Justine Cole - The Copeland Bride

Slowly Noelle raised her face to Constance, hating the benevolence she saw there, hating the circumstances that were inexorably bending her proud spirit to the protection of these two people. "I don't seem to have much choice, do I?" she said bitterly.

They had won; she was going to have to do as they suggested until she discovered if she was going to have a child. But if they expected her to be fawning in her gratitude, they were due for a rude surprise.

"If I do as you say, I want your promise that you will tell no one that I am married to Mr. Copeland's son."

Constance nodded her assent.

"Also, I will only stay until I know if I am going to have a child, then you will immediately return me to London."

Constance forestalled the protest she could see Simon preparing to voice. "Fair enough, my dear. Now, let's find something a bit more suitable for you to wear." Turning to Simon, Constance said, "I wish to leave within the hour. Will you see that I have fresh horses?"

Nodding his assent, Simon left the room quickly, well satisfied with the turn of events.

The two women regarded each other levelly for several moments. Finally Constance spoke with some satisfaction. "I think we shall get along together very well, don't you?"

But Noelle did not respond. Somehow she knew it was not going to be quite that easy. Nothing in life came free of charge; sooner or later she would be expected to pay the price. What it would be she did not know, but of its inevitability she was certain.

London's streets were now behind them; the last afternoon sun shone on tidy fields and small cottages, fresh and clean after the smoke and dirt of the city. The two other occupants of the carriage had each settled into the trip in their own fashion. Letty, Constance's abigail, a homely young woman with a florid complexion, had fallen asleep, her mouth open slightly and her plump bosom rising and falling rhythmically. Constance was staring vacantly out of the window, absorbed in her own thoughts, tiny lines of tension evident at the corners of her soft mouth.

Noelle looked hideously unattractive and out of place as she sat in the Peale carriage with a small bundle resting on her lap. Before she had left the house on Northridge Square, she had been led to a small room off the kitchen, where she had scrubbed the last vestiges of crimson from her hollow cheeks and unsuccessfully attempted tidying her hair, only managing to tame the most unruly of the tufts. She ran her finger under the collar of the dress she now wore, a shapeless garment of brown merino that Letty had apparently secured from one of the maids. It itched abominably at the neck.

Noelle did not miss Constance's inquisitive gaze as she set her bundle on the floor of the carriage, but she had no intention of enlightening the woman about its contents. Her curiosity was understandable, since Noelle had abruptly rejected Constance's offer to stop at her lodgings on their way out of London so she could collect her belongings. But Noelle had shuddered at the thought of exposing her room to this sophisticated woman, imagining the revulsion that would stamp itself on those fine features when they first observed the squalor of the tenement.

Noelle realized there was really nothing she wished to take with her. Her possessions were painful mementos: a few of Daisy's old playbills, now yellow and brittle with age; a piece of blue glass Sweeney had fished from the river for her; a length of mauve ribbon she had worn as a child; a stub of candle; some tattered garments. When Noelle did not return, the other occupants of the dwelling would descend on the unoccupied room like cockroaches and carry off everything.

They were welcome to it, Noelle thought bitterly. She had everything she needed with her.

The smallest object in the bundle at her ankles was the gold wedding ring that had been pushed on her finger. Noelle had thrust it deeply into the pocket of the emerald dress when she had changed her clothes. But it was the dress itself, that much-abused piece of tawdry finery, that took up the bulk of the bundle. It would serve as a constant reminder of everything she had endured.

She vowed she would not destroy the dress until she had wreaked vengeance on the one who had humiliated her. She refused to listen to the realist in her that warned it would not be a simple task to revenge herself on Quinn Copeland. No matter how difficult, she would bring him to his knees, make him beg as she had begged, see him degraded. There could be no life for her until then.

One last object was concealed in the bundle-a sturdy knife with a short blade and a pale bone handle. When Letty had led Noelle through the kitchen, the girl's sharp eyes had spotted it lying on the corner of the table next to a pile of scrubbed potatoes. With lightning deftness, she had plucked the knife from the table and secreted it in the folds of her skirt.

If she had thought of it, she would not have found it at all ironic that she could steal the knife without a qualm but that her pride would not allow her to keep the money that had been given to her. The money would make her a whore; the knife was merely a replacement for what had been taken from her. The thought of the tempered steel blade nestled securely within the emerald dress was like a tiny, glowing ember warming her and bolstering her courage.

The sun burned low on the horizon, blazing in final defiance before succumbing to the force of nature that would remove this part of England from its influence. Noelle closed her eyes against the glare. She felt drained, ill, emptied of herself. The carriage swayed easily, its wheels whispering rhythmically. Her last conscious image before she slipped into an uneasy sleep was of a lean face with black, bitter eyes and a hard mouth locked in a mocking sneer.

"Time to wake, ma'am."

Noelle's eyes flicked open just enough to see the taciturn Letty lumber into the room.

Speaking as if each word were an effort, she muttered, "Mrs. Peale would like you in her sitting room when you've done with breakfast." Letty's ponderous movements seemed in keeping with her large, bovine eyes, blunt features, and ruddy complexion. She set a small breakfast tray on a marble-topped table near the front of the sunlit room.

It was the unfamiliar aroma of fresh croissants mingling invitingly with the delicate, rich scent of chocolate that finally forced Noelle to lift her head from the soft pillow. Of her arrival the previous night, she could recall little beyond being led upstairs and helped into a nightgown, and so she was totally unprepared for the beauty of the room in which she found herself.

The wall behind the bed supported a graceful curve of mahogany. Sprigged blue silk draperies were hung from this wooden crown. The draperies were bound twice on each side by tasseled golden cords producing curved puffs that were looped against the wall. A dressing table was covered with the same sprigged fabric. Three windows, draped in a paler shade of blue, ran symmetrically across the front of the room. Alabaster white walls were accented by moldings painted the same blue as the draperies.

Rising stiffly, she stood for a moment next to the bed, taking in the room's furnishings. There was a mirror with a gilded frame, a bureau, a delicate chair with a small curved back, two alabaster candlesticks, and a lamp with a blue globe. It was finer than anything she had ever imagined.

As she surveyed the room she waited for Letty to leave so she could dress, but the servant was taking her time, straightening the bedcovers with mathematical precision. Noelle wondered if it were the custom of the gentry to permit servants to remain in the room while members of the household dressed. If so, it seemed a stupid custom. Even a pickpocket from Soho knew that privacy was just as important as food.

As the maid seemed to have no intention of leaving, Noelle decided to take advantage of the privacy of a small curtained alcove off the side of the room. She stepped inside, drawing the drapery behind her.

What a contrast the tiny room was to the crude sanitary facilities to which she was accustomed! There was a washstand, an assortment of elegant bottles holding a variety of sweet-smelling toiletries, embroidered linens, and an enormous chamber pot embellished with a full-length ceremonial portrait of the late George III. For the first time since she had awakened, her spirits lifted, and a soft giggle escaped as she contemplated relieving herself in the presence of His Majesty. The ways of the gentry were certainly strange.

She had just finished tidying herself when the curtain of the bathing alcove was drawn back to reveal the silent Letty, ugly brown dress in one hand, petticoats in another. Noelle spun about, indignant at this further invasion of her privacy.

The maid stood awkwardly, her expression stoic. It was difficult for Noelle to understand how such an ungainly woman could serve as abigail to one as elegant as Constance Peale. What she could not know was how well-suited mistress and maid were. Although slow, Letty was painstaking in her care of her employer's person and wardrobe. In turn, Constance was sensitive to Letty's awkwardness and provided her with a quiet refuge.

Noelle, however, knew none of this. Letty was merely another forbidding guardian of this strange land that had been thrust upon her. "What do you want?"

Noelle's sharp tone did not alter Letty's expression. "Help you dress," she mumbled.