Page 34 of A Sense of Injustice
Marianne squealed with delight and hugged Louise’s arm. ‘You are the best sister in the world!’ she cried.
Hardly, Louise thought, or she would not have neglected Marianne for so long.
‘Why did Papa want nothing to do with me?’ Marianne asked the question without rancour, but it was clearly one that had troubled her since infancy.
‘Because he was very narrow-minded, I suppose. Every time he looked at you he was reminded that Mama died giving birth to you. That was not your fault of course, but I think he loved her very much, and men in love don’t always think rationally.’
‘Yes, that’s what Grandmamma says whenever I raise the subject. I don’t very often because I can see that it upsets her. But it makes no sense. I’m told that I don’t look anything like Mama, whereas you are her image, yet Papa doted on you.’ Marianne shook her head. ‘I think there is more to it than that.’ She rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion, reminding Louise of her innocence and her secluded upbringing. She swallowed, regretting the loss of her own innocence, and more especially the brutal fashion in which it had been stolen from her. ‘Perhaps there is some deep, dark, buried family secret that no one’s allowed to refer to,’ Marianne concluded.
Louise laughed. ‘That must be it. Anyway, I noticed a modiste’s establishment in the village,’ she said. ‘I doubt whether we shall find any answers within it but we could pay them a visit tomorrow and order you some new gowns if you’d like.’
‘Oh, can we?’ Marianne clapped her hands. ‘Some of mine are quite shockingly out of date. Grandmamma doesn’t notice and I don’t like to point out their shortcomings to her. She doesn’t have that much money, you see, and what she does have spare she always lavishes on me.’
Louise threw an arm around her sister’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. ‘Well, I shall lavish some of mine on you as well. You deserve to be spoiled.’
‘I agree with you, naturally! Thank you so very much.’
Louise took pleasure from her sister’s excitement as she basked in the affection of the only two people who really mattered to her. She must find a delicate way of asking her grandmother about the state of her finances. That was something she could—and would—rectify. She only gave a passing thought to exposing herself in the village and running the risk of encountering Cleethorp. She was not about to hide herself away and tremble at the sight of every passing stranger. Besides, if Cleethorp was in the district, it would be better to confront him, make it plain that she didn’t have the first intention of having anything further to do with him, and be done with it.
As she and Marianne wandered towards the terrace, from which their grandmother waved to them, she reminded herself that she had yet to broach the subject of Cleethorp with the old lady. She wouldn’t tell her the full story, of course, but would suggest that he’d made a nuisance of himself in London—that much was certainly true—and that she didn’t want to receive him here in the country. Then, if he had the temerity to call at the house, he would not be granted admission and afforded an opportunity to charm her grandmother.
‘There you are, my dears.’ Grandmamma greeted them with a smile, teapot poised. ‘Just in time for refreshments.’
Chapter Eight
Darius Cleethorp sat beside Felicity Brigstock in a first-class carriage on the train carrying them from London to Swindon. They had it to themselves.
‘It’s nice to get away from London,’ he said in an effort to make conversation.
‘It will make things harder for us to be together, my love. The country might seem quiet but there are eyes and ears everywhere, just as there are in London. But still, I have every confidence in your ability to talk the silly girl round. It shouldn’t take you long.’
‘Let’s hope you are right.’
‘She really doesn’t have any choice.’
Darius stared out the window and didn’t bother to respond. He had been swept off his feet by Felicity’s beauty and vibrancy when they had first been introduced over two years ago. She had been married at the time, but Darius sensed her discontent in a husband who was thirty years her senior and as dry as a bone. A husband whom it was generally supposed she had married for his money. He certainly had nothing else to recommend him.
Darius had learned through experience to recognise females who were dissatisfied with their marriages and on the prowl for a distraction. He’d been bedding disgruntled wives since his university days and had Felicity firmly in his sights as his next conquest. The prospect of the chase and her eventual surrender pushed aside his boredom. A boredom that he knew would reclaim him as soon as she allowed herself to be caught.
But she had proved annoyingly elusive. She readily admitted to being unhappy in her marriage, but claimed that her deep-seated religious beliefs prevented her from breaking her vows. She would remain faithful for as long as Brigstock breathed. Darius spent a year attempting to wear her resistance down. She was the most challenging and annoyingly provocative female he’d ever tangled with. The longer she held out against his charm offensive, the more determined Darius became to breach her defences. His dalliances had meant little to him in the past; never get emotionally involved had always been his mantra.
But no matter what he tried, Felicity wouldn’t let him past her bedroom door. In desperation, he had been reduced to actually talking to her, getting to know the real woman behind the attractive façade as he tried to identify her weaknesses. Much to his dismay, he had found himself falling in love with her. That was most definitely not supposed to happen. None of his relatives loved anyone other than themselves and Darius hadn’t thought himself capable of deep, emotional attachment. It was most disturbing to discover that he’d been wrong.
It was inevitable, Darius supposed, given that gentlemanly instincts had been drummed into him since he had been old enough to understand what was expected of a man in his position, that he would take up the cudgels on her behalf as soon as he learned what she’d had to endure. Felicity was reluctant to tell him anything about the reasons why she disliked her husband so much, but as he slowly won her trust, snippets about cruelty and neglect dribbled out.
After six months, during the course of which Darius had become increasingly frustrated, and infatuated, Felicity had finally allowed him to kiss her. To run his hands over her body. She touched him in return but refused to take the final, irrevocable step. It was a living nightmare and Darius struggled through his days and nights in a near-permanent state of frustration, frequently slacking his lust with an obliging housemaid in his brother’s residence.
He could tell that Felicity returned his feelings. She frequently assured him of it, and admitted that she was sorely tempted. But her religious indoctrination was too deeply ingrained for her to take matters between them to their natural conclusion. Would that she had, Darius thought now on a note of ill-usage as the train rattled along, the monotonous sound of its wheels chuntering over the rails mocking his stupidity. If…when her husband succumbed to his ailments, she repeatedly assured him, then they could be together in wealth and unconditional love. Brigstock was obscenely rich and growing older. It could only be a matter of time.
If she had given in to him at the outset, as Darius had fully expected her to, he would have moved on and forgotten all about her. But she kept him waiting for so long that he became too intimately involved with her to make that possible. She had snared him, turning the tables on him by using a combination of feminine fragility and calculation to the point that he would do whatever she asked of him without pausing to question the wisdom of his actions.
Six months after Felicity’s assurances, her husband obligingly fell from his horse and broke his neck. Darius took Felicity to bed the day after his funeral. They agreed that they would marry as soon as Felicity was officially out of mourning. Darius was no longer sure that he wanted to marry her, having caught occasional glimpses of the true personality that she kept well-hidden for the most part, but the thought of all that opulence won the day. He had worked damned hard to prove to his prig of a brother that he was more than capable of furrowing his own path.
Then her husband’s lawyers paid her a visit that came as an almighty shock. Brigstock’s wealth was all gone—lost in unwise investments made when he was half-senile and taken in by fraudsters.
Felicity cried for the next twenty-four hours. Then she came up with a scheme. Darius would just have to marry a wealthy female and set Felicity up in her own establishment, where Darius could visit as often as he liked. At the time it didn’t occur to Darius that the suggestion flew in the face of her earlier insistence that marriage was sacrosanct. She refused to tumble with him whilst Brigstock still breathed but saw nothing to offend her Christian morals in Darius not being faithful to his own wife.
Annoyingly, the idea of being true to Louise Pearson had become increasingly tempting since his failure to win her affection. It had rankled severely when she turned against him. He had been so close; convinced that she would accept his proposal. Then, without explanation, she went cold on him.
