“I don’t care a jot about what other people think, Mama,” I returned. ”And neither does Reeve. Besides, as Reeve said, once it becomes clear that we did not have to get married because a baby was on the way, the gossip will die.”
My mother put down her Wedgwood teacup and said with quiet determination, “If you really are determined to marry, Deborah, then I think it is important for you and I to have a talk.”
I gave her a surprised look. “A talk about what, Mama?”
“A talk about what goes on between a man and a woman when they are married,” she said.
Mama had a pale, set expression on her face. I had the distinct feeling that she was not finding this topic of conversation pleasant, and I said soothingly, “You don’t have to do this, Mama. Reeve will tell me all that I need to know about that part of marriage.”
He certainly knew all about it, I thought a little indignantly, remembering his comment on Oldtimber Hill.
Mama shook her head in disagreement. “Reeve is a man, Deborah, and while it is true that he is a very nice young man,
no
man has any idea about how a woman feels about this matter.”
I frowned, not understanding what she was trying to tell me.
My mother laced her fingers together in her lap and looked at her hands, avoiding my eyes. She said, “I know you like Reeve, Deborah, and that is a good thing. And anyone can see that he is fond of you as well. But once you get into bed together… things will change.”
My eyebrows drew together. I returned my teacup to the small circular table next to my chair, and said, “What do you mean, change?”
Mama’s breath was coming quicker than usual. With her eyes on the wedding band that she still wore on her left hand, she said, “Deborah, do you know what a man … looks like?”
I did, actually. Reeve and I used to swim naked in the river when we were children.
I didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell this to Mama right now.
“Yes.” I said.
My mother began to turn the ring nervously around her finger in a gesture that was unconsciously revealing. “Well then,” she said. “Men are so much larger than we are. Even you, Deborah—you might have height, but Reeve is far bigger and stronger than you. I am quite sure that he will not mean to hurt you, but in the throes of passion, he inevitably will.” She gave a helpless shrug of her shoulders. “It just happens, and the only thing a woman can do is pretend that it is all right.”
I was appalled.
“Mama,” I said in a constricted voice, “is this what your own marriage was like?”
Dark shadows had appeared beneath her eyes, and she struggled to find the words she wanted. “I do not want you to think badly of your father, Deborah. He was unfailingly kind to me, and I was always grateful to him for that. I am only speaking of a small part of marriage, but I feel it is my duty to prepare you for it. It is soon over, after all, and then you are free to enjoy the many bounties of the wedded state.”
I thought of the bonfire of passion that had blazed up between Reeve and me earlier that afternoon. There was no doubt in my mind that making love with Reeve would not be the poor, maimed thing that Mama was describing.
I remembered now that, in the course of my growing up, there had been two men who had wanted to marry my mother. Both of them could have offered us a comfortable home and a life far easier than the one we were living.
She had rejected them both. Child that I was, I had thought it was because she was still in love with my father.
I did not think that now.
I said helplessly, “I do not think it will be like that with Reeve and me, Mama.”
She did not look convinced.
“I love him,” I said, voicing out loud for the first time the frightening secret that I had been harboring in my heart. ”Every time he kisses me, I go up in flames.”
Mama’s blue eyes widened. “He has kissed you?”
I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “He has kissed me very thoroughly, Mama, and I assure you that I liked it very much.”
“Deborah …” Her voice was very tentative. She was still fiddling with her ring. ”Do you know what happens when a man has… sex… with a woman?”
“Yes,” I said. I had been raised in the country after all.
“And the thought of that does not frighten or disgust you?”
I thought of Reeve. Once again I felt the heat that had flooded through my lower body when he had pressed his hardness against me. “Perhaps it would if I were marrying some other man,” I said. “But not with Reeve.”
“Well,” Mama said doubtfully, “that is good.”
I got up, went over to her chair, bent down, and kissed her soft cheek. Her skin had the resilience of a young girl’s. “Don’t speak to Lord Bradford about us. Reeve is convinced that he has evaluated all the consequences and decided that the benefits of a quick marriage outweigh the drawbacks.”
“But what are the benefits?” Mama asked in bewilderment.
“Lord Bradford has this fixed idea that marriage will settle Reeve down. And since Reeve is the head of the sacred Lambeth family, it is very important to Lord Bradford to see him settled and setting up his nursery. Also, for some reason, Lord Bradford likes me and thinks I will be good for Reeve. Consequently, he is pushing to consummate the marriage as quickly as possible.”
Mama leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“Well there can be no doubt that this is a brilliant match for you, darling,” she said. ”If you are certain that you really want to go forward with it …“
“I am certain.”
“And you really love Reeve? You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better?”
“I really love him,” I answered soberly. And to my self I added, ”God help me.”
THREE DAYS LATER, LORD BRADFORD ESCORTED
Mama and me into Brighton so that I could shop for a wedding dress. As the prospective bridegroom Reeve was excluded from this particular outing, and I thought it was only fitting that Lord Bradford, who had instigated this whole hasty affair, should be the one put to the trouble of taking us.
The seaside town of Brighton, which stands on a slope under the South Downs, was originally a tiny fishing village called Brighthelmstone. In 1783 the Prince of Wales visited it and decided to make it the locale for his residence outside of London. Fashionable society followed the prince to the newly christened Brighton until now, in the summer of 1814, the former fishing village was filled with the elegant squares and terraces of the very rich.
Our shopping expedition went very well. Lord Bradford had never struck me as a patient man, and so I was pleasantly surprised by his tolerance of what could only have been a very tedious morning for him. He had brought a book and he sat in the outer room of all of the shops we went into, waiting without complaint while I tried on dress after dress and Mama and I discussed and compared the various choices.
In the end, when we could not decide between two dresses we particularly liked, I tried them both on for Lord Bradford’s inspection. He voted for a white crepe over a blue-silk slip and that was the one we took.
After our shopping was concluded, Lord Bradford suggested that we go for a stroll along the Marine Parade before we headed for home. Mama and I agreed, and we made our way down the elegant Steyne in the direction of the pavilion the Prince Regent had built as his residence.
My mother and I spent at least half an hour walking around the Regent’s pavilion and gawking. Lord Bradford was utterly scornful of the fantastic creation, which had domes, minarets, cupolas, and spires, all reaching upward toward the white-cloud-dotted sky.
“The whole thing is in dreadful taste, and what’s more, it’s an inexcusable waste of money,” he said. ”With the war over, and all these demobilized men being thrown on the economy, to be spending huge amounts of money on an atrocity like this is unforgivable.”
I could not disagree with him about either the dreadful taste or the waste of money. But there was something undeniably fascinating about a creation so horrendously inappropriate to its surroundings.
We finally tore ourselves away from the pavilion and proceeded toward the water, where we turned left toward the Marine Parade. We had been having an unusually fine summer and the weather today was delightfully warm and sunny. The few clouds in the sky looked like wisps of white mist floating across a palette of clear blue.
The Marine Parade went along the edge of the slender bay upon which Brighton was built, and on this lovely summer day it was filled with well-dressed people taking a stroll in the pleasant sea air. The women wore light muslin dresses and an amazing array of wide-brimmed bonnets to protect their complexions from the sun, while the gentlemen wore the correct morning dress of blue or black superfine coat with fawn-colored pantaloons and Hessian boots. Numbers of children scampered along behind their governesses and their high-pitched laughter rang in counterpoint to the
caw caw caw
of the gulls.
I walked on one side of Lord Bradford, and Mama walked on the other. The two of them conversed easily about a variety of topics while I looked around and enjoyed the holiday sophistication of what had at one time been a simple fishing village.
Then someone from behind me called my name.
I turned my head and saw my brother approaching us. He had Charlotte on his arm and on his other side walked a tall, thin man whom I had never seen before.
Perhaps it was the man’s height, but I had a sudden premonition that this was my much-hated Uncle John.
Richard waved to me to stop.
After a moment’s hesitation, I did, and Lord Bradford and Mama, who had been deep in conversation, halted with me. We all turned around as Richard and his party came up to us.
Richard’s handsome face was grave as he said, “Deborah, I would like to introduce you to your uncle, Mr. John Woodly.”
It amazed me how normal Woodly appeared. In my fantasies I had always imagined him as a vicious-looking ogre, but this man had ordinary brown hair and blue eyes and regular features. In fact, one might even say that he was rather nice-looking. None of the evil of his character appeared on his face.
I looked him directly in the eyes, my own narrow and unmistakably hostile. I gave a terse nod and said nothing.
John Woodly said nothing to me either. Instead his mouth set in an angry line, and he turned to Charlotte. “If you will excuse me, Lady Charlotte, I have an errand to attend to.” His eyes swung next to Richard. “I will meet you at the carriage in an hour’s time.”
He turned on his heel and was gone.
Richard stared after him, anger clearly stamped on his face. Then he turned to my mother. “I apologize for my uncle’s rudeness, Lady Lynly…” His voice trailed off and he took a step forward. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Both Lord Bradford and I looked at my mother also. She was white as chalk and visibly trembling.
Before I could move, Lord Bradford took charge. “Come and sit on this bench, Mrs. Woodly,” he said. He put his arm around her shoulders and half guided, half carried her to the wooden bench that had been placed so that people could have a good view of the sparkling sea.
Richard, Charlotte, and I crowded after the two of them. Once Mama was seated, with Lord Bradford sitting beside her holding her hand in a reassuring grip, he turned to me and said, “Do you have any smelling salts?”
I never carried such insipid things, and now I regretted it.
Charlotte said, “I have,” and she dug in her reticule and produced a small vinaigrette.
Lord Bradford held the salts up to Mama’s nose, and I sat on the other side of her on the bench and watched closely as the color came flooding back to her face.
“I am so sorry,” she said faintly after Lord Bradford had withdrawn the vinaigrette. ”I don’t know what made me take such a turn. It must have been the sun.”
It had not been the sun. It had been John Woodly, and we all knew it.
“Are you feeling better, Mama?” I asked worriedly.
She drew a long, unsteady breath. “Yes. I am perfectly fine now, darling.”
Clearly, she was not.
Lord Bradford said authoritatively, “You are going to sit here for ten more minutes until I am satisfied that you won’t faint if I allow you to get up.”
Mama managed a wobbly smile. “Really, my lord, it was nothing. Only a small touch of the sun. I am all right now.”
“Lord Bradford is right, Mama,” I said. I looked at him in concern. ”Is there anyplace where we could get her a cool drink?”
“I will fetch her a glass of lemonade from Currier’s,” Richard volunteered. He and Charlotte had been standing in front of us, shielding Mama from the curious eyes of the passersby. ”It is not far from here. I can be back in five minutes.”
I smiled up at him. “Thank you. That would be very kind.”
He went off, his long legs covering ground quickly. After a moment, Charlotte sat on the bench on the other side of me.
Lord Bradford continued to hold Mama’s hand, and I noticed that she made no attempt to withdraw from him. He began to talk to her of something entirely unrelated to what had just happened, and I realized that he was giving her a chance to pull herself together.
My opinion of his sensitivity went up.
Mama was turned toward Lord Bradford, listening to him, making it only polite for me to turn to Charlotte.
I started to make some idiotic comment about the weather, but she interrupted me. “I would like to take this opportunity to let you know that Richard is deeply upset about his family’s neglect of you, Deborah.”
Her voice was very quiet, but there was no mistaking her sincerity.
I opened my mouth to say “
he should be
,” but then I changed my mind. I was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that perhaps my brother wasn’t such a bad person after all and that it would be only decent of me to meet him halfway in any attempt to establish a relationship between us.
I stared at a seagull that had perched on the bench opposite us on the Marine Parade, and said shortly, “I suppose it wasn’t Richard’s fault.”
Charlotte leaned toward me in her earnestness. “Truly it wasn’t. You must believe me when I say that he had no idea that you had been left in poverty. John Woodly has always acted as his steward, you see, and the books his uncle showed him listed a rather substantial sum of money going to you and your mother each quarter. That is why Richard was so shocked when he learned the truth. He had no way of knowing that the sum he had been seeing was false.”
I removed my eyes from the seagull and turned to stare at Charlotte in amazement. “Do you mean to tell me that that wretched John Woodly was falsifying the books?”
Charlotte nodded, her green eyes somber.
“How the devil could my father have left such a man in charge of his estate?” I exclaimed, my voice louder than it had been.
“I have no idea,” Charlotte said. ”I
can
tell you, however, that Richard has hired a new steward to check all the estate’s books to see if his uncle was embezzling on a larger scale than simply your allowance.”
Enlightenment struck. I could feel my eyes widen. “You mean Woodly was keeping for himself the money he said was going to us?”
Once again Charlotte gave me that somber look. “Where else was the money going?”
“That bastard,” I said.
Charlotte tried to look scandalized by my language. She didn’t succeed.
I looked back at the bench across the way. The seagull had been joined by a mate, and they were perched on either side of it, like bookends. I said grimly, “If Richard is really having dear Uncle John investigated, then what was he doing strolling along the Marine Parade in Brighton with him as if you were all one big happy family?”
Charlotte shifted on the bench next to me, as if she was uncomfortable. “Mr. Woodly is a guest of my parents, Deborah. Richard and I are simply trying to keep up a semblance of courtesy.”
I gave her a shrewd look. “Does Woodly know that Richard is having him investigated?”
Charlotte’s eyes were on the reticule in her lap. She shook her head. “That is another reason for keeping up appearances. Richard doesn’t want to alarm his uncle until he has found out the whole truth.”
Lord Bradford’s voice had fallen silent for the last few minutes, and I realized now that my conversation with Charlotte had attracted his and Mama’s attention.
“What an utter scoundrel,” Lord Bradford said with loathing.
Mama said in a stifled voice, “I am afraid that he is.”
“Here comes Richard with your lemonade, Lady Lynly,” Charlotte said. ”I’m sure a cool drink will make you feel much better.”
The three of us watched my brother making his way toward us through the crowd of strollers on the Marine Parade. I thought that both his height and his grace of movement made him a distinctive figure even in that elegant congregation. He handed a full glass of lemonade to Mama with a courtly bow and as she drank it, I spoke pleasantly to Charlotte and Richard about my wedding plans, impulsively inviting them to attend the ceremony.
Mama finished her lemonade and we said goodbye to my brother and his fiancée and walked back up the Steyne to where Lord Bradford had left the curricle.
Our drive home was far more subdued than the drive into Brighton had been. There was some very unpleasant history between my mother and John Woodly, that was obvious. I wanted very much to know what it was, but it was equally obvious that Mama wasn’t about to confide in me.
Well, I thought optimistically, there was no reason for the two of them ever to meet in the future. Even if we established a relationship with Richard, and I was actually beginning to hope that we would, my brother was not going to be on good terms with his uncle now that he had found out that John was cheating him.
Mama would live at Ambersley with Reeve and me and perhaps Richard would give her an allowance so that she would feel she was not completely dependent upon Reeve. She could take up her old social life in the village, and there was no reason for her ever to see John Woodly again.