One Night With The Major. Bronwyn Scott
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marry Wenderly. I no longer meet his marital criteria. I am not a virgin.’ She would never forget the silence that followed her statement. It was an expensive ace, not only in its acquisition, which had cost her the most valuable thing a young woman possessed by society’s standards, but also in the damage such acknowledgement would do to the inner workings of her family. It would positively cleave a chasm between her and her father.
In truth, the beginnings of that chasm were already there and had been ever since Pavia had realised she was nothing but a pawn for her father to use in the advancement of his ambitions. This would merely widen that chasm. The wedding negotiations with Wenderly had been a start, making it impossible to avoid what had already been the truth: at some point, she’d ceased to matter beyond being a placeholder for him, the face of his fortune. It had been this way ever since they’d returned to England. Now it had become a conflict that caught her mother in the middle—between a husband who wanted his wife’s loyalty and a daughter who wanted the same.
Her father’s eyes glinted dangerously, his voice razor-sharp. ‘Who? Tell me who and I will see that he answers for this on the field of honour.’ Of course that would be his first response—his first concern was always for appearances. How would this look to the public? What would people think? She should not be surprised. And yet, it stung that his first concern was not for her, even if that concern came with anger.
Pavia did not flinch. ‘I do not know his name.’ It was not a lie and she was glad for the truth. It would protect her from the guilt of dishonesty and it would protect her lover’s life. Images of his strong, glorious, well-muscled body came to mind. She pushed them away along with dangerous thoughts. It had occurred to her fleetingly on the walk back to her inn that it wouldn’t be impossible to find her lover. She knew the colour of his uniform, had some idea of his rank. She could go to the military offices at Whitehall and make enquiries. No. That was not what she’d promised him or herself. One night only. There were many reasons for that precaution and this was one of them. She did not want him to face her father at twenty paces for her folly. Her father, even at forty-five, was still deadly with a pistol.
Only now, when he’d been denied a victim, did he direct his attention towards her. ‘You ruined yourself to spite me? Turned yourself into a Jezebel as part of this temper tantrum of yours? Do you know what you’ve done? What man will have you now? And you’ve ruined this family.’ Her father’s anger rumbled near the surface. ‘All my life, I have worked for our family and in one instant you have destroyed it.’ It was a visible struggle to deny his temper free rein. Pavia did not think she ever recalled him being this furious. He pushed his hand through his hair. ‘Perhaps Wenderly can be duped.’ He gestured to her mother. ‘Sabita, you have to fix this. There must be some female trick to create the impression of virginity.’
Pavia froze. Her father meant to go through with it. If he did, her sacrifice would be for naught. She’d risked herself, brought conflict to her family, all for nothing. And she’d have to sustain the lie. She had not counted on this. She exchanged a quick glance with her mother, although she doubted there would be much hope there. Her mother would be just as mad as her father.
Her mother’s dark eyes held hers for a moment and then flitted away. ‘Wenderly isn’t the only peer on the market this Season,’ her mother offered. Pavia opened her mouth to protest. She didn’t want to marry Wenderly, but that didn’t mean she wanted to marry someone else either. Her mother slid her a stern look that said they would talk later. Pavia wasn’t fooled. When that conversation happened, her mother would do the talking. She would do the listening. ‘What is all your money worth, Oliver, if it can’t buy your daughter a husband? Surely your fortune can buy more than a middling earl.’ It was subtly done, the comment a compliment and a challenge. Her mother was a master when she chose to exert her influence. It was a choice she seldom made these days. England had beaten her down, changed her as it had changed her father. They’d been a different family in India.
Her father’s face became contemplative. Her mother smiled and pressed her argument softly. ‘There are two marquises and a duke hunting brides, and there are other earls desperate enough for funds to even look towards American brides. They’d be more than happy to take your money and overlook such a little thing as the lack of a maidenhead if their bride can keep a roof over the manor and claim English blood at the same time.’
‘It’s a slim field,’ her father mused, not liking the odds.
‘Slim for others, perhaps. But no one’s bank account can match yours and your daughter is beautiful,’ her mother responded smoothly. ‘Besides, Wenderly was no challenge for a man like yourself. Aren’t you always saying never take the first offer? Catching a husband isn’t much different than selling tea.’
Her father glanced at her mother who gave a small, imperceptible nod of encouragement. ‘All right,’ he said with an infrequent smile. ‘We shall go fishing, one last time. Draw up a list of the eligible men and we’ll see what can be done. We’ll need an invite to the Banfields’ ball in a couple weeks. It’s the most lavish entertainment this early in the Season. Pavia will need a gown that is equal to it. Get it ordered early so it will be done.’
Pavia smiled, careful not to betray her sense of victory. It wouldn’t be her fault if those gentlemen her mother spoke of didn’t come up to scratch. She had won. But she was acutely aware she’d only won time. Still, anything could happen in those precious weeks.
* * *
‘You betrayed me.’ Her mother glided into her room without so much as a knock and shut the door behind her, dismissing the maid with a flick of her hand. She could be imperious when she wanted to be. Once a princess, always a princess.
‘He’s the one who has betrayed us,’ Pavia argued. She’d been expecting this conversation and she was ready. ‘He wants to sell me to the highest bidder. Are you willing to let him do that? Wenderly is an old man with perverse tastes.’
‘A woman must marry, Pavia,’ her mother snapped. ‘Whether she likes it or not, she is nothing without a man. She has no money, no shelter, no status. Nothing with which she can protect herself. It’s not right, but it’s reality. What do you think happens to you without a husband if your father withdraws his protection?’ Her mother was furious.
‘This is not the Middle Ages,’ Pavia protested, hurt that her mother hadn’t sided with her immediately. Surely her mother saw the injustice of the situation?
Her mother sat at the edge of her bed, her voice quiet. ‘Your actions do not endear me to him. I had one job and that was to raise his child—a beautiful, obedient girl who would be a credit to him and help him advance his position in the world. I have failed.’ That silenced Pavia. She hadn’t thought of it like that. She’d thought only of what the arrangement with Wenderly meant to her.
‘I wish we were in India, with Uncle, like it used to be. I don’t know how you bear it.’ Pavia huffed. ‘Why don’t we go? Surely Father wouldn’t care if we went? We mean nothing to him, just chess pieces to move around his board.’ She searched her mother’s face for guidance. ‘How do you stand it? So far from home, so far from your family?’
‘Your father and I complete each other, Pavia. Dher aham prithvi tvam. If I am the sky, you are the earth. People change over time. Perhaps he is not the same man I married, but he is still the man I am married to. A wife stands by her husband. My brother made this marriage for me in good faith that I would be provided for and I have been. I want for nothing. I would not shame my brother by returning to his palace.’
‘But what about love?’
‘Love is only one thing to build a marriage on and sometimes love alone is not enough. There are other things that matter, too. Surely you don’t believe in fairy tales, Pavia?’ Her mother was unrelenting.
‘No, not fairy tales, but marriage should be reasonable, mutual, at least.’ How could she believe in fairy tales when her mother had left her home to follow a husband halfway around the world who had no time for her? Who was always gone, leaving her alone in a strange country?
‘It can start that