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Jenny was weary of reacting to those memories. Whatever she achieved for herself in this life, those harsh words would never help. She touched the pouch at her waistband, briefly. Her three pounds had blossomed into sixteen and change with the sale of the dress. She had not yet chosen whether it was three days or three months she had left. If Gareth found out, his reaction would make her decision simple indeed.
“That depends,” Jenny said. “Will you take tea with me?”
Ten minutes later, they sat ensconced around Jenny’s kitchen table. Miss Edmonton watched solemnly as Jenny poured the tea into cups. Then the lady picked up her tea and took a delicate sip. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s too horrifying to even speak of.”
“Nonsense,” said Jenny. “Let’s start with the basics. What did your aunt tell you?”
Miss Edmonton blushed again. “My aunt said that my husband will come into my room and pull my skirt up. And then he’ll put himself inside of me. She said it hurts. She suggested I hold my tongue and pretend I am somewhere else until he is done.”
Jenny stared at her. “Yes. I should think it would hurt if you did it that way. Good heavens.”
“Whatever do you mean? Are there less painful ways to do it?”
“Suppose you are on the second floor of a house. How would you rather descend? By leaping over a railing? Or by walking down a staircase?”
Miss Edmonton looked at her. “The staircase. Are you trying to say my husband won’t have to put himself inside?”
Jenny blushed. “That part’s necessary. But if he does it slowly, and if he cares about whether you’re ready for it, it won’t hurt after the first time. And maybe not even then.”
Jenny could hear voices and footsteps from the street. Even back here, in the room farthest from the street, a draft filtered through. She’d left her front door ajar, and a good thing, too. Both she and Miss Edmonton could use the breeze.
There was a light sheen of sweat on the other woman’s forehead, one that could not be absorbed by any quantity of delicate rice powder. “But—that thing he puts in me—is it big?”
“If you’re lucky,” Jenny promised.
“And he’ll make me do it every night? Sometimes more than once?”
Jenny tried not to think of Miss Edmonton’s older brother. “If you’re lucky.”
“And he’ll want me to do all sorts of wicked things with my mouth?”
If you’re lucky, he’ll do them back.
Jenny squeezed her eyes shut. “Miss Edmonton,” she said, “these things are all so individual. They will depend on your husband and on your own predilections. Almost anything your husband wants you to do can be enjoyable, if you like and respect him. You just have to let yourself relax. If he’s kind to you, and if you are kind to him, you’ll find that most marital relations are quite enjoyable.”
There was a long pause. Jenny wondered what the other woman could possibly be thinking.
“Is it true,” Miss Edmonton finally said in a whisper, “that if I don’t do as he says, he’ll beat me?”
“No,” said a dark, raspy voice. “Because if he does, you’ll tell me straight away, and I’ll kill him.”
Miss Edmonton gave a little shriek, and Jenny opened her eyes. Gareth stood back, shrouded in the shadows cast by the short hall between her two rooms. When he stepped toward them, Jenny saw a grimace on his face. She wanted to shut her eyes again, to obliterate that fierce expression from her mind. Could she have done anything worse than tell his virgin sister about the sexual act?
He avoided her gaze, and her heart pounded.
“Come, Laura,” Gareth said. “Enough of these questions. I had better take you home.”
If he was going to hate her, Jenny decided, she’d give him real reason to do so. “No, Laura,” she said. Her own voice sounded a little deeper to her own ears, perhaps a bit more mysterious. It was almost as if she were Madame Esmerelda again. But she was not. This time, Jenny Keeble did all the talking.
“Listen to me.” She dropped her voice, and Laura leaned close. “And ignore him for now. Do not ever make the mistake of believing that as a woman, you must submit to men’s rules—that if your husband beats you, your choice is either to submit, or to find a man to intervene on your behalf. Because when the moment comes, and he raises his hand to strike, there will be no man there to save you. Not in that moment, maybe not for days. Men leave. It’s in their nature. If that time ever comes, you will save yourself.”
“Legally, though—”
“A pox on legalities. If you know what you want, you’ll find a way to get it. Men, or no men. And no husband or brother or—” she chanced a look at Gareth, who watched stonily “—lover will ever stop you. And that’s the truth.”
“You told me you couldn’t see the future.”
“I can’t. But I can see the present.” Jenny laid her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “What you did—coming to me, today, and asking these questions—was deeply courageous. Courage is stronger than physical strength. Remember that. Today, I see a powerful woman.”
Laura blushed, deep red. “I don’t know—”
“Maybe your brother could save you. But if you ever have need, you will save yourself.”
Laura’s hands clenched at her sides.
“Enough,” Gareth said. His teeth gritted together. He didn’t look at Jenny—he didn’t even look at his sister. “More than enough. Come, Laura.”
“Blakely,” Miss Edmonton said, “I only wanted to—”
He inhaled. “You can argue your onlys on the way home.”
He walked from the room without a backward glance.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE BEST Gareth could manage for his sister was a hired hack. The seats were sticky—with what, he dared not guess. The interior smelled like mold and vinegar. He spread his handkerchief on the seat, a flimsy barrier between Laura and the rest of the world.
The thin white cloth seemed so inadequate. She was vibrant and unsullied. She was scared of marriage. The weight of her fears settled in his chest.
“Blakely,” she said. “Are you angry at me?”
Angry at her? He didn’t know how to answer. He was angry at himself. He’d negotiated the settlements and had her fiancé investigated. He’d gruffly told her the man would do, but in his heart of hearts he had harbored doubts.
He would have harbored doubts no matter who the man was, so he’d swallowed his complaints. No man was good enough for Laura.
He regarded her. “I remember when you were born. I was at Harrow, of course, and living with Grandfather in the meantime. I didn’t see you until you were six months old. And you grabbed my hair and smiled at me.”
“I’m not six months old any longer.”
“No,” Gareth said. “You’re not pulling my hair, either.”
He sounded cold even to himself. He slouched against the cushio
ns.
“It wasn’t her fault,” Laura was saying. “Miss Keeble’s. She said you wouldn’t be happy if I talked to her. But I insisted. I was just so scared, and I had nobody to talk with, and—”
“Laura,” Gareth heard himself say. His voice sounded like icicles. Steel bands encircled his chest. But he didn’t know how to change. When it came to Laura, he’d never been able to warm up. “You have me.”
She was silent. Too silent. When he looked up at her, her lashes were wet. Gareth swore inside.
“Have I?” she said, shakily. “How? Every time I try, you brush me off. You make one of those horrible cutting comments. You make me feel so stupid.”
God. He had no idea what to do. None at all. She was frightened. She was actually shaking. And the hell of it was, she was scared of him.
When his mother had remarried, Gareth’s time with her had dwindled to a few days snatched between school terms. Learning to become Lord Blakely at his grandfather’s estate had taken up his summers. Laura had worshipped him, almost painfully, on the days when he appeared. But she’d treated him as an Old Testament God—and one who would smite her at the first sign of perfidy.
“And now,” Laura said, angrily swiping at a tear, “you’re going to call off the wedding.”
“How could I? I’ve signed the settlements, and I have no legal hold over you.”
“You could convince Papa.”
A fiercely protective part of him growled in agreement. If she feared this marriage so much, she’d be best off not marrying the man. He tested the waters tentatively. “And is it so important to marry him, then?”
“Not important at all.” She turned her head. “I j-just love him, that’s all.”
“Oh.” It was all Gareth could think to say. He’d expected her to list silly, inconsequential reasons for going forward with the ceremony. But he was too shocked to do anything but repeat himself. “Oh.”
“And that’s the problem.” Tears were openly streaming down her face. “I love you, and that’s never done me one bit of good. I’m never going to be good enough.”
