CHAPTER 3.

The next morning at breakfast I was relieved to find Edmund alone. As soon as the servants poured tea and left, his china cup rattled down into the saucer and he spoke.

It was not often he took pains to converse with me. Usually I watched his grey face, limp strands of fading grey hair nodding along with the newspaper and gossip rags he devoured. The paper remained crisply folded, he stared at me with his fingers steepled.

“I believe I need to remind you of your duties as a wife, Vanessa.”

“In three years I believe I have never caused you displeasure sir?”

“I have never asked you for anything. There is a difference. This request is for your security as well as the estates. You know that if I were to die now, you would be in a poorhouse within six months unless your family rescues you.”

“My family would never see me struggle,” I replied quickly, a flush of panic rising.

“Until a child is born, my will contains a letter. A letter addressed to every gutter press in London, and your mother, containing lurid descriptions of your affairs. Explaining why I could never take you to the London Season for fear of you being caught in the arms of yet another man. I added some wonderfully gruesome details about finding you in a whorehouse, asking to be taken by any man willing just for the pleasure.”

A shockwave raced through me to hear the grey, placid man speak such bile. A tear softly rolled down my cheek as hatred pulsed through my body. “You would ruin your own family name to take revenge on me? Tarrick Hall, the Duchy would be ruined?”

“If you don’t produce an heir I have no need for the Tarrick family name, my brother can work with the scorched ruins of your reputation. Your family won’t take you when the gossips update you from ‘missing Duchess’ to ‘Desperate Duchess’,” snickering at his own rancid amusement,

He raised a hand in mock horror, “oh! Think of your poor sister Kitty. Fresh out this season isn’t she? She will be hoping for a good match, imagine if her family is suddenly tarred with the worst kind of reputation. I am not above putting a few lines in about her trying to seduce me if you continue to play silly games here Vanessa.”

“I…how can you do this to me?”

“Because you are mine. I own your body and soul as my wife. Just because I cannot…fulfil the physical act, the rest of the world does need to know that.”

“His eyes…” I mutter, staring into my china cup.

“Exactly. We share a startling amount of physical resemblance. You are probably too young to remember but before my illness ravaged me I was a fairly muscular fellow, our hair is the same colour. It will work,” his hands trembling and struggling to hold his tea with the force of speaking for so long.

“I need…I need time to think about this. You know what you are asking of me don’t you? My honour, my dignity as a female is being traded like bonds.”

Edmund shrugged, his muscleless shoulders rising the same as a vulture's, high and edgy under his smart suit. His eyes were green but lacking the lustre of his recruited gigolo. Possibly age, or maybe drugs, it was hard to tell these days with his pain. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as some kind of spasm rocketed up and down his spine.

After his thin grey face relaxed out of contortion, into one of mere snarling pain, he almost spat the words. “Now your mother and sister are arriving today. I arranged it.”

“They are?” I cried, this was something normally arranged weeks in advance. I thought Edmund was an old duffer cooped up in his library reading textbooks, he’d been planning this for months.

“If you do not agree before they leave, I shall hand over the first copy of the letter, newly updated with some filth on Kitty before your mama’s feet touch the carriage.”

“I’m going to the stables,” I snap and get up from the breakfast table, “if I am to sign my honour away I want to at least be sure the mans not a complete savage.”

Edmund’s chuckling as I left only made my anger boil more strongly as I stormed away, my dress billowing behind me. Leaning against the wooden stable split door, Fitz seemed to have anticipated my arrival. I wore a paler blue gown, tied around the waist with a snow white ribbon. As I approached his eyes stayed on mine, a light, jolly smile on his face.

“What on earth have you got to smile about?” I snapped, not caring for any civility today.

“Your Grace,” he replied with a deep, overcomplicated bow, followed by ten seconds of hand twirling. It took everything I had not to laugh at his pitiful display despite everything. “Better I suppose,” I reply with a sulk. “Crawling on the floor begging would suit better,” making that deep, rumbling chuckle reappear.

He wore a white shirt today, the same beige leather braces and button pants. They clung to his thighs, his riding boots fitting his calves snugly.

“You know why you are here?”

“I do indeed.”

“And you are happy with this arrangement?”

He leaned forward, eyes darting for any prying servants before whispering, “I believe whatever happens I am safe in this particular situation.”

“How do you see that?”

He took another step forward, close enough for me to smell his scent mixed with hay. There was no perfumery, no lotions on his skin, just a manliness I’d never been near enough to breathe before.

“Because I am in this for my own amusement. I shan’t be falling in love and begging you to run away with me.”

I raised my eyebrow. “I have already been sorely disappointed by a man in my life, what on earth makes you think you are any different, any better than the Duke? You’re nothing but a rogue, a scoundrel of the lowest sort.”

His face screwed in confusion as if working out a puzzle. Eventually he rubbed a hand against the back of his neck and rolled his eyes. “You think you are the issue? That His Grace has left you alone because you are somehow defective?” and he broke out into a laugh, that he tried to stifle with his large, rough hand.

My anger rose to the boil again, before he could even begin to explain himself I found my hand coming towards him, planting a stinging slap against his face. Then I turned on my heel and headed back to the house.

“I can refuse this, you know!” I cried over my shoulder.

“You won’t,” he called back. “I’ll crawl!” he added, making me shake my head in frustration at the lightness he took this situation with. How is such a situation to ever be survived!

I fled back along the eastern wing of Tarrick Hall towards the main house entrance, only vaguely aware of the carriage approaching containing my mother and sister. Three years of my life in suspense, everything seemed to be happening at a gallop since yesterday.

I could barely catch my breath, shaking my hand where it had touched the rough stubble of his face. Quickly looking back he had vanished inside.

Good.

Now to survive an afternoon with my mother. Such a shame I could not give her the same treatment as Fitz. It is her meddling that has landed me here, three years of my life squandered already, where shall the next lead me.

With my pulse pounding, enduring tea and cake with mother and Kitty was intolerable. Discussions of the weather, who had rented the larger townhouse for the season, whose servants had left in disgrace all fell by the wayside. I nodded blithely, barely asking any questions.

It makes little difference to my usual routine with them anyway I suppose. They probably noticed no difference. My mind was turning over my situation. There was no escaping the fact an heir would make my life significantly easier, both during and after Edmund's life. I wanted children, I think. The means to getting them, to spend intimate time with Fitz and his unbearably smug grin was the issue.

At least he was not ugly. He certainly was not, even in my anger I couldn’t stop noticing the different muscles, the huge form of his body. He was sculpted from work, dealing with horses, digging and labour. I wondered how firm his body was.

“Excuse me one moment, I will just check with Edmund, I believe he said we might attend that meet this year!” I said gaily, quickly trotting out of the room. As my light blue gown rustled down the corridor it was my turn to intrude upon his private space.

I didn’t knock, treating him equal to my own experience yesterday. Sat at his desk, he was in a sleepy haze, papers scattered across his desk but they looked untouched.

“I wish to negotiate.”

“Pah!”

“Then I refuse. Do your worst,” and I turned away. When my hand reached the handle his reedy voice recalled me. “Wait Vanessa. What do you wish to negotiate on.”

“I want to attend the full season in London every year. I cannot survive here full time. It is too quiet, too miserable an existence for me, or a child to endure.”

He began tapping at his metal snuff box. Full of invigorating powders it balanced him back into life when the laudanum made him too drowsy.

“I agree. That is not unreasonable.”

“The whole season?”

“If you get pregnant this three month period, yes.”

“I do not want to dine with Mr Fitz or pretend in front of staff. He is the stable hand, there is no reason for him to ever be in our presence again unless I am in a stable or…it is…the other.”

“Agreed. Anything else?” he sighed, weary of my intrusion already.

“I do not want you in the room…when it happens.”

“I wasn’t planning to be. I will be inspecting afterwards though.”

“Inspecting?” feeling a chill run down my spine. Everything was a business transaction, I half expected him to draft up a contract after this.

“Yes. I do not want Mr Fitz to put up a pretence, I want to know his seed has entered you. That is the only way you will fall pregnant so I want to know it has happened. I won’t have him fool your naivety and my good nature.”

My throat felt dry, it was so real to talk about such things.

“I have no other requests other than to know…who else knows about this arrangement?”

“Doctor Farrars knows we are trying for children. If he asks you any questions about your health do not be alarmed. He does not know of Fitz’s…involvement.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, unsure of what else was appropriate in the circumstances. I was agreeing to this. I had just shouted at Fitz an hour ago, slapped him and assured him I would never consent and now in my husband's study I was preparing to open my legs for him.

“When…when is it expected to start?”

“Oh, tonight. I knew you would agree. Marie confirmed your last courses were around two weeks ago so you are ready for breeding now. The next three night should suffice to ensure a strong result. As advised by Doctor Farrers.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. I shall collect you from your room at around eleven. Be wearing your slippers, warm robe and nightgown. I shall escort you to the guest suite on the far wing of the house. That will ensure the most privacy. As we are together there will be no suspicion should a servant spy us.”

“You have thought of everything,” I stammered, feeling faint at the idea all over again. Edmund sat up straighter, squinting at me with his crows-feet lined eyes as if I was mad. “Of course. This needed proper planning. You may be quite content wasting away in front of a sash window but I have ideas, an estate, titles to consider-” but broke down into a shuddering coughing fit before completing his rant.

“Shall I send for some tea?”

“No, get back to your mother. You may dine alone tonight if you wish, I have the Radford brothers coming over to discuss business.”

“Thank you, I believe I shall,” and finally left his study. His world of walnut and beige paperwork. I noticed the liquor bottles on the side of his bookcase were over half empty. Had he taken to drinking to excess to cope with the pain? He never allowed me to ask after his health. Even his disease was a mystery to me.

Once, in London I had stopped to examine the booksellers market down Chapel Street, there was a medical textbook that caught my interest. So many vivid illustrations of the body.  Of course I had no money to buy it with but when I showed it to Edmund he slapped it shut and walked me away in silence. His cane slapping the stone cobbles the only sound he made for the rest of the afternoon.

Back with mother and Kitty I did my best to smile as I entered. “I do believe we shall be joining you at Guildhall this year! Edmund confirms he intends to Season this year!”

“Oh how delightful! Kitty cried. My younger sister by four years was coming out as a debutante. Her brown hair and blue eyes matched my own. We both shared delicately pale skin, and she was slightly smaller, a ballet dancer's figure wrapped in yards of lace and silk.

I was always a bit curvier, a fuller chest and hips which my mother blamed for my reckless debating. As if having a womanly shape could entice a person into promiscuous, ruinous behaviour compared to a more slender shape.

“So, have you met any eligible men you wish to dance with?” I asked.

“There is Lord Filey, he has been most kind sending me flowers to wish me luck on my debut!”

“He is a delightful fellow,” my mother rejoined.

“How old is he, would I recognise him?” I asked.

“Oh dear, he is your age but I doubt you would remember him, you’ve barely met anyone in three years. He is a handsome, blonde statue of a man isn’t he Kitty,” her voice turning to a childish titter as they giggled into each other's shoulders on the chair. Kitty wore a delicate beige lace, my mother a silver gown highlighting the reams of pearls around her ageing neck.

There had been none of this when Edmund was proposed. My mother had been stiff as iron. I had received endless lectures on duty, the role of a wife. Godliness above all. Pleasing the Lord by pleasing one's husband. Kitty seemed to be getting told to go for the handsome men and have fun. “You are to be a Duchess, Vanessa, the fall is greater when placed on a perch.”

There is no point being bitter I suppose, sighing internally. The clock chimes and without thinking I calculate how many hours until I am taken to the west wing tonight. I have been in that room before. It is cold, draughty and dark. The bed is a four poster with the darkest mahogany, ruby red blankets on top of crisp white sheets.

Ruby red, the colour of blood. The colour of sacrifice.