marriage with a deception?”
“And you could speak this honesty without telling the name of the man?” her mother repeated incredulously, then shook her head. “He would demand it or go mad with jealousy. Sweet bee, when a man’s pride is on the line, he will move mountains to discover the truth. You know how single-minded your father can be.”
Elin nodded. Fyclan Morris’s story was well-known. He’d been an Irish nobody who had raised himself to the highest levels of society.
“Well, Baynton is even more so. Your honesty could destroy any chance you have at a happy marriage. He will not cry off. His honor won’t let him. And this means so much to your father.”
The marriage also meant a great deal to her mother as well. Jenny Tarleton had married beneath her.
Fyclan had been a man full of big dreams and confidence. He’d told her that his children’s were to someday be dukes and princes. His Romney grandmother had foretold it, and if Jenny ran away with him, if she eloped against her family’s wishes, she would have no regrets.
And now, Fyclan was now one of the most respected businessmen in London. Certainly, he was the wealthiest. Through Elin, the prophecy was about to be fulfilled.
“I know what this marriage means to you and Papa,” Elin said as gently as she could. “However, I feel it only fair to tell Baynton of my indiscretion. I was foolish.”
Her mother leaned forward. “My darling daughter, there isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t been foolish at one time or the other. You took it too far, but the simple truth is, you are not the first woman to go to her husband’s bed after having lost her purity to another, and you will not be the last.”
Elin knew this was true. She’d heard the other young women of her acquaintance whispering.
“Benedict is gone,” her mother continued. “He is far away serving on some battlefield, plumping his vanity. He wanted to hurt his brother, and if you do tell Baynton what happened, then he will have succeeded.”
For a moment, Elin sat silent. Then she pulled her hands from her mother’s grip and turned on the bench to face her image in the mirror. Her expression had lost its haunted look. She lifted her chin with resolve. “Will you send for Sarah? I need to dress.”
“Are you going to make a confession to Baynton?” Her mother rose to her feet.
“There isn’t any sense to it, is there?”
Her mother kissed her on the top of her unruly curls. “Only the future matters, sweet bee. Baynton will make you a wonderful husband. Your son will be magnificent. Yes, I’ll fetch Sarah, and don’t forget to manage a bite or two.”
She started for the door, but Elin had one last question, something she’d always wondered knowing how close her parents were. “Does Father know what happened between Ben and me?”
Her mother stopped at the door, one hand ready to turn the handle. “Men are not as wise about these matters as we women are. He would have called Benedict out. It would not do for a grown man to duel a seventeen-year-old boy.”
She opened the door. “This is your night. Do not fear your destiny. Let this evening be one filled with the joy of an open heart. And when you walk into Menheim”—she referred to the Baynton’s London home—“look toward the sitting room because someday soon, your portrait, the portrait of a young duchess, will grace the mantel there. The pictures of your children will line the walls around you. And Baynton will value you above all others.” On those words, she left the room with perfumed grace.
Elin confronted herself in the looking glass. Since that fateful night, she’d lived a circumspect life. “My son will be a duke,” she whispered, testing the words that filled her parents with confidence, and yet, she felt nothing.
However, when all was said and done, the least she could do was to please her parents, to make them happy. Baynton was a good man. She didn’t know him well
“And you could speak this honesty without telling the name of the man?” her mother repeated incredulously, then shook her head. “He would demand it or go mad with jealousy. Sweet bee, when a man’s pride is on the line, he will move mountains to discover the truth. You know how single-minded your father can be.”
Elin nodded. Fyclan Morris’s story was well-known. He’d been an Irish nobody who had raised himself to the highest levels of society.
“Well, Baynton is even more so. Your honesty could destroy any chance you have at a happy marriage. He will not cry off. His honor won’t let him. And this means so much to your father.”
The marriage also meant a great deal to her mother as well. Jenny Tarleton had married beneath her.
Fyclan had been a man full of big dreams and confidence. He’d told her that his children’s were to someday be dukes and princes. His Romney grandmother had foretold it, and if Jenny ran away with him, if she eloped against her family’s wishes, she would have no regrets.
And now, Fyclan was now one of the most respected businessmen in London. Certainly, he was the wealthiest. Through Elin, the prophecy was about to be fulfilled.
“I know what this marriage means to you and Papa,” Elin said as gently as she could. “However, I feel it only fair to tell Baynton of my indiscretion. I was foolish.”
Her mother leaned forward. “My darling daughter, there isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t been foolish at one time or the other. You took it too far, but the simple truth is, you are not the first woman to go to her husband’s bed after having lost her purity to another, and you will not be the last.”
Elin knew this was true. She’d heard the other young women of her acquaintance whispering.
“Benedict is gone,” her mother continued. “He is far away serving on some battlefield, plumping his vanity. He wanted to hurt his brother, and if you do tell Baynton what happened, then he will have succeeded.”
For a moment, Elin sat silent. Then she pulled her hands from her mother’s grip and turned on the bench to face her image in the mirror. Her expression had lost its haunted look. She lifted her chin with resolve. “Will you send for Sarah? I need to dress.”
“Are you going to make a confession to Baynton?” Her mother rose to her feet.
“There isn’t any sense to it, is there?”
Her mother kissed her on the top of her unruly curls. “Only the future matters, sweet bee. Baynton will make you a wonderful husband. Your son will be magnificent. Yes, I’ll fetch Sarah, and don’t forget to manage a bite or two.”
She started for the door, but Elin had one last question, something she’d always wondered knowing how close her parents were. “Does Father know what happened between Ben and me?”
Her mother stopped at the door, one hand ready to turn the handle. “Men are not as wise about these matters as we women are. He would have called Benedict out. It would not do for a grown man to duel a seventeen-year-old boy.”
She opened the door. “This is your night. Do not fear your destiny. Let this evening be one filled with the joy of an open heart. And when you walk into Menheim”—she referred to the Baynton’s London home—“look toward the sitting room because someday soon, your portrait, the portrait of a young duchess, will grace the mantel there. The pictures of your children will line the walls around you. And Baynton will value you above all others.” On those words, she left the room with perfumed grace.
Elin confronted herself in the looking glass. Since that fateful night, she’d lived a circumspect life. “My son will be a duke,” she whispered, testing the words that filled her parents with confidence, and yet, she felt nothing.
However, when all was said and done, the least she could do was to please her parents, to make them happy. Baynton was a good man. She didn’t know him well
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