The Harlot Bride (4 page)

It had not actually been necessary for him to reposition her, but the change did in fact give him a vastly improved view. Now he had Miss Farquhar’s dainty booted feet up in the air, displaying to him her shapely stocking–clad calves and the bare white skin of her thighs. And, as he had compelled those thighs to open for him as wide as they would go, he now also had revealed to him all that lay between. Now he could spy very well upon her plump white bottom, and with only a bit of prodding and rearrangement of succulent flesh, he was able to spread her bottom cheeks to reveal the crinkly little hole hidden between them. This was without a doubt his favorite part of a woman’s body, and he decided, there on the spot, as it were, that he’d have a bit of fun with it before he finished here today.

But first, it truly was necessary to return to the matter at hand, which was the assignment from his patron, Lord Tazewell. In truth, it is not always possible to establish with absolute certainty that a woman is a virgin, but in Miss Farquhar’s case, there was sufficient maiden skin across the opening to eliminate all question. It was quite impossible, the doctor saw immediately, that a man had ever penetrated her. He examined, as well, his reaction to this discovery, and discovered in the process that he was surprised, and perhaps also a tad disappointed, as he generally preferred a trollop to a virgin. But he quickly regained his equilibrium.

“Just one more point I must pursue, Miss Farquhar,” he said, thinking at first that he would take up a bit of her own wetness to facilitate his next examination, then, on second thought, deciding against it. Instead, he put a finger in his own mouth, because it gave him pleasure to think of his spittle on and in her, and when that finger was sufficiently wetted, he placed the tip of it upon that taut little rose in the lovely valley of her bottom cheeks, and in a swift, resolute move, before she could launch any kind of protest, pressed his big finger quite inside her bottom!

“Ahhgg,” she cried out, her muscle clenching thrillingly around him, but she did not speak out. This pleased him greatly, for a woman so assaulted might indeed be expected to protest in the loudest and most outraged fashion.

Yet Miss Lucy Farquhar held her tongue when his finger invaded her bottom. She did not make the obvious complaint, which was that such an insolent assault was surely not a normal part of an examination into a woman’s maiden state. Nor did she accuse him of taking unwarranted liberties. Clearly he had cowed the young woman into such a state whereas she dared not raise even the slightest protest, and this triumphant fact provided him with nearly as much pleasure as his successful penetration of her hot, tight, naughty behind. He smiled to himself, and after a bit of medically meaningless but thoroughly pleasurable probing, withdrew his finger in a lingering manner, and when it was fully withdrawn and the diminutive aperture had gratefully drawn closed again, he rose from the bed.

“Thank you, Miss Farquhar. We are finished. You may lower your feet and cover yourself.”

Doctor Randolph did not pay any more heed to Lucy as he washed his hands in the basin at the side of the room, nor as he took up his bag. But when he opened the door, he turned back to look at her. She was sitting up now, her skirts restored as she struggled to regain her composure. She must have sensed his eyes upon her, for she looked up, her eyes rimmed in red. There was a timid question upon her pale face.

“Ah, yes. You are wondering what I shall report to Lord Tazewell. I shall inform my patron that you are undoubtedly a virgin, and that I see no reason why the marriage cannot proceed.”

Lucy’s eyes dropped to her lap.

“But I am duty–bound to tell him the rest of my findings as well,” he added. “All of them, Miss Farquhar. I am sure his Lordship will be most interested in the smallest details of your comportment during the examination.”

Leaving those words behind him, Doctor Randolph stepped out of Miss Lucy Farquhar’s bedroom, and into the hall, closing the door behind him with a resolute click.

Chapter 3

Lucy’s departure from her great uncle’s home was a subdued affair. She had little baggage and no friends to see her off. Lord Tazewell did not come to fetch her, nor did he send a companion to accompany her on the long journey to his estate in Chiltenham. He simply dispatched a driver to bring an empty carriage, and a modest one, at that, one designed not to draw unwanted notice as it waited outside Mr. and Mrs. Graham’s house. Lucy wept as she bade farewell to her aunt and uncle, but it was clear to all that her tears were born more by dread of a miserable future than the pain of parting from loved ones.

It was a long ride from London to Lord Tazewell’s estate, and at some point after the first three or four hours Lucy must have fallen asleep for it was quite dark when she was jostled awake as the carriage slowed and made a sharp turn. She pulled the curtain back from the small window of the carriage, trying to peer out while stretching her neck to relieve the stiffness that had formed from sleeping upright. There was little moonlight but she could make out the white of the road against the woods around it. Soon after, the carriage entered a large open meadow, and it was then that the driver knocked against the side.

“We’re ‘ere, Miss,” he called down to her. “This be the drive to Gorham Hall. Oi ‘spect you’ll be wanting to put yourself together now, before we arrive.”

Lucy hastily took up her drawstring bag, searching for her comb and looking glass so she could fix her hair. This was in spite of the fact that she had told herself earlier she didn’t care one whit whether His Lordliness found her pleasing or not. Better if he didn’t, in fact, for she had already decided to fight him off if he attempted to force himself upon her in any way, and for as many times and for as long as it took him to give up. But such brave thoughts had come easier, in the light of day in her own bedroom back in London, than they did now approaching a strange and forbidding manor in the dark of night after an exhausting voyage.

When she had done what she could, with such modest tools as were at hand, to improve her appearance, she slipped her things back into her bag and straightened her skirts. And she looked out the window again to see if they were close, and that is when she caught the first glimpse of where she would be housed for the foreseeable future. What she saw quite literally took her breath away.

It was the largest home she had ever seen, a castle really, with an imposing center hall flanked by two wings of nearly equal height that seemed to extend forever into the darkness. Their progress over the long gravel drive had surely been long enough and loud enough to alert the staff that a carriage was arriving, yet there were no lights lit and no servants assembled to welcome them. It was only after the driver had opened the carriage door and reached a hand to help Lucy down that the great entry door was even opened. A thin, tall man carrying a lantern descended the stairs towards the carriage.

Lucy soon discerned, from the man’s attire, that this was only the butler, so she glanced back up to the entry, certain that the man who was to be her husband would be the next to emerge. But there was no one else. Having followed her gaze, the butler informed Lucy, without the slightest hint of apology or appreciation for her feelings that His Lordship was not at home at present, a statement which caused her to flinch as if she had been struck full across the face. How dare he, she thought bitterly. How dare the horrid man not be here to greet the woman he had sent for to be his bride!

Her reaction, however, appeared to have not the slightest effect on the serving man, who, having directed the driver to unload her trunk from the roof of the carriage, continued to speak to Lucy as if he were completely unaware of, or perhaps simply unconcerned by, the serious affront to her pride.

“His Lordship instructed that I should take you to your room so you may rest after your journey. He will not return until very late this evening, so your presence will not be required downstairs until morning.”

Lucy started to say exactly what she thought about the butler adopting that tone with her, but before she could form even the first word, the man had turned away and started up the steps!

“If you would follow me, please, Miss Farquhar.” Lucy was tempted to refuse, but it was chilly outside, and all the light was going with him, so she felt she had no choice but to comply.

The butler led her into a huge and unpleasant entrance hall, where he stopped only long enough to pick up a lighted candlestick which he carried in the other hand from the lantern, and then began to climb an imposing spiral balustrade, each dark wooden stair creaking loudly under his step. The house was larger and grander than any Lucy had ever been in, but it was gloomy and chilling and anything but welcoming. She shivered in what a more perceptive person might have recognized as foreboding, but Lucy, still nursing her hurt at the lack of proper reception, could think of little, for the moment, except how badly she wanted a hot bath and a warm bed. At least she could be sure the accommodations in such a palace would be luxurious.

But the tiny bedchamber to which Lucy was led was more than modest. It was spare and plain, the sort of humble accommodations that might be assigned to a secretary accompanying a grander guest. The fireplace was small and unadorned, and while a coal fire had been set, it wasn’t lit and looked, in any case, barely adequate to heat the room. The bed was a high and narrow four–poster, with a single head cushion and a worn counterpane atop it. Near the head of the bed was a small table, and near its foot was a plain blanket chest. The only other furnishing, other than a washstand fitted with a chipped basin, was a bureau with a looking glass clouded with age.

The butler set the candle upon the table, lit the fire and explained that there were more coverings in the blanket chest should she find herself cold in the night.

“I’m sure there must be some mistake,” Lucy insisted. “I’m quite certain your master did not intend that I be lodged here.”

“There is no mistake, Miss. His Lordship was quite clear.”

Lucy’s ignored this statement as preposterous, and pulled herself up as tall as possible, as she had learned to do as a child with the many servants in their house in India.

“I shall certainly take your error up with your master when he returns. In the meantime, I have no intention to spend the night here. I’ll thank you to show me to another room immediately!”

“This isn’t an inn for passing travelers, Miss. The staff readied the room His Lordship selected for you. There is no other guest room prepared.”

“As you wish, Miss,” the butler said, taking up the lantern and preparing to leave the room. “But you shall find neither a fire nor bedding elsewhere in this wing.” He walked towards the door. “Mary, the upstairs girl, will be up shortly with a towel and a pitcher of hot water, so you may wash if you please, but she has been instructed to bring it to this room and that’s where it will come. Now I bid you a good night, Miss. I suggest you retire as soon as possible, as his Lordship is an early riser.”

And with that, the butler turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Lucy quite alone in a stone–cold room.

She snatched up the candle and stormed after him into the hall, intending to do just what she had said: secure better quarters for herself regardless of whatever that insolent servant had to say about the matter. But no sooner had she done so than the candle flame began to falter in the draughty hallway, and watching the straight back of the butler disappear down the dark corridor, Lucy’s courage faltered along with the candle. Finding herself quite frightened by the prospect of total darkness, particularly in an unfamiliar place, Lucy stepped back hastily into the tiny room, where she attended the candle with some anxiety until the flame settled again. She was suddenly feeling much less brave, and decided, after all, that she might wait for the maid and take up her case with her. Surely this Mary girl would show her a better room.

But as she waited shivering in the cold, her resolve fading further, Lucy began to think that perhaps this room wouldn’t look so dismal once the fire took hold and she’d had a wash. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to stay here just for one night, as she could certainly straighten things out in the morning. She was, after all, terribly weary and worn.

And so it came to pass that Miss Lucy Farquhar passed her first night in Gorham Hall in a room barely suitable for a servant, though she was not to know it would not be her last.

** ** **

It was the next morning that Lucy at last laid eyes on the man who was to be, or perhaps already was, her husband. The maid Mary had come knocking at a very early hour to rouse her, insisting that Lucy get up immediately as she was wanted at the breakfast table. Lucy was unaccustomed to rising so early, and grumbled considerably, but with Mary’s assistance, she was put hurriedly into her clothing and led to the hall where his Lordship took his morning meal.

If Lucy had been honest with herself she would have admitted that she was quite anxious about her first meeting with Lord Tazewell, but at the time she was only conscious of her pressing desire to resolve the matter of her accommodations, and several other points as well, including the question of whether she was, in fact, a married woman.

Edward Tazewell, Earl of Chiltenham, rose when Lucy Farquhar was ushered into the room. Although Lucy had done her best to sweep in with pride and poise, her composure slipped when she saw him, for he was considerably taller and younger than she had supposed. This past fortnight, stinging from the twin humiliations he had visited upon her, Lucy had imagined Lord Tazewell as a fat and odious troll, a dissipate prone to drink, a foolish old fop whom she could easily outmaneuver.