He wouldn’t, I thought for the second time that day, but I was not so certain this time, because Cunningham’s eyes still hadn’t left the girl and his expression was hungry, like a fox watching a rabbit bounce by. No, even he wouldn’t be that foolish. That reckless. Cunningham loved money, and van der Sant was a fount of money. He wouldn’t throw that chance away simply to pursue this girl, no matter how virginally pretty and youthful she was.
I saw the way his lips lingered on the back of her hand as he kissed it, and then he did something that nearly made me bolt across the room and shove him away. He handed Birgit the flower from his buttonhole. A daffodil. Her father seemed completely oblivious to her pinking cheeks and fast-fluttering eyelashes, to Mr. Cunningham’s entirely-too-assiduous attentions.
And so after dinner, I asked Mr. van der Sant if it would be okay if Birgit and I retired to the parlor while the men enjoyed some brandy and smoking and business-talk. I could tell that my decorous femininity pleased him, but that’s not why I was doing this. As soon as Birgit and I went into the parlor, I closed the door and locked it and turned to face her.
She was so sweet-looking. I had looked like that, I knew…I still had men remark on how young and girlish I seemed. Maybe that’s why Cunningham still bothered me.
I sighed. “Sit, please, Miss van der Sant.”
She sat, looking a bit confused. I sat as well, on the sofa next to her so I could speak softly, hating that I was about to insinuate something so ugly to a girl so gentle and young. But I could not entertain the alternative, and I didn’t care if it might somehow circle back to Cunningham, if it would somehow tarnish my own place within the company. Right now only one thing mattered, and that was making sure Birgit stayed safe.
“Miss van der Sant, I’d like to ask you—privately—to do me a favor.”
She was clearly still confused, but nevertheless, she drew up, looking eager to please. “Of course! Is it about Father’s business here? I would very much like to help.”
I saw so much of myself in this girl. And her eagerness only made me more certain that I needed to do this. “I would like you to consider me a friend,” I told her, “a confidant. And the things we discuss will only remain between us, so I do not want you to worry that I will speak to your father about any of the things we discuss.” Unless I need to, I added to myself silently. But I didn’t say it aloud; it was more important to cultivate her trust at the moment.
She nodded, her eyes wide.
“That gentleman in the dining room? Mr. Cunningham? I am going to tell you a story about him, and then after I tell it to you, I need you to promise me that you’ll let me know the minute he ever tries to talk to you alone…”
The carriage ride to the Baron’s the next night was long and uncomfortable. The Baron was hosting a party in honor of Julian and Ivy’s visit, and Hugh had forced himself along. He had also taken the trouble to remind me that although we were only engaged, he’d still prefer it if I didn’t sleep with anyone tonight. The way he’d said prefer made it clear that all of his other threats held true in this case as well. In yet another unexpected corner, I was forced to sacrifice happiness for the hope of holding on to my company.
“But I will make you come plenty, if you’d like,” Hugh had offered once we got in the carriage. He’d tried to slide over to my seat, but I claimed a headache, and he sulked back to his side.
A headache. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, but I hated myself. I’d become one of those terrible women who avoided sex on pitiful pretexts, who lied instead of just saying no in plain language. But I was becoming increasingly aware that I had very little power in this dynamic between Hugh and me. Not if I wanted to keep my company. And so I had to placate him, which for now meant lying, but later it might mean actually having sex with him, and that made me very unhappy. It shouldn’t—he had never been a poor lover and he was so good-looking, but…well, if I was being completely honest with myself, I only wanted Silas right now. The only tears I wanted to cry were tears drawn forth by my smarting ass as he spanked me…the only hands I wanted to feel around my waist were his wide ones.
That’s enough, I told myself firmly. I was a big girl. I needed to accept my fate and move on. Just like I had with Cunningham all those years ago—I was doing what I had to for what I wanted, which was my company. I could handle a loveless marriage. I could handle a life without Silas. I could handle anything as long as I had my company and my dignity.
I sat up straighter in the seat. I was Molly O’Flaherty, dammit. And I would sacrifice anything for what I wanted.
And I would do it without complaint.
My mind flitted briefly to Birgit van der Sant safely ensconced in her hotel with her papa. I sincerely hoped that a different future awaited her.
The Baron hosted many parties, large and small, lavish and quiet, and this was somewhere in between. Despite being something of a recluse, Julian had many old friends in London, and there were even more people curious about the new Mrs. Markham, the mysterious beauty that most of the town had heard about but only a few had seen. And tonight she did look radiant, if a little reluctant to release her chubby boy into the capable arms of the nursemaid. But Julian leaned over and whispered something to her, and she finally relinquished the baby with a kiss and a quiet admonition to the nurse to come fetch her at the slightest hint of fussiness.
Watching this exchange from my seat on a nearby sofa, my stomach clenched. Not out of jealousy—although there was still the lingering version of Molly that remembered fancying herself in love with Julian—but out of a mixed sense of fear and regret. I never wanted to be Ivy—I didn’t want to be the woman unable to enjoy her dinner because her baby was a room away. But when I looked up and met Silas’s eyes across the room, there was this moment, this stupid moment, where I wondered what it would be like handing off a little blue-eyed child, with its father whispering in my ear that it would be okay.
I looked away quickly, my cheeks burning. I couldn’t afford thoughts like that. Not anymore.
I’d made my decision.
The one real blessing of the night was that Mercy wasn’t there, a fact Hugh seemed irritated about, even after the Baron claimed he’d invited her and there must have been some sort of mistake in the delivery of the invitation. He said this with a completely impassive expression, with complete authority, even though we all knew Mercy’s absence had been deliberate.
“Thank you,” I whispered to Castor as we walked into the dining room to eat, and he reached over and squeezed my hand before handing me into my seat. Sitting here with Silas while I had Hugh’s ring on my finger was terrible enough, but if I’d been forced to looked at Mercy’s sleek hair and pouting lips the whole night on top of that, I might have gone insane. Perhaps that was why Hugh was disappointed, perhaps he wanted that reminder of Silas’s failings near at hand tonight, to remind me that he was still my best option.
Supper was served, the Baron engaged in quiet conversation with Ivy about her aunt, Silas and Julian talking about some new railroad line coming though Yorkshire, and Hugh’s arm draped possessively across the back of my chair. Chatter from the other guests and music from a small band in the adjoining room filled the air, so nobody noticed my uncharacteristic silence, which I used to watch Silas. Now that I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I could never be with him again, it changed things. Softened things. I could look at him without my mind crowding with memories of him and Mercy, and for the first time in a long time, I could just see him. His jaw, clean-shaven and slightly pointed; his sparkling eyes; the way he smiled as he listened to Julian talk—smiled with his eyebrows lifted expectantly, as if he was genuinely excited to hear what his friend had to say. That was Silas, really: simply happy—happy to be talking, happy to be drinking, happy there would be dancing later. He lived in the moment, for the moment, and never had it felt more so than when the moment had also contained me. Why had I never noticed before? Why hadn’t I appreciated that when it was mine to appreciate, for however short a time?