Dropping the letter that Mr. Malloy had given him, William moved away from it and went to his table where the finished portrait of Rachel lay. He understood that the night was a big one for her, her engagement dinner with the Lord, which meant, if the Lord and Lady followed tradition, they would have banns published. That meant he had three weeks to have the portrait done.
I have had tighter deadlines.
Sitting beside the drawing was the stretch of canvas that he was tracing the image onto. He picked up the pencil, and with light strokes, added the curve of her eyes, her piquant little chin, and full lips.
He had time to get the portrait done but William did not want to waste the time he had. He drew in the elements he had on his private portrait of her, with the flowers showing her strength and defiance and even introduced a path in the background that ran into a wall.
He drew in a garden of Orange Lilies, Petunias and Dahlia’s, flowers that he hoped she would understand in time. As the night ticked on, William craved a glass of milk and went to get it. He dared to go to the mouth of the hallway where the dining room expanded from and looked at the four in the room as they stood.
Rachel was stunning. Her dress was one he had never seen before, and it flattered her body with beautiful elegance. He gritted his teeth at the sight of Lord Strathmore looking smugly at Rachel as if she were a golden embellishment on his coat. He sank back into the shadows as the family left upstairs, heading to her father’s study, he believed.
He headed back up the servants’ passages and up to his room, with the dour thought that he would see a saddened Rachel the next day.
***
Giving Lord Strathmore a thank you for pulling out her seat, Rachel sat across from her mother while Lord Strathmore sat with her father.
“So, Strathmore,” her father said while handing him a cup of brandy. “I do not like beating around the bush. Do we have your proposal tonight?”
“Ah, yes,” Strathmore said, settling his glass on an end table and reaching into his inner pocket to pluck out a velvet bag. “I have the ring.”
Rachel’s stomach flipped in nervousness, and her fingers nearly plucked at her skirts, but her mother’s hard stare had her sitting motionless. He removed a ring from it, topped with crystal diamonds rimming a beautiful pink diamond stone. “Ah, here is it. A principal piece from Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell.”
He stood and came to Rachel’s side. “Lady Hampton, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
No.
“Yes,” Rachel said, smiling as she extended her hand for him to slip the ring on. “I would be delighted to.”
“My pleasure,” he then sank back to his seat and pulled up a folio Rachel had not noticed he had carried in.
“Here, Your Grace, is my proposal. I think you will find it very fitting to Lady Hampton’s needs.”
At first, Rachel felt confused about why they were discussing this with her present. Was not this a private matter between the two men? At least, that was what she believed. But as her father and the Lord began debating about the sum of monies she would receive per month, Rachel felt deeply uncomfortable.
It’s as if I am a fattened calf at the butcher’s block, haggling over the price for my meat.
She shot a look to her mother, who appeared comfortable while the men spoke. How could she be? It was highly degrading to Rachel, but then, why would her parents care about how it looked? They were just using her for acclaim anyhow.
“We’re agreed on fifty pounds per month then,” her father said.
“Yes.”
And there it was. The price of her life was agreed on. What could be more humiliating? By the time her father and Lord Strathmore had decided on widowhood arrangements, Rachel wanted to run to the darkest corner and cover her face with her hands. It was utterlymortifying. How could her parents consider this right?
“So, now lastly, we have agreed on publishing three weeks’ banns before the wedding is set,” her father said. “Is this agreeable to you, Lord Strathmore?”
“I agree with that,” the Lord nodded.
“Good,” her father stood and shook his hand.
When all the humiliating matters were straightened out, Rachel held her composure long enough for her to bid the Lord goodbye. More miraculously, she gave her parents a staid goodnight and went to her room.
There, with the door barely closed behind her, she nearly ripped the diadem from her head and the ring from her finger. She felt tawdry knowing that her parents had all but stamped the Lord’s ownership over her forehead.
She dropped both items into a velvet-lined box and called for Jane. Her maid came in with a curious gaze. “My Lady?”
“I need a bath,” Rachel shivered. “I feel as if I have to wash something off.”
