Except in her dreams, when she was being most vigorously and almost roughlytupped—there was no other word for it—by a large, faceless man.In the dream, he was always behind her, spreading her legs.She would wake slick and wanting and, usually, she would bring herself to ecstasy just for relief.
That this occurrence had grown so regular—it happened nearly nightly—was why she was blushing now.Even though, thank God, she had not experienced this dream after dozing off in the carriage beside her sister and stepmother.
“I am awake,” she finally managed.
“Good, because we’re here at last!At George’s estate!”
“Matilda!You must sayMr.Salisbury,” Vera corrected.“It isn’t George until you are engaged.”
All three women now had their faces turned toward the windows of the coach.They looked out onto the stone edifice that was in front of them.Parkhorne Hall, as it was called.
The building itself was a bit austere—all gray stone that Tilly had told her dated to the fourteenth century.It was exceedingly rustic.It had no park.Instead, only verdant, none-too-manicured gardens surrounded the house.And, at a distance, a few acres behind the house, the farmlands that belonged to the place and which were managed, she also knew from Tilly, by the family itself, spread themselves out.
The place had a touching charm, Scarlett thought.It had an authenticity missing from the country estates of aristocrats who saw them only as places for show.
Nevertheless, on its own, Parkhorne Hall was no prize.It wasn’t for his estate that five very eligible young ladies and their families were descending on this rocky little strip of land in Somerset.
And while the young George Salisbury, all of five-and-twenty, was handsome and intelligent, it wasn’t strictly for him, either.
Ten years ago, the Salisburys had been elevated by the spectacular marriage of their clan’s eldest daughter, formerly Miss Beatrice Salisbury, to the Marquess of Leith.The former Miss Salisbury was very attached to Parkhorne and very attached to her brothers, most of whom, except for George, were her late father’s by-blows.The marquess and marchioness belonged to a powerful set of aristocrats, which included the Duke and Duchess of Edington, the Viscount and Viscountess of Tremberley, and the Earl and Countess of Montaigne.They were the most prestigious, powerful members of theton, bar none.Therefore, to marry George Salisbury, the only legitimate brother of the Marchioness of Leith, was to be guaranteed a position at the forefront—or, at least, very near to said forefront—of society.
Not that her sister cared about that.
“Oh, stop, Mama,” Tilly scolded.“If George had his way, we’d be engaged already.His mother is only making him have this silly party so that he is sure of his choice.But he has told me that he prefers me above all others.”
“That very well may be, my child,” Vera said.“But weigh words as wind, till they find certainty, as they say.Mrs.Salisbury very well may have another young lady in mind, and the young squire will be convinced to make an offer elsewhere.You must prove toherthat you’re the right choice.”
“Mrs.Salisbury likes me well enough already,” Tilly said with a shake of her head.“She merely wants to make sure George takes time to make his decision.”
“And very right she is to do it,” Vera said.“Marriage can last a very long time.Further, you would be spending most of your timehere.You should consider whether you should like it as your future home.”
“It looks marvelous,” Tilly said, fastening her reticule in her lap and preparing to alight.“I love it already.”
“Perhaps save your declarations of love forafteryou have exited the carriage,” Scarlett said.She adored her sister, but she could sometimes make decisions too quickly for her own good.“Mama is right.It is best to look about you first.Are you well, Vera?”
Her stepmother appeared, suddenly, quite pale.
“Oh yes, my dear.You know how I abhor travel.”
The footman opened the door, and Vera consented to have herself handed down.
Tilly followed, and then Scarlett.
It was true, though, Scarlett reflected, as she took in the neat gravel drive and the walls slung with ivy, that it was a very pretty piece of country.Even if it wasn’t particularly grand.And, after all, their father had made his money in manufacturing before he had lost everything, and Vera had been the daughter of a merchant.Tilly had no reason to aspire higher than the master of Parkhorne Hall.And, under the special circumstances, securing Mr.George Salisbury would be, if not quite a coup for her sister, then certainly a very good match.
Luckily, Vera had brought her own money to the union with her father, and Tilly had had a very nice dowry settled on her by her maternal grandparents.The only person who had been left penniless by their father’s bankruptcy—followed shortly by his death—other than himself was Scarlett.
“I need a cup of tea,” Vera said.“And a lie-down.”
“Right this way, ma’am,” the footman, who had emerged from inside the manor, said.
“I’d like to be seen directly to my room,” Vera said.“I need rest before any festivities.”
Vera was often indisposed, which meant that she, Scarlett, went almost everywhere with Tilly.Which suited all of them very well.Vera was happier at home, Scarlett enjoyed being active, and Tilly preferred her sister’s chaperonage to her mother’s.However, this trip to Parkhorne was too important for Vera to miss.
They had gained the entryway now, which Scarlett saw was old-fashioned in its spartan decoration, but also rather grand with its high windows and large tapestries.
“Yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper said, a neat, spry woman who had appeared through the door that must lead down to the kitchens.“The young lady and yourself are upstairs, near the family rooms.The other Miss Perkins”—Scarlett cringed to be thus called but stifled any outward reaction—“is in a separate building.Our footman here, Reginald, will escort Miss Scarlett Perkins and her maid.”
