall never happen again.
You may recall, as I do now with much embarrassment, that I made a proposal of marriage to you. That you accepted it is wondrous under the nefarious circumstances, and I am in awe that you did not deny me and run for the hills. I can only surmise that you were attempting to pacify me.
I shall return to London forthwith to consult with my lawyer. Do not despair. I will resolve the matter hastily and write to you anon when it has been done.
Again, my sincere apologies for any damage caused (to your house, clothing, and your senses). I will send funds to cover the first two and pray that the latter are soon fully restored. Thank you for your kindness in caring for me when I was in a deplorable state.
I would write more, but this crayon is now a mere stub. (Please do thank your sister for the use of her utensil and drawing paper, which I found in the desk.)
Yrs,
Max Fitzroy
Indeed, there was a red smudge after his signature flourish, as if the rest of the crayon had crumbled. I was half impressed despite myself that he had found the mental agility to write such a letter as well as remembering to date and sign it. If I had been him, I doubt I could have managed it; a mere ‘Apologies, madam, and thank you for the blanket’ would have been the lot.
As such, I had no idea what to make of this confusing epistle: ‘I will resolve the matter hastily.’ What did that mean? I read the letter again, and as its meaning became clearer, my mood soured.
The formal tone as well as calling me ‘Miss Blackburn’ rather than ‘Felicity’ like he had last night suggested he was brushing our newfound intimacy under the carpet for the sake of propriety. And it went without saying that he was relying on my discretion about the drinking and its mucky aftermath.
Oh, Mr Fitzroy had proven himself to be cad, a rake of the worst kind—one that played the part of a gentleman! Not only had he stolen kisses from me. He had also stolen my heart, cooked it, and handed it back to me steaming on a platter. But what could I do? Write to him and demand that he honour his proposal? It would solve the current dilemma with my cousin, but something would not let me do such a thing. It would be trapping him in the worst way, and I did not want to be married to him like that—I wanted him to give his affection freely. But his letter told me that that was the last thing I should expect .
I started to tear up the paper, but something in me couldn’t bring myself to complete the action. Folding it tightly, I tucked it into the top of my dress for safe keeping in case I wanted to peruse it again later.
With a sigh, I made my way to the dining room to find out if breakfast was still laid out. If not, I would have to go to the kitchen and beg a roll and butter from Sue—something I’d rather not do after the intimacy that had occurred in there between Max and me; it would be an all-too-painful reminder. To my surprise, Harriet, Papa, and Mr Humbleton were still in the dining room. But the breakfast had been cleared, and there was nothing but a lone teapot and teacups on the sideboard .
‘Ah, Felicity, finally,’ said Papa when he saw me. ‘Come in and sit down. We’ve been waiting for you.’
I glanced at Harriet, and she managed a thin smile. Meanwhile, Mr Humbleton inclined his head, saying nothing. Something was up. I could fairly sense it. Ignoring my rumbling stomach, I sat down timorously in the nearest chair.
‘What is it, Papa?’ I asked.
As a reply, he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and brought out a thick cream-coloured piece of paper that had been folded neatly into thirds. He unfolded it and pushed it over to me, and I saw it was covered with an official-looking cursive.
‘Please read it and sign your name at the bottom,’ said Papa, sounding weary. A quill and ink were produced and made ready for my use.
Heart hammering in my chest, I picked up the document and stared at it. The first sentence leapt out and pierced me like an arrow: ‘I, Felicity Anne Blackburn, agree to be married to Percival Arthur Humbleton under the following terms ...’
Immediately, I dropped it like a hot potato. ‘I am not signing this ,’ I said, glaring at Mr Humbleton, who smiled impassively.
‘If you would be kind enough to read the entire document, cousin,’ he said. His tone was smooth, but strong and left no room for argument.
Papa nodded at me. ‘Please, Felicity.’ I picked up the paper again and scanned the terms of the marriage, which were not too lengthy but clearly stated that Mr Humbleton and I would be man and wife in name only and, most surprising of all, there would be no conjugal relations, and we would have separate rooms.
My eyes widened. What in God’s good name?
Astounded, I stared at Mr Humbleton. ‘What is this?’
‘Your father has worked the terms of our union in your favour, and I’ve been generous enough to agree to it,’ he said as if that explained it. All it did was make my head swim with confusion.
‘In my favour?’ I said slowly, looking now to Papa.
‘Yes, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘This arrangement protects you and looks out for your best interests—you will not only have financial security but also personal freedom. See this line here.’
He reached over and pointed out the line in question, which affirmed that my cousin would have no authority over my actions as long those actions were in accordance with a good moral standing. I surmised that to mean I was not to participate in any type of extramarital affair as long as my cousin was alive and kicking.
‘So I would be gaining money, security, and personal freedom, but not love?’ I clarified.
‘Love is a commodity some can enjoy, but most cannot afford,’ said Mr Humbleton sagely.
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘So much for trying to win my heart with poetry,’ I said flatly and saw that, at least, he had the good grace to squirm. But it still did not make sense. ‘Cousin, I can see how this arrangement would benefit me since I am not particularly inclined to have children. But why would you agree to it when you have so much to lose?’
My question was met with blank-faced silence. Papa cleared his throat. ‘If I may attempt to explain to her,’ he said. Mr Humbleton nodded abruptly once and looked out of the window, a faint blush rising in his cheeks.
I waited for Papa to speak, but he took his time, as if wanting to choose his words carefully. He began haltingly, ‘There are some people who do not fit within the narrow confines of society’s conventions ... Those people—through no fault of their own, might I add—find themselves drawn to other people who society deems unworthy. But, and I do believe this, we are still all God’s children.’ Father finished his convoluted speech and looked at me expectantly.
I frowned. What on earth was he trying to convey?
‘Do you see what I mean, Felicity?’ he asked somewhat impatiently, and I felt him urging me to understand so he would not have to speak in plainer terms.
My mind grappled with his intent. It was something to do with Mr Humbleton’s embarrassment, him being different in some way, and why he deemed it important to marry me ... I thought hard about it, turning the pieces of the puzzle round and round in my brain, trying to fit them together. Then suddenly, they fell into place with a resounding click, and I gasped out loud. ‘Oh!’
It was clear to me now why Mr Humbleton was not concerned about having me share his bed and why he sought a marriage that would be for appearances only. It was to satisfy his parish (or more perhaps to silence wagging tongues) that he wasn’t a man with unholy desires. By marrying within the family, Mr Humbleton was in effect keeping his, and our, reputations intact as he knew I would not be able to tell anyone . Because if it got out, the scandal would ruin us all.
Yet another thing to keep secret from Jane ...
‘I think I need a cup of tea,’ I said faintly, looking around for the teapot.
‘Let me,’ said Harriet and poured me a full cup.
I sipped it gratefully, feeling rather stunned. My eyes flicked to my cousin, who couldn’t seem to meet my gaze. I felt a slight softening towards him. He was, after all, in a dire predicament. One foot wrong, and he would hang. But he must move in those circles already.
‘What about you?’ I questioned. ‘Surely, you are not planning on keeping me company in celibacy?’
Mr Humbleton coloured. ‘It is true. I have ... needs . But I am used to being discreet,’ he murmured.
I could not believe this.
I set my cup on the table. ‘So you would be free to engage in extramarital dalliances, but I could not? That reeks of patriarchy!’ I exclaimed. ‘What if I am in love ... I mean, fall in love,’ I corrected quickly, ‘with someone? Am I to be denied that happiness?’
I was, of course, thinking about Max’s proposal and his letter that itched against my bosom. If there was any time I had needed that epistle to be clear about where we stood, it was now. But he was obviously under the weather when he had penned it, and although a good letter, it was ambiguous as to what he intended.
‘Papa?’ I cried, starting to feel desperate.
He shook his head, tears forming in his eyes at my obvious distress, but he had no answer. Despite me initially thinking him cold-hearted in agreeing to this, I could now see that his heart was breaking, but that he was doing all he could to provide for me. Even if this marriage was abhorrent to him as well as me, I understood his reasoning for arranging it .
Panicking, I tried the Aunt Snelling angle.
‘Papa, I do not need to be married,’ I said urgently. ‘If anything should happen to you, Harriet and I would live with Aunt. She would look after us. We do not need this house!’
Father swallowed. ‘It’s impossible. She cannot support three people on her small income. And as it’s uncertain whether you’ll ever receive another offer of marriage, there is no other way. You must marry Mr Humbleton to guarantee your security. I am sorry. Your poor mother—God rest her soul—begged me to look after you, and this is the best I can do to keep you from the streets.’ His eyes filled with tears, which overflowed and ran down his cheeks; and it was this, I am sorry to say, that broke me.
Feeling like I was not in my own body, I picked up the quill, dipped it in the ink ... and signed my name in the space provided.
‘Oh, Fliss!’ Harriet, no doubt having been asked by the other two to be a witness to the signing, burst into tears and ran from the room.
I felt nothing but numb.
So this was my fate—to marry a man who had no affinity with the fairer sex, a man who liked men. I could not believe this was happening to me.