A Baron for Becky (23 page)

“Becky, you are
being ridiculous.” Hugh tried to sound stern. “This is not about
you. And you should not allow yourself to become so emotional.
Think of the baby.”

“The baby. Yes.
Because this is about the baby. Of course. How could I forget?”
Tears rose to her eyes, and she fought them back. Hugh would take
them as further evidence she was overly emotional.

She paced the
room, trying to slow her breathing, ignoring Hugh’s struggle to
find something to say.

“Hugh, I have
never told you how I came to be Aldridge’s mistress.”

“I don’t want
to know,” Hugh said quickly. “I want to forget it. I hate thinking
that you were his before you were mine, that he was just the last
in I don’t know how many. I cannot bear to think of it. Can we not
just pretend it never happened?” He held his hands out to her
again, but his eyes were still angry in a stony mask.

She almost
stopped. For her entire adult life, obeying the man who kept her
had been her only choice. If Hugh wanted to pretend she had come to
him an innocent, was that a bad thing?

But he hadn’t
finished. “I don’t want to ever hear you speak Aldridge’s name
again,” he said.

The rage flared
incandescent again. “Aldridge,” she said, as though casting a
curse. “He was my protector, Hugh. My buyer. Do you know what that
means? Do you know how it feels? To be an object to be purchased, a
body to be kept in a corner in case the owner might want to take it
out and use it?”

“Silence!” Hugh
roared. “Stop it! I don’t want to hear it, I say!”

She shouted
over him. “You have to hear it. You have to, Hugh. I cannot live
knowing you despise me. I cannot, I cannot.” It was no good. She
couldn’t hold the tears inside any longer, and they flooded down
her face, ripping deep, wrenching sobs from some hidden wound
inside her soul.

Suddenly,
Hugh’s arms were around her and he guided her to the sofa.

He cradled her
in his arms as he patted her on the back murmuring, “It’s all
right,” but it wasn’t. It wasn’t all right. And “There, there,”
which meant nothing, but was somehow comforting. And “Don’t cry, my
dear wife,” but she couldn’t stop. And “I don’t despise you, Becky.
I don’t. I admire you,” but it wasn’t her he admired, and that was
the problem. He admired a vision of Becky he had made in his
imagination, and he didn’t want the real one. She cried still
harder, and he kept patting and murmuring.

She struggled
to stop. Such crying couldn’t be good for the baby. And, at last,
she managed to bring herself under control, with only an occasional
shuddering sob still escaping, however hard she tried to suppress
it. Hugh’s anger had vanished, and his eyes held nothing but
concern as he tipped her chin up to examine her face.

“Is that
better?” he asked, the smug, male statement nearly setting her off
again.

“I have to tell
you, Hugh. And you have to listen.” She was determined. For three
months, she had been living in a fool’s paradise, believing the
feeling between them was growing respect, even affection. If he
wouldn’t face all she had been, it was a mirage.

Hugh shook his
head, and her heart sank, but he wasn’t denying her. “If it is that
important to you, Becky. But first, let me get you a cup of
tea.”

He brought the
tea trolley himself, and with it a bowl of warm water and a flannel
to wash her face.

“Becky, this
isn’t necessary. I... I have come to terms with what you were. You
don’t need to... I know you must have... I daresay you thought you
loved the man who...”

“I was raped,”
she said, baldly, stopping him mid-sentence. “I was 15, Hugh. By
just a few days. The three sons of my father’s employer... they
took turns to rape me while the other two held me down and gagged
my screams.”

There were no
tears now. She had cried for that poor, brutalised child more often
than she could remember. Yes, and for what came after.

“The youngest
son was just a year older than I, and the only person who was ever
kind to me. After my mother died, I was so lonely. My father was
librarian to... the Master, I’ll call him. And tutor, sometimes, to
his sons, when they needed extra help with their studies.

“We lived in
our own apartments above the Master’s library. After Mother died,
Father left me there alone, most of the time, except when he needed
my help in the library. I was allowed in the garden and our
apartments and the library. But I wasn’t to go into the rest of the
house.

“Benjamin used
to talk to me sometimes, in the library or the garden, and I
started looking for him. I was a child, Hugh, starving for
company.

“He told me to
meet him in the far corner of the garden, and all three of them
were waiting for me. Ben went first.”

Hugh swore,
quietly. While she had been talking, he sat beside her and lifted
her onto his lap, resting her head on the shoulder still wet from
her earlier tears

“He said he was
sorry. But that it was my own fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the
invitation.”

“What did your
father do?”

“When I told
him? He accused me of leading them on, enticing them. It is always
the woman’s fault, Hugh. But it isn’t true. I did nothing. I would
have done nothing. I was not to blame.”

Her voice rose
as she struggled to convince him, and he coaxed her head back to
his shoulder again. “I believe you. I do, Becky. You’re right. Men
blame women, when it is the animal within themselves they should
blame.”

“My father
threw me out. He said I was a whore and no daughter of his. The
Master’s sons came after me, laughing. They would have used me
again, had they caught me, but I knew a way behind the stables and
under the wall, and I ran until my feet were bleeding worse than
my...”

“Ah, Becky.”
Her eyes were dry, but his were not. “Becky, my poor girl. Who
saved you, Becky? Was it Aldridge?”

“No one. I have
run away many times, Hugh, and there has never been a handsome
prince or knight errant. That first time, I was found by a bawd and
her bullies, who locked me up until I stopped trying to run away. I
did stop, after a while. You can get used to most things. Take
enough gin, and you don’t even feel it after a while.

“Most whores
spend their earnings on drink or laudanum, did you know that, Hugh?
Because being used by man after man, all day and all night, just a
convenience for them to rub themselves on... it hurts, Hugh. It
hurts more than you can imagine.”

“Becky.” It was
a broken plea, almost a sob, but she had no mercy left.

“Do you think
we all want to be whores? Some of them were forced, as I was. Some
believed a man’s honeyed words for a day, or a week, or months,
before he left them to go off and ruin some other poor lass. Some
say their man was true, but he died and no one believed the vows
they’d made in secret. Who am I to say they were wrong? They ended
as I did, for all of that.

“And yes, some
thought making a living on their backs would be the easiest option,
or they had no other way to eat.

“I even met
some who liked what we did. Women have appetites too. And some
women... I have met people who will use others, many others, to
satisfy their appetites.”

She tipped her
head to see his eyes. “Do you know what we call them, most of them?
Do you, Hugh?”

“Light-heeled?”
he suggested, clearly choosing the gentlest insult he could think
of.

She shook her
head. “Men. We call them men!” She almost spat it at him, and he
flinched as if she’d slapped him.

Did his
conscience bother him? Good. Her anger and grief still high, she
could spare him no pity. In the next moment, a tear escaped and ran
down his cheek, and she almost stopped. But if she did not finish
her story now, she might never again have the courage.

She hid her
head again in the crook of his neck. She didn’t want to see his
face when she told him what happened next.

“I took too
much laudanum. It was... I do not know. It must have been stronger
than I expected. I do not remember what happened next, but I was
told later... one of my customers bought me from the abbess. I was
cheap, I suppose, because they expected me to die.

“He took me to
a doctor and paid to have me nursed back to health.”

Hugh said
nothing. His jaw was rigid, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

“When I was
well enough, he moved me to a little cottage on the grounds of his
house, far enough away that his wife, who was an invalid, was not
offended by the sight of me. He visited me there most days. I
should be grateful to him, I expect. He did save my life, and he
did stop me taking the drink and the drugs.”

“But he also
used you,” Hugh said, quietly.

Becky grimaced,
the memories cascading around her. The sheltering confusion of
laudanum was gone. Later, she learned the knack of separating her
mind from what was being done to her body, but back then, she was
sober for the first time in years, and without defences.

“He used me,”
she confirmed. “He kept the door locked and set a servant to watch
it, afraid I would run away. To where? I had no heart for it. He
was so angry when he found I was with child. He cursed the doctor
for not purging the brat when I was first removed from the brothel.
He said I was a poor investment, and... well, never mind.”

Hugh was
finding this hard enough. He did not need to know she had been
forced to pleasure the old man with her hands and mouth since, he
said, he couldn’t bear to touch her when she was so bloated and
ugly, but he’d paid and would have his use of her.

“He died.
Shortly after Sarah was born, he died. And his son sold me to
another protector.”

“Sold you?
But... how could he sell you?” Hugh sounded more indignant than
unbelieving, but she explained anyway. “I do not know what else to
call it, Hugh. He found another protector, told me I could choose
that man, the brothel, or the street. And later, I found he had
taken a considerable sum of money for the transaction. My new
protector made me give Sarah to a wet nurse, so she would not
disturb his pleasure, and he would not tell me where she was.”

Many times, she
had been tempted to turn back to the mindlessness, the dreamtime
security of drink and laudanum. But her baby was out there
somewhere. She was determined to get her back. Fortunately, her new
protector was indulgent, in his own way, free with his gifts,
and—once he was sure of her—happy for his mistress to go visiting
and shopping when he had no need of her.

Becky soon
discovered where Sarah was kept, and she began to plan a future
free of men and their demands.

“I knew I would
never be free unless I started using the men who would use me. I
chose my next protector, and the one after that. I insisted on
keeping Sarah with me, and a nursemaid to look after her when
I...

“I began to
save, mostly jewellery I was given, but some of my pin money.
Then...” She fell silent, still angry with herself for choosing
Perringworth. He had seemed the best choice at the time: gentry
rather than merchant class, apparently wealthy, and willing to give
her a house of her own, albeit in a village some distance from
Bristol.

“Was that when
you... fell in with Aldridge?” Hugh asked. He sounded
apprehensive.

Becky shook her
head. “No. In fact... the man I chose... the man I thought would be
my last protector was my worst mistake of all. Bad things have
happened to me, Hugh, but almost never by my choice. Perry was my
choice, and he cheated me of everything I’d saved, then offered me
to his creditor. Not just me, Sarah, too. If Aldridge hadn’t
happened along, Perry’s creditor would have put us back in a
brothel to pay off his debt. Smite, they called him. He already had
a buyer for Sarah.”

Hugh was
swearing again, low, long, and vicious.

“Aldridge
rescued me from Smite’s men, then he went to London and paid for
Sarah so Smite would not come after her. I owe him, Hugh. Even if
Perry had not stolen everything, I could never have afforded to pay
Smite, but Aldridge did it without thinking, and without... we had
no agreement. He could have demanded anything, and I would have
given it gladly, to save Sarah. He never once made demands.”

“It would have
been nothing to him, you know. He is so rich, I doubt he
noticed.”

“That is
immaterial. He saved Sarah, Hugh, and he did not have to. Then,
after I agreed to be his mistress, he set her up in her own house,
and did everything he could to protect her from what I was. I will
owe him forever. I know you do not like it, but I cannot change how
I feel. He saved Sarah.”

“You love him.”
Hugh looked suddenly much older, all the strength drained from the
muscles of his face.

“Love him?”
Becky was surprised. Hadn’t Hugh been listening? “Hugh, he used me,
too, the same as the others. He is a kind man, and so rich being
generous is no trouble. He was my rescuer, and I was grateful. But
he became my protector. Do you not understand? I was under an
obligation to him. I had a contract with him. I was not free to
choose him. I owe him for saving me and Sarah, especially Sarah,
but I do not love him. I am fond of him, perhaps, but I do not love
him. He was to be my last protector.”

Hugh set her
gently back on the couch and stood. Whatever powerful emotion
racked him, it was too strong to take sitting down. He strode back
and forth, his face working, then suddenly knelt before her and
took both her hands in his. He lifted them to his mouth and kissed
them.

“Thank you,
Becky,” he said. “You were right. I needed to hear. I did not
realise...” He seized her shoulders and pulled her into a violent
kiss, and she met his passion with her own, not understanding what
he was feeling, but moved by it nonetheless.