Chapter 9 #2
By the gown rested a bouquet of pink and ivory roses packed in damp moss, and a small package.
“What is this, Redcliff?”
“’Tis from the marquess, I believe, miss,” said the woman with a knowing smile.
Beth felt a strange reluctance to open it. It would, surely be a gift and perhaps not one she wished to accept. But she had no choice.
It was a fan. With a turn of her wrist Beth flicked it open.
It was a work of art. Ivory sticks carved into lace supported fine silk painted in the Chinese style.
The pin was gold and the endpieces were overlaid with mother-of-pearl.
She turned her hand again and it flowed smoothly, as a good fan should, back into its closed position.
It was an elegant, appropriate, well-thought-of gift. For some reason that disturbed her. What was her husband-to-be? The scholar or the rake, the friend or the man of violence? Perhaps all of these. A man could quote Sallust and still be a brute.
Redcliff wanted her to rest, but Beth preferred to read, a pastime denied her recently. Mrs. Brunton, however, did not suit her mood, and she picked up some volumes of poetry she had brought from the library. Dipping here and there she came across Pope’s Rape of the Lock:
Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
A well-bred Lord to assault a gentle Belle?
O say what stranger cause, yet unexplored,
Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?
What indeed? thought Beth, on reading these relevant lines.
Most people would think her mad. Most people would not realize how painful it was to be thrown into such foreign circumstances, no matter how luxurious.
On the brink of what to most young ladies would be a night of triumph, Beth Armitage wanted only to be back in her small, chilly room at Aunt Emma’s preparing a project for the next day’s classes.
When Redcliff indicated it was time, she took her bath in delicately perfumed water.
She dried herself and dressed in stays, silk stockings, and shift.
Then the maid assisted her into the gown.
It was as if it had a life of its own; it flowed and hissed and demanded only the most graceful, the most elegant movements.
She had not realized how fine the fabric was.
It was true that over her shift the outfit could not be considered revealing, and yet it did not hide her figure as she would wish.
She had not realized how low the neckline was, nor how cleverly shaped to emphasize her breasts.
It did not seem at all proper, but she had to wear it.
She had insisted that a cap be ordered to match, but it too proved to be a shock. Cap was obviously a word open to interpretation. This was merely a bandeau of matching silk and pearls upon a stiffened frame. It was trimmed with satin ribbons which formed a love knot at one side.
“Should I dress your hair in a knot behind?” asked the maid.
A knot sounded very decorous, and Beth agreed, but when it was done Beth knew it had not helped.
With her hair drawn tightly up, her neck appeared more slender, and when the diamond necklace was clasped around it, positively swanlike.
Resigned, Beth allowed the maid to assist her into the long kid gloves and fasten the bracelet over one wrist. Redcliff then clipped the pendant diamonds onto her ears and pinned the brooch in the center of the knot of ribbons on her bandeau.
It only remained to step into her satin slippers and stand before the mirror.
Beth knew what she would see. It was Beth Armitage at her prettiest—slender but well-rounded, clear-skinned and glossy-haired.
The problem, as she had known, was that she still was no beauty.
She did well enough and her hosts would have no cause to blush for her, but this, the best that could be done for her, left her still just a passably pretty young woman.
She would rather not appear to have tried.
She was surprised when told the marquess had come to escort her downstairs but accepted her fate with resignation. Tonight was their acting debut.
She had forgotten to wonder what he would look like. Her breath caught at the sight of him in formal black and pure white, his tanned skin and golden hair thrown into brilliance. She felt that little tremor inside which warned her again that she was not immune to his charms.
Why should she wish it when he was to be her husband?
Because it was a matter of pride not to go willingly into slavery.
“How pretty you look,” he said in a friendly way.
Nerves abraded, Beth responded sharply, “I could say the same to you, I think. Fine feathers do make fine birds, do they not?”
His eyes flashed, but his smile never faltered. He drew her arm into his and they began their walk.
“Are you suggesting, Miss Armitage, that under this magnificence, I am a mere sparrow?” His tone was still light.
She glanced up at him. “Too small. A rooster, perhaps?”
He met her look and, though he continued to smile, his eyes were chilling rapidly. “You assume I will not take vengeance when you are in all your finery? You could be right. But perhaps I will hold a grudge.”
That was too close to the mark. Beth knew she was guilty of holding onto her resentment. “Then we can be a pair of broody hens,” she said bitterly, “sitting on our grievances until they hatch into disaster.”
She intended it to be a kind of peace offering and perhaps he took it that way for he laughed. “I refuse to be any species of fowl. I prefer to be thought of as a hawk. Noble hunter, sharp of claw.”
That was too frightening an image. “I’m sure you do,” Beth said tartly, “but I think it is more a case of a magpie, snatching at small glittering things of no particular value.”
“And you, my dear,” he retorted, good humor fled, “to stretch the analogy a little, are developing into a harpy, all teeth and claws.”
Without warning he opened a door and swung her into a room. A bedroom.
Beth looked up at him wide-eyed, fear shivering along her nerves. Why could she not control her clever tongue? Why could she not remember he was quite unlike any man she had ever known?
He was dangerous.
Beth the radical reminded herself she had determined to stand up to the marquess. Beth the cautious whispered that she hadn’t reckoned on doing it alone, in a bedroom.
“What are you doing?” she said. It came out rather squeakily.
He was not touching her, but he was standing close, deliberately looming over her. Beth forced herself to not step back. “I am reminding you of our bargain,” he said tersely. “Are you going to behave yourself tonight?”
It was the wrong word to use. Beth intended to honor her bargain, but she did not like to be told to behave herself. She raised her chin. “Do you not see me dressed like a peacock,” she asked bitterly, “sporting the family jewels?”
“You know that is only the minor part.”
Beth sneered. “I am not going to call you a baboon in front of your friends and neighbors, my lord.”
His lips tightened. “Not good enough, Elizabeth. The only sane reason for this match is that we are in love. Madly, crazily in love. Good breeding takes away the necessity for us to be demonstrative, thank God.” He took a step back, but that was no relief, for he used the space to let his eyes wander dismissively over her.
Beth could feel herself color.
“But,” he drawled, “we need a certain something in the eyes, don’t you think?”
Beth forced a careless shrug and gave him exactly the same slow dismissive scrutiny. “It will be an effort, my lord, but I will try.”
She heard his breath hiss between his teeth. He stepped closer again and placed one finger beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Make sure you do, Elizabeth, or I will take payment for the dishonored debt.”
“You do not try at all,” she said fiercely, jerking away from his touch. “Can you not see this is no way to make me be as you would wish?”
He moved away and turned to face her, one brow raised.
“How then? I have been as kind as I know how and had it thrown in my face. I have offered you kisses and had them rejected. I have left you be and returned to sharp words. At the moment, my dear bride-to-be, I simply want to be sure there will be no scandal from this evening. I’m not considering your feelings at all. ”
“That is blunt,” said Beth, shocked by his all-too-accurate analysis.
“You once said you preferred plain speaking. You have it. Behave yourself.”
Beth felt a tremor and did not know whether it was fear or anger.
“Like most animals, my lord, I do not like the whip.” She took a deep breath and fought for composure before this quarrel spun out of control.
“If you would stop reminding me you have the upper hand I think I would behave a great deal better.” She meant it to be a conciliatory suggestion, but he did not take it that way.
“I see no sign of that,” he said implacably. “But if you behave well I will have no reason to wield the whip, will I?”
Beth clenched one fist and drove it into her other palm. She had never felt so close to violence. “But it is always there!” she protested. “I can never for one moment be unaware of your power!”
He shrugged, and she could tell he was genuinely perplexed by her words. “That is the way of the world, Elizabeth. You cannot change it and neither can I. If I promise never to compel you to do anything, that won’t alter the fact that I could, and probably with the full force of the law behind me.”
He offered a smile and she could tell he was making a genuine effort to be kind. “There’s no need for all this heat, my dear. I am not likely to be a demanding husband, and pretty women generally find it easy enough to control their men. I know many men who live under the cat’s paw.”