Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
Briony seethed with resentment. "Marry us off as soon as possible. Be conveyed to Bath like criminals under the escort of guards! I'll not hear of it! We are not your wards, my lord," she said tartly to Ravensworth. "Harriet, tell him."
"Briony, what's the use? The moment you entered
Harriette
Wilson's box, I knew what the end would be," Harriet replied, the fight gone out of her.
"Enough!" commanded an austere Lady
Sophy
. "My mind is resolved! I thank you for your generous offer, Lord Ravensworth, and I accept. Shall we say ten o'clock tomorrow morning?"
"No. Eight o'clock is preferable, I think. By ten, every roué in town will be beating a path to your door." He smiled malevolently.
"One valise only, ladies, if you please!
Even if it means you must marry your prospective husbands in your shifts." Briony gave him the "cool appraisal." Quite undaunted, his lordship surreptitiously chucked her under the chin.
Briony pushed open the door to Harriet's chamber and entered. "I saw the light," she said with a smile of apology, "and decided to investigate."
Harriet was sitting on the edge of her bed listlessly brushing her golden locks. She put aside the brush at
Briony's
entrance. "Briony," she said with a catch in her voice, "I promised Mama that I would take care of you. I can't tell you how sorry I am that I have failed so lamentably." She had no more tears to cry, but she sniffed miserably into a damp handkerchief which was crushed tightly in her fist.
Briony quickly crossed the room and gathered
the ,
desolate girl into her arms. "Harriet! Harriet! Shame on you, you poor-spirited creature! Don't hang your head so, you wretched girl! Do I look as if I need mothering? You have not failed me, cousin!" She gave her a slight shake. "My dear, you did not really think, did you, that I would conform to the ways of the beau monde?"
Harriet raised her head and looked into her cousin's reassuring eyes. "But if you are ostracized from society, if people won't receive you, you will be ruined."
"Nonsense!" said Briony brusquely. "I am an heiress to a considerable competence. In one year I reach my majority and may do whatever I like. You don't imagine for a moment that I wish to marry one of the
fribbles
I have been introduced to and let my fortune pass out of my control?"
Harriet's sniffing ceased abruptly. She looked
disbe
-
lievingly
into her cousin's eyes. She met her steady gaze and after a moment rewarded her with a faint smile. "You truly don't mind?"
"I truly don't mind for myself," amended Briony truthfully. "But it grieves me to think that I may have caused
you
pain. Harriet, do you want to cut a dash in Society? Tell me frankly if I have ruined your chances of gaining the good opinion of the ton."
Harriet looked incredulous.
"The good opinion of the ton?
You must know how little I crave such a questionable distinction for myself! I have never given a button for the inscrutable ways of my so-called betters."
"Then why so dismal?
Surely not on my behalf?
Can't you see that we are of one mind? Why do you wish for me what I, too, despise?"
Harriet's expressive face showed first surprise and then relief. She giggled. "Briony," she breathed on a whisper, "do you think that it is in our blood?"
"It's possible," said Briony, her voice edged with humor, "but I am a scapegrace by conviction, not merely by ties of blood."
Harriet gurgled at some fleeting recollection. "The scapegrace
Grenfells
," she said with a knowing smile.
"The tear-away twins!"
"The conniving cousins!"
"The mischievous maidens!"
"The lamentable ladies!"
"The wayward women!"
Two pairs of eyes twinkled in wry amusement.
"Harriet," said Briony mischievously, "does this mean that we can share the occasional, very occasional, pinch of snuff in the privacy of our boudoir?"
Without a word, the elder girl retrieved a mother-of-pearl snuffbox from the drawer of a dresser and presented it to her cousin with a flourish.
With the elegant movements of long practice, Briony offered the snuffbox to her bright-eyed cousin. "Would you care to partake?" she drawled. Harriet said that she would be delighted.
The girls went on in this lighthearted vein for the better part of an hour. Briony was deeply grateful to see Harriet
regain some of her former sparkle. When the subject of packing their valises for the morrow's journey was broached, however, they became more sober.
"I don't look forward to meeting up with Mama and Papa," said Harriet gloomily.
"What can they do to us?" asked Briony airily. "We have done no wrong. They can't eat us."
"Oh can't they!" replied Harriet, her voice full of foreboding.
Briony shrugged. "No matter, we have each other, and Lord Avery's presence, for you at least, must be of some consolation."
"And what of Lord
RavensworthT
asked Harriet archly, subjecting Briony to a penetrating appraisal.
Briony shook her head. "He must be endured, I suppose. But I have no intention of allowing his lordship to dictate terms to me. We are going to Bath. This is an adventure, Harriet, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it."
Harriet blinked. After a moment's reflection, she nodded her assent. "You are right, Briony, as usual. We have done nothing to be ashamed of. I won't be cowed by a collection of spiteful gossipmongers. We shall weather this together."
"By the way, Harriet," said Briony in a confidential undertone as she prepared to take her leave, "you will remember to pack your snuffbox, won't you, dear? I haven't had time as yet to acquire a supply of snuff for my own use."
Harriet's eyes grew round with wonder. Startled blue eyes looked into unwavering gray. Briony winked and a slow smile suffused Harriet's face.
"Cousin," said Harriet with perfect comprehension, "you may depend on me."
It was
,
his lordship had informed them before going downstairs to bespeak their dinner, the best inn that the town had to offer. If the truth were told, thought Briony dolefully, it was the only inn that the village boasted—if one could call one indifferent row of houses by such a grand name. While other more fortunate travelers rested their weary bones in the comfort of the soft feather beds of The Castle, Ravensworth had seen fit to quarter his party in a picturesque but diminutive
hostlery
—more like a large cottage—in an insignificant hamlet a good ten miles from the thriving metropolis of Marlborough. He wished, he said, to protect the girls' reputations, such as they were, from the vulgarly curious and there was less likelihood of running into acquaintances in the more out-of-the-way places.
The door to the private parlor was thrown open and Ravensworth strode in. He looked inquiringly around the room.
"All alone, Miss Langland?
Where are your companions?'
Briony, with the proper degree of civility but little warmth in her voice, explained that Lord Avery and Harriet were taking a turn about the yard. "For Lord Avery thought that after the tedious ride in the closed carriage a breath of fresh air might revive Harriet's spirits somewhat."
Ravensworth digested this piece of information in silence for a moment,
then
crossed to the crackling fire. He extended his hands and rubbed them together. Briony gave her attention to the out-of-date copy of the
Times
on her lap.
"No need to ask if you are suffering from low spirits, Miss Langland," he began affably, turning to warm his back at the blaze. "Nothing, I know, throws you off your stride."
Briony heard the rebuke behind his words and favored him with a slight inclination of the head.
"As you say, my lord."
He took the chair facing
Briony's
and eased himself comfortably back against the cushions. He withdrew an unadorned silver snuffbox from his coat pocket and tapped on the lid absently. A light kindled in
Briony's
eyes and Ravensworth, on noting it, spoke roughly. "Do not be fool enough to think I shall invite you to join me, my girl. You do not object, I hope, if I enjoy this solitary pleasure?"
Briony signified that he might do whatever he wished, and gave her attention to her paper. After a few moments, Ravensworth again broke the silence between them. "Miss Langland—Briony, satisfy my curiosity, if you would be so kind."
Briony gave him a questioning look and waited.
"I am truly interested in your assessment of what has transpired. Your present situation cannot be a happy one for you. Yet here you are quite unruffled, coolly catching up on yesterday's news as if you hadn't a care in the world. Are you not sorry to have plunged yourself and your cousin into such a deplorable predicament?"
Briony gave him one of her steady gazes. "I see no harm in any of my actions, my lord. If my conscience were troubled, that would be a different matter. In that situation, I would have no peace until I had made amends. But do not think to see me hang my head over a minor transgression of the proprieties. To such absurd flummery I am impervious."
Ravensworth grunted and felt the bile rise in his throat.
"Have you no sense, girl, of what is fitting? Your conduct has been sadly lacking in what is becoming in a young woman of taste and propriety. To put it bluntly, Miss Langland, you have brought this disgrace upon yourself."
"Fiddle," interrupted Briony, her temper flaring at the injustice of his remarks. She dashed the newspaper in her hand to the floor.
"Disgrace?
What wrong have I done? That I have forfeited the good opinion of a class of society that I despise I am willing to concede. Is it wrong to recognize a lady who showed me such singular kindness? I admit that it was unthinking of me to embarrass Miss Wilson at the opera but that was through ignorance not malice." Her voice vibrated with contempt. "This is an upside-down world, my lord, when a Christian lady is condemned out of hand for doing nothing less than her duty but a so-called gentleman of honor is permitted to offer carte blanche to a respectable girl with impunity."
"Have no fears on that head, Miss Langland," said Ravensworth cuttingly. "It has been in my mind long since to withdraw my original offer."
"How dare you, sir!" Briony cried out, starting to her feet.
"Do you say that you wish me to renew my offer?" asked Ravensworth in feigned astonishment, looking up at her wrathful face.
She saw that he was mocking her, holding her up to ridicule, and her whole body quivered with suppressed anger. "You know that I do not," she replied in outraged dignity. "I have endeavored, I hope, to make my sentiments perfectly plain on that subject. Your mode of life, your conduct, is completely distasteful to me." Her lip curled unconsciously. "In short, my lord, the man I give myself to will not be one of your ilk."
This last statement brought an angry flush to his lordship's neck. He rose unhurriedly and took a menacing step toward her. Briony retreated until her shaking hands grasped the edge of the high dresser at her back. She steadied
herself against it.
He came to her without haste, and with affected negligence leaned one hand on either side of her. His expression was coolly impassive but Briony dimly realized that it masked some deeper emotion. She detected the faint odor of his cologne and averted her head to avoid its unsettling effect. His nearness was intimidating, discomposing, and she could feel her cheeks grow warm. Her breathing became labored and she parted her lips to draw air.
When he spoke, his voice was devoid of all emotion. "Touché, Briony. That last remark was calculated to wound, was it not?
And now that you have succeeded in your laudable objective, why so craven?
Pray continue. You will not give yourself to a man of my ilk is where, I collect, you left off."
Briony's
eyes flickered to the door and she wondered with a feeling compounded of fear and reluctance if she ought at least to try to escape her captor. Ravensworth's voice, deceptively soft close to her ear, warned her against the attempt. "Don't even think it!" His hand caught her chin and turned her face till she was forced to look up at him. "Tell me about a man of my ilk, Briony," he said mildly. "I want to hear."
She would be honest if he killed her for it, she decided. "You are not a man of honor, my lord," she began, trembling at her own audacity. "Nor are you consistent. You chastise me for a trifling want of propriety, yet you thought it proper in me to become your mistress. You cared nothing for my happiness or my family's peace of mind. You thought only of your own selfish gratification. The man I give myself to will be the man I marry. He will be—"