Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Could you… could you just tell me one thing,” Beatrice implored. “One thing about my new husband?”
She and Simeon had been in the carriage for over an hour, and he had yet to say a word to her. Aside from taking one long, strange look at her when he’d come to collect her from her attic room, he hadn’t so much as looked at her either.
Beatrice supposed he did not want to look at her because of her mother’s dress.
She’d found her mother’s old favorite: a buttercup yellow silk ensemble with glittering beads around the bust and cupped shoulders.
It was the stark opposite of her maid’s uniform which consisted of a black wool dress, a dingy grey muslin apron, and an ugly black lace headpiece.
She would have preferred time to bathe and do something a little more special with her chocolate brown hair, but since Simeon refused to give her a time to be ready, she’d just kept it in her usual bun and washed her face and hands in the washstand shared between her and the other maids.
Mrs. Cleary had offered her a spritz of lavender mist to help offset the scent of cleaning products, but that was the best Beatrice could do.
When Simeon had come to collect her, she had hoped that her father would at least tell her something, but as the minutes turned into an hour and their carriage moved further out of London, Beatrice realized that there would be no information given to her unless she asked for it.
Simeon’s eyes shifted from the darkening scenery beyond the carriage window to Beatrice for only a few seconds. He looked her up and down, as if disappointed in her looks, and turned his gaze back to the setting sun.
“Could you at least tell me what he knows about me?” Beatrice timidly asked when Simeon remained silent.
Again, no answer.
Worry began to gnaw at Beatrice’s stomach as the carriage continued on toward the setting sun. They had passed through London and taken some country road, but now, it looked as if they were approaching another town that Beatrice did not recognize.
“Where are we meeting this gentleman?” she asked, feeling her nerves fray even more. “Fath- Lord Farhampton, please,” she urged, “Tell me something! Who is this gentleman I am to wed? Why did he not come to collect me himself? Where are we meeting at such late an hour?”
“Quiet!” Simeon snapped, causing Beatrice to flinch in her seat. “You have no right to anything; do you understand that? What I am doing for you is a pure kindness that you do not deserve.”
Beatrice gritted her teeth as she looked on at the man who was supposed to be her father.
“Aside from having blue eyes, what have I ever done to make you treat me so poorly?” she asked. “What monstrous travesty am I responsible for to make you hate me so?”
The words came out before Beatrice could stop them, but before she could brace herself for some harsh retort, the carriage stopped.
Her relief that they had finally arrived was quickly overtaken by worry as she looked outside the window.
She had expected them to be traveling to some sort of house or large estate.
At the very last an extravagant apartment building.
Instead, their carriage had stopped before what appeared to be some sort of private club or gaming hell.
Beatrice’s hands began to sweat, and her gut clenched as the driver opened the door for them.
“Get out,” Simeon grunted, nodding toward the driver.
Wrapping her arms tightly around her waist, Beatrice shook her head.
“Not until you tell me what we are doing here and what this place is,” she replied. “This is not the home of a gentleman!”
Simeon scoffed as his hand shot out with surprising speed.
“Who said I was marrying you to a gentleman?” he asked.
Beatrice blanched as his fingers bit painfully into her arm.
He dragged her out of the carriage and into the dark, busy street, making her stagger and draw in a quick breath.
Beatrice wrinkled her nose as she caught the heavy scents of body odor and all sorts of spirits reeking off the nearby men trying to gain access to the club.
The moment Simeon pulled her from the carriage, though, they all turned to face her.
Beatrice’s stomach threatened to upend right there on the street as they all looked at her hungrily, some of them even licking their lips as their eyes roved down her person.
Suddenly, Beatrice regretted opting for a prettier dress, wanting nothing more in that moment than to be invisible to those that were ogling at her.
“My lord!” Beatrice pleaded.
“Quiet,” Simeon seethed, taking her down an alley.
With his grip tight on her arm, Beatrice had no choice but follow her father until they reached a door on the side of the building. He knocked three times, paused, then knocked two more times before banging the flat of his hand against the door.
A moment later, a man dressed in a black suit, a mask, and bowler hat opened the door, and without a word, Simeon thrust Beatrice into the stranger’s arms.
“You know what do?” the stranger asked Simeon, ignoring Beatrice altogether as she struggled to free herself.
“Father!” Beatrice pled, her fear making her tremble. He paid her no mind, just nodded to the masked man.
“See you when it is over,” Simeon said. Not to Beatrice, she quickly realized, but to the man who now had hold of her. The two men nodded to one another, and with that, the door between Beatrice and her father was slammed shut.
“Please,” Beatrice begged as the masked man dragged her down a darkened hall, “someone tell me what this place is! What is going on? I am supposed to be meeting my future husband!”
The masked man jerked at her arm, sending pain up into her shoulder as he paused before a slightly parted curtain.
“You want to see your future husband? Look through there,” the masked man commanded.
Not sure what else to do, Beatrice did as she was told and only became more confused as she looked over a room filled with masked men. There was not one man but at least fifty, and by the way they were stumbling into one another, she was sure that most if not all were quite foxed.
“I do not understand,” she whispered.
“You want to see your husband? He’s out there, ready to place a bid.”
Beatrice blanched as her knees grew weak.
“Bid?” she breathed.
“Though he might not be your husband,” the masked men went on. “He could be your lover or owner as much as he could be your husband; it really is up to him.”
He said it so nonchalantly, as if he was delivering the choices of a meal instead of life-altering facts.
“Where am I?” Beatrice asked.
The man tsked his tongue as he began to drag her down the darkened hallway again.
“Ask someone in there,” he said, stopping in front of the only door in the hall. “I’m just here to keep you girls in line.”
Before Beatrice could ask anything else, the man pushed open the door and shoved Beatrice inside, quickly closing it again the moment she stumbled through.
For a moment, Beatrice’s fear spiked once more as she thought she was about to go sprawling onto the floor, but just as she raised her hands to her face and braced for it, hands came around her waist and caught her.
“Oh, you poor dear,” a feminine voice soothed as Beatrice was steadied, “Nigel is far too rough. Are you all right?”
“No,” Beatrice sobbed, taking a long look around the dimly lit room.
The small space was filled young women with one wall lined with vanities and another lined with dresses and other accessories.
Beatrice’s eyes swept over the room. Some of the women seemed completely calm as they sat in front of the vanities or dressed or undressed without a modicum of shame in front of the others.
Other women, however, looked as frightened as Beatrice felt and shrunk themselves into huddled positions against the wall and floor.
“Hey now,” that feminine voice came again, and Beatrice felt soft hands tug at her shoulders. She turned and found a pretty-faced woman giving her a soft, reassuring smile.
“No need to get overwhelmed, my dear,” she said, tucking a stray tendril behind Beatrice’s ear. “It is not as scary of an ordeal as it seems. My name is Deborah. What is yours?”
“Beatrice,” she answered, calmed, albeit only a little, by Deborah’s relaxed nature.
“Please, will you tell me what this place is? My father brought me here, and no one will tell me what is going on. He said I was to meet my husband but that man—Nigel I think you called him—he said it might not be my husband, and I do not understand what is happening!”
“Shhh, sweet Beatrice,” Deborah insisted, pulling her into tight hug. “I am so sorry you were treated so poorly. I am sure you did not deserve that.”
Though she was a complete stranger, Beatrice accepted Deborah’s embrace and hugged her back tightly.
“This is a gambling hell,” Deborah explained as she pulled Beatrice away, “It also serves as an auction house. Men come here certain days out of the month to purchase women. Sometimes as wives. Sometimes as servants or paramours.”
A tremble of fear moved up Beatrice’s spine as sweat broke out on her forehead. An angry growl rumbled in her stomach, and Beatrice slapped a hand over her mouth. She was being sold?
As if knowing Beatrice was about to be sick, Deborah hurried her over to a nearby bucket.
Beatrice kneeled and let out a whimpering groan as her very world came crashing down around her.
She had known nearly all of her life that Simeon had disliked her.
Had often wondered if he truly did hate her.
But to sell her? Sell her as if she was some livestock to be butchered?
! How could her father hate her that much?