Chapter 11
Beth rose the next morning feeling wrung out. Her head throbbed, her mouth tasted sour, and the negative aspects of the previous evening sat solidly at the front of her mind.
Why could she not act a prim and proper innocent? Perhaps she should take lessons from Miss Swinnamer’s mama. Why could the marquess not see that a fighting spirit and a little worldly wisdom did not make her a trollop?
She remembered what he had said about her being a shrew. He couldn’t really like a shrew. He couldn’t like someone he didn’t trust, and he had shown on the terrace that he didn’t trust her at all.
She sighed bitterly. It seemed to be as he had said. Words once spoken had a life of their own. They could not be unsaid. Every time Beth and the marquess were on edge, that dreadful evening on the terrace came back to haunt them.
On top of her misery at this was her anger that he made no claim to purity of any kind and yet felt free to castigate her for some vague form of misdoing. She knew he was behaving according to his code, but the temptation to lash out at him was tremendous.
And then, of course, she would be called a shrew.
The duchess sent for Beth to share a late breakfast in her suite, and she felt obliged to go. Some bread and coffee made her feel better, but the duchess’s cheerful chatter was hard to respond to.
“I was pleased to see you and Lucien so at ease,” the duchess said.
“His few days in Town did him good, as I knew they would. He’s more himself and that should make it easier for you, my dear.
And there isn’t much more of this falderol to endure.
We have a week of festivities here, culminating in the reception for all the local people, and then we will remove to London.
Then it will be only two weeks to your wedding. ”
Two weeks. Buttered bun turned to sawdust in Beth’s mouth. She had known the date set for the event, but now it loomed frighteningly close. “It is all rather rushed,” she protested. “It will cause talk.”
“Yes, but the duke wants it done,” said the duchess apologetically. “And your first child will be born after the nine months, so the speculation will end then.”
Beth swallowed, and the duchess looked at her with shrewd eyes. “My dear, do you know about marriage? I feel I stand in the place of a mother to you.”
“I know all about marriage,” said Beth hastily and then saw the shock in the duchess’s eyes. “I mean, I have read widely.”
“What extraordinary books you must come across,” the duchess remarked.
“But even so it is easy to be … confused on such a subject. My older daughter, Maria, thought that the act of sleeping in a bed with a man caused babies. By the time I talked to her, she had already convinced Graviston that they should have separate bedrooms because she snored. She thought her troubles were over.”
Beth was aghast. “How could you force her into such a distasteful marriage?”
“Distasteful?” said the duchess. “Oh no, it was a love match. But Maria felt, being but eighteen, that she did not want children just yet. Having heard that ‘sleeping together’ caused babies,” the duchess explained with a twinkle, “she thought she could have Graviston’s kisses and all they promised without consequences. ”
Beth desperately wanted to ask whether she could have the babies without the kisses and all they promised, but she lowered her eyes.
The duchess looked at the young woman thoughtfully. “Do you know, Elizabeth, I think I will you give you my little talk anyway. Books can be so unreliable.”
And she did so.
Beth listened, wide-eyed. So that was what “making a meal of it” meant.
In the end, rosy-cheeked and with the picture of Venus and Mars in her mind, Beth protested, “But surely all this … this playing around is not necessary?”
“Not necessary, no,” said the duchess calmly. “But if I thought Lucien would neglect such courtesies I would be very cross with him. Leaving aside any question of your pleasure, they are necessary for your comfort.”
Beth remembered a thumb cold-bloodedly rubbing against her nipple and the effect it had achieved, and raised her hands to her heated cheeks. “Oh, I would much rather not!”
The duchess came over and gathered her into her arms. “Oh my dear, I am sorry to have distressed you. As I said, my daughters’ matches were love matches, and though they were a little nervous, they did not go to their marriage beds afraid.
I can see how it is different for you and Lucien, thrown together as you are. ”
She patted Beth’s shoulder and her tone lightened. “But count your blessings, Elizabeth. He is a very handsome man, well-trained in courtesy. You must find him a little bit appealing, yes?”
Beth shook her head. It was not so much a denial as a gesture of despair at his undoubted physical appeal which she did not welcome at all.
The duchess sighed. “Then I would ask you to think that it is much the same for him.” When Beth looked at her in surprise she explained, “Certainly he is not a virgin, but he must come to you without love. If he is sharp at times, remember his nerves are stretched, too.”
Beth wished she could bring herself to tell the duchess what she had done and seek her counsel, but it would shock her so. It was impossible.
After that explicit description of the intimacies of marriage, it was also impossible to face the man with whom she would be doing these things. Beth took to her bed, claiming a sick headache.
Over the next days Beth dutifully appeared at public functions and stood by Lord Arden’s side as they listened to deputations from this place and that, all expressing the warmest best wishes for the future.
All these speeches also mentioned their wish for the speedy production of an heir to Belcraven.
As the horrible Lord Deveril had said, the purpose of marriage was quite clear to all.
Beth could only think of the means of getting that heir.
After one of these events, her husband-to-be waylaid her before she could escape back to her apartments.
“You are doing wonders for my reputation,” he said with a smile, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm.
“All these worthy souls know an admirable woman when they see one. They are not used to thinking me to have such sense.”
He was trying to be kind, but Beth’s nerves were sensitized beyond bearing and she tried to pull away.
He would not release her. “Walk with me,” he said, still kindly, but implacably.
Beth had little choice but to stroll with him toward the yew walk.
“You must not be afraid of me, Elizabeth,” he said bluntly.
“Is that a command?” she asked. She had intended it to be light, but it came out deadly serious. She looked anxiously up at him. It was as if she had lost the connection between her will and her words.
He was frowning slightly, but with puzzlement, not anger. “What has happened to you recently, Elizabeth? You’re like a whip-shy horse. Has someone done or said something to upset you?”
“No,” said Beth quickly, too quickly. The last thing she wanted to talk about was the duchess’s explanation of the marriage act. To move the conversation on she asked, “What would you do with a whip-shy horse?”
“Feed it to the hounds?”
“What!” Then she saw the teasing light in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course I’d try to repair the damage first.” He stopped and turned to face her, putting a hand up to cradle the side of her face.
Beth flinched and tried to pull away. He tightened his hold. “For God’s sake, stop that! What’s the matter with you?”
The matter was that every intimacy made her think of Venus and Mars. She had no notion of how to deal with it graciously and was terrified of where it might lead. “I don’t like to be handled,” she said stiffly, his hand a burning brand against the side of her neck.
“Why not?”
Beth stared at him. “Surely it is normal—”
“Not particularly. You’re intelligent enough to know we have to learn to be comfortable with one another, and yet you’re making no effort—”
“I’m sorry it’s such an effort,” Beth snapped.
He sucked in his breath with irritation but took his hand away. “Is it because of how I touched you that night?” he asked.
Beth swallowed. “Yes.” It was a lie. It hadn’t helped, for it had given vivid force to the duchess’s talk, but it wasn’t the main problem.
He actually looked uncomfortable, almost guilty. “I’m sorry for it then. At the time it seemed necessary, but it was not good of me, regardless of your….” He took a careful breath. “I won’t do that again, Elizabeth. You have my word.”
Beth was aware of a mixture of hope and disappointment. “You won’t touch me there again?”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
He seemed to be once again implying she had vast knowledge of men.
“All I know, my lord,” she snapped, “is that you had better keep your hands to yourself until I am legally obliged to endure your loathsome maulings!” With that Beth stalked away, ignoring the muttered curse behind her, nerves twitching for fear of attack.
He let her go, however, and over the next few days Beth was allowed to hide away between events without his interference.
Then one day she found herself carelessly alone in an open carriage with the marquess as they returned from a visit to the village school.
They had gone with the duke and duchess, but the marquess’ parents had accepted an invitation to take tea with the vicar.
It was only as she realized the consequences that Beth thought it might have been a deliberate maneuver.
The marquess lounged back—if he was feeling any irritation of the nerves it wasn’t obvious, thought Beth waspishly—and looked at the gift the children had presented to them.
It was a carefully polished board with a design made of brass nails.
It had the de Vaux coat of arms and the initials E and L.
“Do you have any idea what we are supposed to do with that?” he asked lazily.