Chapter Five Tension in the Air

Chapter Five

Tension in the Air

T he Duke and Duchess of Arlington did not appear at dinner. Nor did the groom-to-be, although many in his family were present. Elizabeth presided over her usual table with her cousins and friends. August felt sympathy for her, for the way she had to pretend everything was all right. Her guests partook of braised beef, scalloped potatoes, and roasted vegetables and made steady conversation to be polite, but things were not all right.

Beneath the conversation, whispered snippets made their way from table to table: The Duke of Arlington and the Marquess of Fortenbury had had a great disagreement in the library, one so heated it had been overheard by some of the guests. Apparently, the duke had reached his limit with Fortenbury’s frowns and stiff manners, and his not-so-subtle proselytizing for Elizabeth’s eternal soul.

Well, they’d all witnessed the way Fortenbury had spoken to her at the cliff’s edge, when she’d seen the fires no one else had seen. Any husband of Elizabeth’s would have to grow accustomed to such events and accept them without judgment. Her fiancé did not appear capable of such acceptance.

August wondered for the hundredth time if the wedding should proceed when they did not seem a suitable match. Of course, his parents had not seemed suitable for one another at the onset, if teasing reminisces were to be believed, and they’d made a strong, loving marriage through the years.

He met Townsend’s eyes across the table, and Jane’s, which were clouded with concern about the situation. Wescott had not joined the dinner, though his wife sat with Elizabeth. Marlow tried to keep the mood light despite the passing whispers, but August was relieved when dinner ended and the men could retire to the smoking salon.

He accepted a glass of Cairwyn’s famous whiskey and huddled with his friends around a small table adjacent to the fire. They attempted several conversations unrelated to the day’s drama, only to find themselves back on the fraught topic.

“I don’t like to see Elizabeth so worried,” said Marlow. “She’s always been so light-hearted.”

“I remember her and Rosalind as children at their tea parties,” said Townsend, “talking about the handsome, dashing princes they’d marry one day.”

Marlow snorted. “He’s no prince.”

“She wishes so badly to be married.” August thought of her hurt expression earlier that day, beside the cliff. “But to him?”

“It’s a terrible situation,” said Marlow. “I don’t know the answer for it, gents. Part of me feels the duke should send him packing. It might be difficult for her in the short term, but if the marriage proceeds…”

“Better to be alone than with that uptight, righteous arse,” said Townsend.

August cautioned his friends to speak more quietly, but they were only saying what everyone thought.

“There must be someone better,” said Marlow beneath his breath. “She’s Arlington’s daughter, for God’s sake. That means something.”

“More whiskey, boys?” asked Townsend, tilting his empty glass.

“Not for me.” August stood, feeling unsettled.

He turned down their invitation to cards and wished his friends a good evening, needing some time away from the speculation and tension in the air. When he entered his parson’s chambers next to the church, a hardy fire was already set, warming the cozy space. His valet came from the adjoining room and August loosened his cravat pin and undid the knot, handing over the silk item to be pressed. He removed his coat next, then pulled off his leather boots to be polished after the day’s foray into the snowy woods.

“Shall I turn down the bed for you, my lord?”

Marston hovered at his elbow, looking at him sharply. August knew his valet well, knew he had gossip to share should August invite it.

“What are they saying in the servants’ quarters?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing, my lord. Lisburne’s servants aren’t the sort to linger about and gossip.”

August rolled his eyes behind the valet’s back. “Nothing, then, about the duke and Fortenbury’s noisy discussion in the library?”

The elderly retainer scratched behind his left ear. “Well, my lord, they say the Duke of Arlington threatened to cancel the wedding. He told Fortenbury he wasn’t to speak to his daughter again, could he not do it with respect. Fortenbury says back—and I don’t know how he had the gumption, my lord, to do it—he says back that the duke’s daughter wasn’t mannerly as she should be, that her children would be born demons did she not pray at God’s altar to be saved.”

“Born demons? Really? Bless the man for a fool.”

“Yea, my lord, as you can well imagine, the duke wasn’t having that sort of talk. The footman said he grasped Fortenbury by the collar and gave him a shake, and told him to wise up, or he’d…”

The servant paused, reddening.

“Or he’d what?” asked August.

“Or he’d kick him in his cursed bollocks and throw him from the manor’s east tower.” He cleared his throat. “Or something like that, with an extra word or three that I won’t repeat since I’m sure His Grace was only forgetting his dignity due to his anger.”

“In his position, I probably would have said the same or worse.”

“Indeed. The marquess changed his tack then and tried to placate the duke. Promised he’d do better, that he wanted the wedding to proceed.”

“He can talk sweetly when he needs to,” said August. “When he sees his entree to the powerful Arlington dynasty is in peril.”

“Forgive me,” said Marston, shaking his head, “but that marquess is a rotten man to speak ill of such a bonny spirit as Lady Elizabeth Drake.” His normally reserved valet had grown emotional in his recounting of the story. “Last thing I’ll say on the matter, is that the man had better mend his ways before he takes her in marriage, for the duke won’t have his daughter talked down to, especially by her husband.”

“He won’t tolerate it,” August agreed.

Marston’s chin wobbled the tiniest amount. “The servants have been suffering at his hands, too. Fortenbury treats his valet and chambermaid right shabbily, from what they say belowstairs.”

Fortenbury wouldn’t be the first aristocrat to treat his staff badly, but it was another strike against him. The more August learned about Elizabeth’s fiancé, the more concerned he became.

“Lady Elizabeth won’t stand for their mistreatment once they’re married,” August said. “They’ll be glad when she joins the household. If she joins the household.”

His servant nodded. “As you say, my lord.”

“I appreciate you telling me what was overheard. Dinner was a rather uncertain affair.”

Marston crossed to August’s bed to turn down the covers. “Can I bring anything else for your comfort, my lord?”

“No, I’ve a full belly and a glass of whiskey in me. Go get a good night’s rest and let me tend the fire.” He sighed. “I’ll be up a while longer.”

“Yes, my lord.”

August dug in his trunk for his small pouch of woodworking tools and took up the hunk of alder he’d found on the morning’s outing. Over the years, he’d developed a hobby whittling random objects: whistles, ladles, bowls, small toys for his nieces and nephews, and all manner of miniature figurines.

Tonight, he set about making a hawk in flight, leaning closer to the firelight to carve the finer details. Wings, beak, curved talons with sharp nails. He’d seen such a hawk earlier, soaring over the frost-laden fields. Woodworking quieted his mind when he was troubled, and it had been a troubling day.

After nearly an hour at his labors, the hawk was taking fair shape, but he decided he’d do better to finish it in the morning. He wrapped it carefully in cloth, oiled and cleaned his tools, and stowed the bundle away. The shavings he swept into the fire, to curl into hot ashes.

He undressed, washed, and put on his warmest nightshirt, for it was the coldest night they’d weathered by far. He climbed into bed, propped up against some pillows, and stared at the fire, wondering how Elizabeth was doing.

What a nightmare it all was, love, betrothals, and marriages. The risk of disappointment was great, and the risk of heartbreak and misery too possible. He’d always imagined he would have been happy with Felicity if he’d won her. But perhaps, somehow, there would have been heartbreak. How was one to know?

He fell into an uneasy dream, where he wandered through a freezing blizzard, trying to avoid stumbling off the edge of a cliff. Snow and ice blew against his face, obscuring his vision and imparting stinging cuts. No matter how he batted at it, he could not clear his sight—

He woke with a start, having heard a tapping sound. “Marston?” he murmured, sitting up.

The fire had gone low. No one answered, but the tapping came again. If not his valet… These old castles and churches were haunted as the dickens.

“Come in if you will,” he said, rising from the bed.

The door opened a crack, then more. “August?” said a soft voice.

It was not a ghost, but a young woman huddled in a dark red velvet cloak. He blew out the breath he’d been holding.

“Lisbet. My God.”

“August.” She entered and closed the door, leaning back against it.

“What has happened?” he asked, reaching for his robe. “What are you doing here? Is there trouble at the house?”

“No. Oh, I’m sure I should not have come.” She eyed him in his nightshirt as he pulled on his robe. “I couldn’t sleep, and Mama and Papa are so exhausted from everything today, and Hazel and Rosalind are with their husbands…”

He could see she’d been crying, that she was not quite herself. It was wildly improper for them to be alone together, even if he was her friend and piano teacher. She was a young unmarried lady, and he a bachelor of questionable character. They’d been alone during lessons, but that was different. It was the middle of the night now, dark and quiet.

“How can I help you?” he asked as she stared at him. “Are you quite awake? Have you sleepwalked here?”

“I’m awake,” she said, lips trembling. “I suppose I should go. It’s just…” She walked toward him, clutching her cloak closer about her. A pale pink sleeping robe peeked from underneath. “Papa is not pleased with Lord Fortenbury. They had a row in the library.”

“Yes. I heard.”

“Everyone’s talking about it, aren’t they?”

He sighed. “Well, there are some who are saying…” He moved away from her, to add another log to the dying fire. “There are some who believe Fortenbury may not be the best choice of husband for you.”

“He’s an upstanding man in society,” she said. “A respected person.”

He turned from the fire. “Are you pleased with him? I suppose that’s all that matters.”

She looked forlorn. He wished to hug her, to hold her, but it wouldn’t be proper. “I’d rather have him than be alone forever,” she said.

“Alone forever? Dear girl, you’re too young to talk that way.”

“Young?” Her green eyes flashed. “I’m nearly twenty-two. On the shelf. And now, after three failed engagements, practically untouchable!” She began to pace, her slippered feet quiet upon the ancient stone floor. “If Fortenbury turns me off because Papa scolded him, that will be four failed engagements, at which point there shall be nothing left to do but throw myself from the most convenient mountaintop. The worst of it is, it’s all my fault.”

“Elizabeth.”

“No, it is.” She came to stand by the table, knowing, as he did, that this nocturnal visit was improper in the extreme—even more improper than the spankings he’d given her at lessons. She spread her arms and made an agonized noise of frustration. “The truth is, Lord Fortenbury doesn’t want to marry me. He only wants to curry Papa’s favor and benefit from his influence.”

“Lisbet—”

“And any other man would be the same! That’s all any of them care about—power, wealth, and social standing. Not me. Fortenbury lets me know in sharp glances and cutting asides that I am not good enough to be his wife.”

“You, not good enough? For that imperious, frowning proselytizer? By God—”

“At least no one calls him a witch, or a spiritualist,” she cried, stalking to the fire, standing with her back to him. “I know there are whispers about this marriage, but he might be good for me in time, good for my reputation.”

“You’ve no need to worry about your reputation,” said August hotly. “You’re a lovely, virtuous, upstanding young woman. An upstanding young woman who really ought to be in bed at the house,” he added. “My servant won’t talk, but if anyone else discovers you here…”

“I know. And I came here anyway. Why can’t I just behave normally?” She turned to face him. Her dark hair, loosed for sleep, streamed over her shoulders and down her dark red cloak. “I cannot be normal, and everyone knows it. I see things, I hear things, I know things I’m not meant to know. I try not to, but I do, and now Fortenbury believes I’m made of devilry.”

“Nonsense,” he said, though she had the appearance of a dark, fierce sorceress at present, wrapped in blood-hued velvet. “The devil wouldn’t know what to do with you. You’re sunlight and kindness, and good things.”

“It doesn’t matter, if my future husband thinks otherwise. What if he changes his mind about marrying me?”

He tried to moderate her dramatics with level, calm words. “Your father set some well-advised boundaries in how your future husband should speak to you, should treat you. He did the right thing, speaking to Fortenbury, and if that causes him to ‘change his mind,’ then perhaps it’s better to be—”

“Alone? Rejected? Unloved?”

“You’re not unloved.” He must set her straight on that point. “Many people love you. Fortenbury may not love you yet, but that’s his shortcoming.”

“No, it’s my shortcoming. It’s my nature that’s bad and wrong and—” She stepped closer and gazed at him, eyes welling with tears. “And I want you to spank me for it.”

“What?” This was the reason she’d come to him at this hour? “You’ve done nothing wrong, Lisbet. It’s Fortenbury who’s got himself on your father’s bad side.”

“Because of me, because I spoke of the fires in the valley in front of him and all his family.” She began to pace again. “I can’t think of anything but how I’ve cocked up our courtship and made him wary of me. Now I’m afraid for my wedding and my future and—” She closed her eyes and made fists at her sides. “Why did I have to say I saw those fires?”

“Because you saw them. You didn’t realize the rest of us couldn’t. For God’s sake, come here. Come stand right here.”

She crossed to where he stood, wrestling with his inappropriate urges. The disciplinarian in him wanted to take her in hand, to bend her over and give her the spanking she wanted. Not for Fortenbury’s actions, but because she was so wrongheaded about her worth.

“Look at me, Elizabeth.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Look at me.”

The poor thing did, stifling a piteous sob.

“You’re asking me to spank you when you’ve done nothing wrong, and I won’t. You don’t deserve it.”

“I do deserve it.”

He used a corner of his sleeve to wipe her tears, but more came, falling from her weary green eyes.

“I wish I could be different than I am,” she said. “I must try harder to be proper and…and normal .” Her voice broke on the last word, along with his self-control. He drew her small, trembling form against his body and hugged her tightly, propriety be damned.

“You are normal,” he told her. “You’re perfect as you are.”

“No,” she cried against his shoulder. “I’m not. Please, if you could give me a good, hard spanking the way you used to at piano lessons, it would take these horrible feelings away, or at least make them more manageable.” She gave a great sniffle. “I know, back then, it was just a silly game, but I need a real spanking now. A hard, real spanking.”

“Elizabeth—”

“Please, August! I would feel chastened…and better.”

He could think of a dozen reasons to spank her. She’d snuck from the house and was here where she should not be, in the darkness and the night. She was saying things that were utter rubbish, holding herself at fault for Fortenbury’s disdain. She was spankable as a rule, and when she shook in his embrace, so vulnerable and tearful…

When she literally begged for it…

He wanted to spank her, but he couldn’t, because none of this was her fault.

He let her go, held her at arm’s length to gaze into her tortured face. “Listen to me, Elizabeth. You are exceptional. You are lovely.” You are tempting. Chaotic. Beautiful in your pain. “I can’t spank you when you’ve done nothing wrong.” He left her to fetch a handkerchief, so he wouldn’t have to keep dabbing her tears with his sleeve. “You must go back to the house and rest your troubled mind,” he said, handing her the clean square of linen. “You must go to bed and get some sleep.”

“I can’t. I will only toss and turn.”

She burst into a fresh torrent of tears, muffled by his handkerchief. There was nothing to do but take her in his arms again and try to soothe her. It was well his valet was a deep sleeper, for her sobs were lusty enough to damage his soul.

“I’m a bad person,” she said, as he held her close. “A terrible person.”

“You are not.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re my friend.”

“I believe I will have to spank you, Lisbet, if you continue to berate yourself.”

“What else am I to do?” She shook in his arms. “I don’t try to be different and strange. I just am. I came here because… I wish you would spank me because then…when you spank me…” She drew in a shuddering breath. “It calms me somehow. When you spank me, I know that I am…that I am kept under control.”

Her hair had gone wavy and wild, falling in her eyes. He pushed it back and dried her cheeks again. He’d never seen her so emotional, so terribly distraught.

He wasn’t made of iron.

“I’ll spank you if you think it will calm you,” he said. “But it won’t be for anything other than that. And you’ll have to be quiet. My valet sleeps next door.”

“I don’t know if I can be quiet. I need a terrible, painful spanking.”

“No. I’m not doing that.”

“Please. I don’t know how else to bear these feelings.”

He thought a moment. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

He went into the church and surveyed the greenery, remembering they had fetched some pliable silver birch boughs to weave together the holly and fir. He inspected a swag in the back corner and was able to pull a thin switch from the large arrangement.

He bent the smooth, stripped switch, his arousal rising just to hold it in his hand. Was it wrong to punish a woman who was beside herself? A woman who insisted she needed it, that it would help her? Would he really be helping her, or titillating himself?

Can’t you do both?

He pushed down doubt and caution and returned to the parson’s chamber. Elizabeth had shed her red cloak and stood in her pale pink night-robe, a wild child-woman, innocent yet mysterious and powerful in her strange way.

This is not appropriate. You should not.

But he was going to.

He held the switch in a tense grip, down at his side. “I tell you again, Lisbet, this is not because you are bad or deserving of punishment. It is only to calm you. Do you understand?”

She nodded, but he noted her stubborn, disbelieving pout.

“Say it. I am not bad. I am a wonderful and admirable person. ”

“I don’t feel that. I don’t want to say it. I can’t.”

He sighed and tapped the switch against his palm, where she could see it, see what she had asked for. “Turn and face the wall, then,” he said. “Pull up the back of your robe and your nightgown, right to your waist.”

She obliged, revealing a lighter, skimpier version of the pantalettes she used to wear beneath her gowns to piano lessons.

“You said you need it to hurt,” he said. “This is going to hurt. More, I daresay, than you’re wanting.”

She didn’t answer. He knew she was crying again. Well, she would have been anyway in a moment or two. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her and gave her a good swipe to her bottom. She gasped, let out a soft shriek. The next strike brought a louder shriek, and he stopped.

“You cannot make noise. You’ll wake my servant.”

She bowed her head. Her arms were clutched in front of her, holding her gown and robe crumpled into a ball against her chest. “I—I can’t help it.”

“Shall I stop?”

“No,” she said. “No, I’ll be quiet.”

He went to his bedside table and picked up the small, leather-bound prayer book he’d found there upon his arrival. After a summary inspection of the binding, he returned to her.

“Open your mouth.”

She looked sideways at him, then obeyed.

“You can bite down on this to prevent yourself crying aloud,” he said, positioning the slim volume between her teeth. “It’s a prayer book,” he added, “should you feel the need to pray silently for divine mercy. Remember, you asked for this.”