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Thea fidgeted, finding it hard to look at her. “Well, the truth is that until you admitted you were beginning to like him just a little, I thought you might as well not have a baby, Antoinette, so I didn’t think you understood what it feels like to so desperately want one.” She shuddered as she met Antoinette’s look. “I’d even suffer through all those terrible things you told me about with the right, honourably motivated, worthy husband if that’s the only way to have a baby, only what man is going to take me as his wife when I have so little to offer?”
“What horrible things?” Antoinette gasped. “I told you only the good things. The horrible part is getting the baby out!”
Thea glanced around to ensure no servants were about then whispered, “I’m talking about all those horrible things about the man nearly ripping a woman in half to achieve his…his pleasure,” she muttered. A wave of nausea rose up in her and she closed her eyes. Had she really spoken about such matters in a public place, much less at all?
Surprisingly, Antoinette’s good humour appeared suddenly restored. She even sounded relieved. “Well, that’s why I’m on hand. First of all, I can’t imagine why you should think all those things I described are terrible.” Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she clasped her hands together. “The truth is, the right man with the right touch can transport a woman into ecstasy. Why, if I told you—” She stopped, narrowed her eyes at Thea, then changed the subject. “So Mr Grayling’s kiss was like a terrible brand of shame, was it?”
Thea looked away. “I…I knew it was wrong,” she whispered as she started to make her way along the corridor towards her room. She couldn’t possible confess such things in public.
“What, exactly, did you think was wrong?”
Thea stopped and turned. “The moment he put his arms around me, and then tried to kiss me, I knew I simply had to flee if I was to retain my honour and that of the family,” she said in a rush.
Antoinette looked interested. “So in fact you didn’t really think about what you felt when he did have his arms around you and his lips on yours, and he was kissing you? All you thought about was shame and dishonour? You know that he’s told Fanny he thinks you’re the most glorious creature who’s ever crossed his orbit and that he just died with mortification when he realised you held him in the same aversion as his French wife did?” Antoinette sighed and looked sad. “Poor Mr Grayling, I feel so terribly sorry for him. He pretends to be such a rake but that’s purely to compensate for the crushing blow to his manliness he experienced at the hands of that dreadful, unfeeling foreign wife of his.”
Guilt flooded Thea at the idea of causing anyone such distress. She cleared her throat. “What was her name?”
“Whose name?”
“Mr Grayling’s French wife, of course.”
“Oh…um, Minette. But don’t you ever mention her name, as I said, for it will shred him of any strength of character that has returned to him. Few men can suffer the humiliation dealt out by a woman, and now, just when he encounters a sweet, pure and blameless creature like you, who suddenly has given him hope for some happiness in his future, you go and kick him in the shins.”
“He never used those words!” Thea gasped. Still, an unexplained excitement rippled through her. Could Mr Grayling really have been sincere in his feelings, rather than seeing her as ripe for exploitation?
“Why, didn’t we tell you that was so?” A gurgle of laughter rose up in Antoinette’s throat. “You’re blushing, Thea! See, you do think he’s a charming young man. Handsome, too, isn’t he? Yes, rather rakish, which is just the way I like them, too, though I’m perfectly content with my lovely…er…companion for the moment.”
“Lord Quamby?” Thea brought her hand up to her lips as she realised the horrified disbelief with which she’d imbued those words.
Antoinette was staring as if Thea had lost her mind. “Lord Quamby is my husband. Of course I don’t mean him, though he’s utterly darling, I’ll grant you that, even if he does prefer playing whist to conversing with me. He likes talking to Fanny, though. Their minds are far more attuned, however he does humour me when I talk about all the fun I’m having.”
Thea decided, right then and there, that she had completely missed something vital to understanding in the conversation. Antoinette’s description of marital relations was akin to describing a society that lived on some unknown planet. A man and a woman pledged utter fidelity to one another, had children, and devoted their love and attention to their offspring.
“And don’t think I’m unnatural, dearest,” Antoinette went on, voicing exactly what Thea was thinking right at that moment. “I’m worth my weight in gold to darling Quamby. I’ve provided him with an heir, and so managed to ensure he’s well and truly cut out that odious, conniving, dastardly nephew of his, Mr George Bramley.” She shuddered. “Now there’s a villain if ever I knew one. And he hates the Brightwells, so just let me repeat our warnings of earlier. If you ever think someone in your midst is trying to blacken your name or destroy your happiness or your reputation, Mr Bramley is the first person you should think of.” She brightened once more. “Not that I think you’re in any danger. You’re too sweet and innocent for him to consider a threat. However, if you look like you’re on the path to success, just watch your back and be very, very careful of villainous Mr George Bramley.”
Thea blinked and her head reeled. Bath and the high society with whom Thea rubbed shoulders was far from the harmonious, pleasure-seeking environment she imagined as the antithesis to the dreary existence she’d been living.
Antoinette patted her arm. “So, you’ll come to the name-bearing and wear what I told you? And with your new bonnet, which I think you should trim with daisies? Very fresh and fetching.”
Thea nodded and Antoinette gripped her hand and pulled her back towards the stairs. “Be sure you’re ready when we come by in the carriage tomorrow to fetch you and Aunt Minerva. It’s going to be a very important day for all of us…I promise you! And now, let’s go and visit young George in the nursery, shall we?’
Chapter 11
TWO carriages were supposed to be on hand but as Fenton’s was undergoing repairs, Thea and her aunt and all three cousins squeezed into the plush but cramped interior of the Earl of Quamby’s. When Thea asked what interest Bertram had in the proceedings, he looked affronted.
“I just adore babies, like you,” he said. Shifting in the tight space, he added in a contrived offhand tone but so Aunt Minerva couldn’t hear, “Actually, my good friend Mr Grayling is one of those whom Lady Umbrage asked to confer their name on these unfortunates, and he called on my expertise as an uncle twice over to stand in as his second—or at least perform the duty you’re rendering our worthy aunt, in providing the necessary assistance should the whole experience prove too much for one person.”
“But it’s just holding a baby for a few minutes,” Thea said as equably as she could, wishing her thigh wasn’t pressed so close to his. “What could possibly be onerous in holding a baby?” What she really was wondering was how on earth Bertram was suddenly
on such friendly terms with Mr Grayling. Though she’d managed to sound offhand, the mention of Mr Grayling’s name had sent tremors right through her of something she couldn’t quite identify.
“Well, Mr Grayling is somewhat daunted by the prospect.” He gave Thea a friendly slap on the knee, adding, “You’ll show him how easy it is, though, won’t you?”
“There’s nothing pleasant or easy about babies.” Aunt Minerva, who’d caught the last part of this, sniffed as she leaned back on Thea’s other side. “Keep them in the nursery until they’re at least of schooling age and can obey orders, I say.”
“Yes, Aunt,” said Thea, well and truly weary of having to agree with her aunt to avoid an argument. What risks would she take to be free of the yoke of servitude? An image of herself running barefoot through a field, hair streaming behind her, was suddenly appropriated by Mr Grayling chasing her and wearing a look of passionate desire. Feeling hot and bothered, she immediately tried to close down such a thought by telling herself that she’d never indulge in such freedom if it meant countenancing any of the risks Fanny and Antoinette urged her to take.
Indeed, Mr Grayling’s kiss the other day had reaffirmed that.
