The Counterfeit Gentleman (24 page)

Stopping abruptly a few feet away from Bethia, Lady
Clovyle blurted out, “Have you been properly instructed as
to a wife’s duty to her husband?”

“To be sure, Aunt Euphemia. You yourself have given
me a most thorough education in the proper way to direct servants and manage a household.”

“No, no,” her aunt said impatiently, waving her hands in
dismissal, then again clasping them together so tightly the
knuckles were white. “What I mean is, has anyone ever told you precisely what is involved when a man and a
woman ... when a husband and wife ... that is to say
when they ...”

Her aunt abruptly resumed her pacing, then stopped
again and asked, “Have you ever been on a farm and observed—but no, you have not, I know that. Heaven knows,
I have always done my best to persuade your grandfather
that London was not a proper place to raise a child, espe
cially a female with tender sensibilities, but he was the
most stubborn and aggravating man it has ever been my
misfortune to meet—quite unable to consider anyone’s
wishes except his own.”

Thoroughly intrigued, Bethia said, “Are you perhaps
asking me if I know what happens when a man shares a
woman’s bed—”

“When a husband exercises his marital rights,” her aunt
corrected. “Yes, precisely that.” Looking at Bethia out of
the corner of her eye, she said, “Did perhaps your gov
erness...?”

Feeling a bit embarrassed herself, Bethia shook her head.

“It is indeed most unfortunate that your mother died
when you were so young,” Aunt Euphemia said with a
heartfelt sigh.

Bethia nodded her head.

“Well.” Her aunt clasped her hands tightly together,
looked directly into Bethia’s eyes, did her best to smile, and
finally said firmly, “The most important thing you must
know is that whatever your husband wishes to do in your
bed, no matter how peculiar it may seem to you, no matter
how ... how ...”

She faltered and her smile tightened into a grimace, but
then she straightened her shoulders and tried a second time. This time her gaze fixed itself on the door, as if she were
already eyeing her escape route, and her voice came out in
a high squeak, the words tumbling out one on top of the
other in an almost incoherent jumble.

“If you will only keep reminding yourself that what he is
doing will not last terribly long, and that every woman
since Eve has had to endure what you are enduring—if you
will remember that no matter how unpleasant it may be, it
is your duty as his wife to allow him to do anything he
wants to do, then I am sure you will not find it totally unbearable.”

Taking a handkerchief from her sleeve, Aunt Euphemia
mopped her forehead. “There, I have done my duty and ex
plained it all to you.”

“But I do not understand precisely what you mean,”
Bethia said.

“Well, I am sure that if you have any questions, Mrs.
Drake can answer them as well as I can.” And with those
words, Lady Clovyle fled the room without a backward
glance.

There was a peculiar sound behind her, and Bethia
turned to see that Mrs. Drake was no longer behaving like a
properly trained servant.

She was, in fact, grinning from ear to ear, and despite her
efforts to control her mirth, she was soon chuckling, and
that in turn started Bethia laughing.

“Oh, dear, I should not carry on so,” Mrs. Drake said fi
nally. “It is only that I can picture your aunt so clearly in
bed—” Her smile faded, but her eyes still twinkled. “But I
can see that you have no idea what Lady Clovyle was try
ing to explain.” She hesitated, as if debating within herself,
then obviously making up her mind, said, “If you wish me
to, I shall be happy to answer any questions you might
have, and if you do not feel comfortable discussing such
private matters with me, then I will keep my own counsel.”

Bethia said, “I am afraid my ignorance is so extensive
that I do not even know what questions I should ask, but I
would be most grateful if you would enlighten me as to
what will be expected of me in the marital bed.”

After they settled themselves comfortably side-by-side
on the window seat, Mrs. Drake explained simply but pre
cisely how men differed from women, and exactly what
happened when a man “slept” with a woman. She did not
mince words, nor indulge in any roundaboutation, and the longer she talked, the more heated Bethia’s cheeks became.

“It is small wonder my aunt could not bring herself to
explain any of this properly,” she said when Mrs. Drake
was done talking, “and I must thank you for telling me
everything, so that I will not be totally ignorant of my du
ties.”

“But I have not yet told you the most important thing.
While there are some ladies, such as your aunt, who simply
endure what they must to satisfy their husbands, there are
many others who find lovemaking quite ... pleasurable.
After the first time, of course.” From the blush now tinting Mrs. Drake’s cheeks a most becoming pink, it was not hard for Bethia to deduce which category of women her dresser belonged to.

It would have been much easier to get through the ceremony if Mrs. Drake had not been so frank. Bethia’s mind was so filled with anxiety and anticipation of what was to come that she was able to keep from blushing only by star
ing at the Reverend Mr. Gorham’s Adam’s apple, which
was remarkable both for its prominence and for its agility.

Unfortunately, the vicar spoke in a relentless monotone,
which made it difficult for her to concentrate on what he
was saying ... and for her to disregard the warmth of Digory’s hand holding hers.

Repeating the vows that would bind the two of them to
gether for all eternity, Bethia was filled with such joy that
she did not believe it possible to be any happier than she
was at this moment.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the vicar said, closing his
book.

Without releasing her hand, Digory gently raised her
chin with his other hand and looked into her eyes. The mo
ment seemed to stretch on forever, but then he bent his
head and brushed his lips against hers.

From a great distance someone coughed, and there was
the sound of shuffling feet. Then Digory lifted his head,
and the spell was broken.

The guests began to congratulate her husband and offer
her their best wishes for the future, but as far as Bethia was
concerned, being married to Digory was everything she had
dreamed about and more.

* * * *

Digory would have given anything if this were in truth
his wedding day—that is to say, if this marriage he had en
tered into was real and not a sham. Climbing into Lady
Letitia’s town coach and taking the seat beside his wife, he
was as close to losing control of himself as he had ever
been.

Everything about her was enticing—every glance beck
oned him, every touch tantalized. The memory of her lips,
so soft and cool under his, made him want to show her how
a man’s touch could ignite a woman’s passion.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he could smell
the clean scent of her hair. He would have cursed the fate that had so thoroughly entangled them in this impossible
situation, but he had learned at an early age the futility of
wishing for what could never be.

“Before we go back to your house—”

“Our home,” she corrected him.

“—we must speak with your solicitor about the trust.”

She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting remembered
pain and fear. “Do you know, at this moment I would rather be ten miles out to sea without a boat if it meant I never had
to think about my villainous cousin again.” Her voice was
quite fierce, and Digory bent his head and deposited a
quick kiss on her mouth.

At least he intended it to be quick. Somehow it lasted all
the way to the City, and by the time they stopped, Bethia
was sitting on his lap.

Sticking to his resolution was going to be even more dif
ficult than he had imagined.

* * * *

“So, Miss Pepperell,” Mr. Kidby said after a clerk ush
ered them into his office, “you are contemplating marriage
with Mr. Rendel here, and you wish to begin discussing the
settlements.”

“You misunderstand; I am already Mrs. Rendel. My hus
band and I were married an hour ago.” Bethia held up her
left hand and showed him the emerald ring on her finger.

“Indeed?” the solicitor said, adjusting his spectacles and
staring first at the ring and then at Digory. “Well, in that
case, you will want to take care of ending the trust your
grandfather arranged.” Swiveling his chair around, he
reached up and tugged on a cord. Somewhere in the outer office a bell jangled.

Bother the trust, Bethia thought, and curses on my
cousins, one and all! Here she was, married at last, and
forced to sit in a musty old office, discussing legal affairs with her grandfather’s solicitor.

She turned and looked into Digory’s eyes and saw a
gleam of amusement, as if he knew precisely what she was
thinking, and she could not hold back an answering smile.

It took a full hour before they were finally done—before
the last document was signed and witnessed. With the or
deal at an end, Bethia was able to smile at Mr. Kidby. “You
cannot begin to understand what a relief it is to know that
my cousins will never be able to touch a penny of my
grandfather’s estate.”

The solicitor frowned. “As much as it pains me to contradict you, I would be failing in my duty as your solicitor
were I not to inform you that such is not the case.”

Surprised by his remark and dismayed by the thought of
additional complications, Bethia said, “But I have met the
only provision required by my grandfather’s will. I am married, and you saw that my aunt gave her written permission,
so the marriage is valid.”

“But if you wish to disinherit your cousins, you must
have a will of your own,” Mr. Kidby said.

“As things now stand,” Digory explained, “if you die
first, then I will inherit everything you own and possess at
the time of your death. On the other hand, if I were to die before you, then your legal heirs would be your closest relatives.”

If he were to die? All at once Bethia understood what he
had not said. By marrying him, she had put him in dan
ger—had made him a target for murder. Thoroughly aghast,
she could only stare at her husband.

“But that is only if you die intestate,” Mr. Kidby said in
his impartial lawyer’s voice. “By writing a will, you can
devise your property to whomever you wish.”

Clenching her hands to stop them from trembling, Bethia
said, “I wish to leave everything to my husband.” Taking a
deep breath, she continued. “And if he should die before
me”—she had to blink back her tears—”then I leave every
thing to my aunt, Lady Clovyle.”

As soon as she said the words, Bethia realized that such a
provision would only endanger her aunt’s life.

Feeling as if she were trapped in a waking dream that
was worse than her nightmares, Bethia tried desperately to
think of a way to stop forever her cousins’ claims to her grandfather’s money.

Finally, she knew what had to be done. “I have changed
my mind. I do not wish my aunt to be my heir. In the event
that my husband predeceases me, then I wish my entire estate to be used to establish a home for foundlings in Corn
wall.”

“You might wish to consider setting up a trust, the income from which would be more than adequate to support
a foundling home,” Mr. Kidby said, “but that will take
time, so for now, if you want to be sure that your cousins
do not inherit anything, we can draw up a simple will that
will be adequate for that purpose.”

A simple will, Bethia discovered, took only an hour and
a half to write and proof and sign and witness.

“Before you go, I have one more suggestion,” Mr. Kidby
said. “I shall, of course, notify your cousins that the trust
has been dissolved, but if you wish, I can also tell them the
terms of your will.”