Where had he gone so wrong?
Chapter Seven
“Lord and Lady Chandron hosted a veritable galaxy of the quality folk at their ball. Naturally, Lord M__ was there. How many ladies’ hearts did he break?”
-The Evening Star
“Miss Sudbury,” he implored, fearing the coveted prize of a place between her smooth thighs had just been snatched from him, and by his own thoughtlessness. “The term was meant as an accolade, not a denigration. Yet I offer my sincere apology for insulting you.”
She pursed her lips, then nodded, instantly easing the band of apprehension that had tightened around his chest.
“Your apology is accepted. And I must give one in return. I jumped into a great tweague, but it isn’t truly your fault.” She eyed him over the next course, a delicate filet of sole.
“I know you wish to indulge in a gay evening,” she continued, “so I shall not overwhelm you with stories of the country folk. Yet I can only assume you are unaware how a poor man may be forced to sell even his wife and do so at a common marketplace, exactly like a cow or pig.”
Jasper drew back.What nonsense was she sputtering?
“Sell one’s wife? That’s absurd. A lie. This is England in 1814, not 1418!”
“Nevertheless, it’s true,” she insisted. “For one thing, in most cases, living separately or seeking a divorce is beyond the reach for those outside your class. Instead, by agreement, a woman can ask to be sold in some cases to a man to whom she would rather be married, taking her children with her, too.”
Jasper tried to imagine letting one’s children be sold and raised by someone else.
“I’m not sure I want to hear any more of this barbaric behavior.” He sipped his wine. “However, you did say it was done by agreement.”
“Sometimes, yes. A wife might initiate the sale if her husband has gone missing, say during the war. I warrant some of those men fighting under your command came home to find their wives had been bought by another. However, in other cases,” she continued, “it is against both parties’ wishes. To keep more people from becoming a burden on a given parish, like my own dear Chislehurst where I grew up, the Poor Law of our great nation allows local authorities to force a husband to sell his wife to keep her out of their parish workhouse. And as surely as I’ve seen an amusing caricature of dear John Bull holding Bonaparte’s head on a pitchfork, I’ve seen a man forced to send his wife to market to be sold in a different parish.”
“That’s horrendous.” A morsel of food stuck in his throat, and he swallowed twice to get it down.
Miss Sudbury gave her customary delicate shrug of one shoulder.
“I have heard that a woman and her new husband may at least be bought a meal by the parish authorities who forced the sale.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone.
“How kind of them,” Jasper put forth with equal irony, before downing the dregs of his wine and gesturing for the footman to refill it. “And what of the old husband?”
“He does not get a meal,” she said coolly.
