The Romance by M. C. Beaton, Marion Chesney Page A

me.’
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘Wife-selling.’
    ‘Ah. Well, that does not go on in our rarefied stratum of society.’
    ‘Just listen to this: “A man named John Gorsthorpe exposed his wife for sale in the market at Hull; but owing to the crowd which such an extraordinary occurrence had gathered together, he was obliged to defer the sale, and take her away. About four o’clock, however, he again brought her out and she was sold for twenty guineas, and delivered, in a halter, to a person named Houseman, who had lodged with them for four or five years.” Is that not dreadful?’
    The marquess’s eyes mocked her. ‘Twenty guineas is a fair sum. The lodger must have wanted her badly.’
    ‘Then if that does not shock your cynical soul, do but listen to this! “One of thosedisgraceful scenes, which have, of late, become too common, took place on Friday se’nnight at Knaresborough. Owing to some jealousy, or other family difference, a man brought his wife in a halter and sold her at the market cross for sixpence and a quid of tobacco!”’
    Belinda rustled the paper furiously. ‘Women are not gaining any more respect or equality in this modern world. We are retreating into the Dark Ages.’
    ‘Not really. Such sales have been going on among the lower orders since time immemorial.’
    ‘And since times immemorial,’ flashed Belinda, ‘nothing has been done by the authorities to stop this dreadful trade. So it is not only the lower orders who have not progressed but the higher orders, too.’
    ‘There are worse ills abroad in the world—murder, rape, and pillage.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ she said tartly, ‘because it is a world run by men!’
    ‘You are indeed a bluestocking, Miss Belinda.’
    ‘Not I. If I were a bluestocking I might have more dignity and sense than to try to sell myself for this wretched house.’
    Then she looked at him aghast, hardly able to believe what she had just said. Outside, a cloud crossed the sun, plunging the morning-room into darkness, and a sudden wind blew around the house like a great sigh.
    A faint tinkling sound reached their ears. The chandelier.
    The Beverleys were not Roman Catholics, and yet Belinda crossed herself. ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ she said, and Lord Gyre wondered whether it had been an apology to himself or to God.
    Sunlight streamed into the room again. ‘I sometimes chafe at the restrictions put upon women,’ Belinda went on. ‘The terrible tyranny of marriage and after that, a baby each year. Mostly, I am content to play the game, to wear pretty clothes and to flirt. But were I a man, I could fight in the wars and perhaps gain enough prize money to—’ She broke off in confusion.
    ‘You were about to say, “…gain enough prize money to buy Mannerling.” You interest me, Miss Belinda, and not just because of your pretty face. You appear intelligent, except when it comes to Mannerling, and then all your good sense disappears. You think Saint Clair would be an easy man to live with because you know he detests the country and you imagine a marriage in name only. But he is under his father’s thumb, and his father will want grandchildren as soon as possible. Then think of the days when you are both old and you have a fop without brains or character to take care of in your declining years.’
    Belinda looked at him haughtily. ‘There will be servants enough to take care of him.’
    ‘Ah, but as you have brought to my attention, women have no say in anything. Once you are married to Saint Clair, you are his to do with exactly as he likes.’
    She suddenly remembered how the marquess had looked naked, and the thought flashed into her mind that there could be, for her, perhaps, some man whose domination she would enjoy. Then she blushed painfully and deeply again.
    ‘We have fallen into the way of talking too openly,’ he said gently. ‘Such is not usual between a man and a woman. You are very outspoken, and yet I confess I would not have you any other