August 1812
“I will bed you tonight.”
The baronet’s voice was rough, commanding, and stern, and Emma squeezed her folded hands so tight her knuckles hurt.
Determination hardened her husband Sir Jasper Bardsley’s puffy face in the semidarkness of the carriage, the bright light of the warm day never reaching his features. The floor of the shabby carriage rattled and dipped under her feet, then rose again sharply, making Emma’s stomach drop and causing a momentary onslaught of nausea. The upholstery on the ceiling was torn and hanging, sheep’s wool protruded from holes in the seats, and the brown paint on the door was chipped.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said.
It was true. The thought of having her husband of one year touch her intimately or otherwise made her feel ill.
“Let me guess.” He crossed his arms over his round stomach and stretched his thin, buckskin-covered legs until his fashionable riding boots touched the bench she sat on. “You have your courses?”
She inhaled sharply, worry making her chest rise and fall quickly. When had she used that excuse previously? Could it have been a month ago?
“I do,” she said.
His boots hit the floor with a thump, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression was menacing. “My dear, you said the same thing just two weeks ago.”
He’d caught her. They both knew her excuses for refusing him into her bed the past six months were just that…excuses.
As a small girl, the eldest daughter of a poor but perfectly respectable gentleman, she had dreamed about a happy marriage. She didn’t need a rich man or a man with a title. All she wanted was a home full of children with a husband she loved and respected.
Instead, she’d married Sir Jasper Bardsley.
“I need an heir, Emma,” he said. “You must give me one. That is your duty as my wife. And so far, you have not been a good one. You disobey, disrespect, and defy me. The entire week we spent at Cross Manor, you never paid me a moment of attention, and yet you happily chatted with every person in Sir Lionell’s company.”
Helpless frustration boiled in Emma’s stomach. The walls of the carriage shrank around her, and it felt tiny. Like a dark prison cell with no way out. Her chest constricted as she struggled to breathe.
Craving air, and needing a moment to compose herself, she looked out of the window. They were passing through a small village with a lively market square called Clovham. Cows, goats, horses, chickens, geese, and even dogs were being sold. Booths were bursting with vegetables and other produce.
In about four more hours, she’d be back in the prison of her domestic life in Bardsley House, and she’d be able to wash the grime of the road off herself together with the humiliation she’d experienced the whole week they had spent at the house party at Cross Manor.
“You are not a great husband, either, Sir Jasper,” she said without looking at him.
He scoffed. “That is so unfair. I give everything to you. You have a good house, an income, and I am the one suggesting you renew your wardrobe according to the latest London fashion.”
She glared at him, feeling her chest heave, barely able to contain her anger. Of course she’d refused renewing her wardrobe. He was happy to frivolously spend money on his clothes while their estate crumbled around them from lack of funds. She grasped the edge of the upholstered bench, her fingernails scraping the fraying textile.
“That means you want to parade me with my breasts out there for everyone to see.”
“Why not? Lady Kinlea does it, and you have almost as pretty a bosom as she does.”
Emma’s cheeks blazed. She had never felt as small and insignificant in her life.
She had a lot to say about Lady Kinlea, a pretty and elegant member of fashionable London society, who had three beautiful children Emma had adored. Lady Kinlea couldn’t stop flirting with Sir Jasper, right in front of her own husband and Emma. Though why Lady Kinlea would want Sir Jasper’s attention, Emma had no notion.
“Women tell each other things they don’t tell men,” he said. “I asked you to make friends with her and find out the latest London gossip so that I can make useful connections and invest wisely. Instead, you ran around with her children. You embarrassed me.”
Emma stopped a gasp. “I embarrassed you?”
Just three days ago, Emma had seen a disheveled and flustered Sir Jasper and Lady Kinlea leaving a rosebush. She wasn’t surprised Sir Jasper had a lover. He probably had more than one. But she didn’t feel a stab of jealousy. Or a pinch of hurt. On the contrary, she was light with relief. If he found his satisfaction elsewhere, chances were he wouldn’t bother her for some time.
But Sir Jasper ignored her question. His round, perfectly shaved cheeks reddened with anger, his small gray eyes glistening with malice. “Will you let me into your bed tonight, madam? Yes or no?”
She’d be damned if she let him ever touch her. She looked out of the window again. In the midst of crop stubble, farmers and their children worked the fields, collecting the hay and throwing it onto stacks. Occasional bushes and trees split fields. Sheep and cows grazed on pastures, and the scent of manure and freshly cut grass reached Emma. She would happily give up her station and work in those fields to escape her brute of a husband.
She’d married him to help her family, of course. Her papa’s small estate brought barely enough income to make ends meet, and none of the four daughters had much of a dowry to speak of. When Sir Jasper Bardsley expressed his interest in Emma at one of the country balls, despite her poor prospects, Emma saw hope bloom in her mama’s and papa’s eyes for the first time in years. Quite unusually, instead of expecting a dowry, Sir Jasper had offered her father ownership of some of his lands, which would bring income and better marriage prospects to her sisters.
How could she refuse such an offer, even if it meant giving up her dreams of marrying for love?
When would another gentleman with a good name make an offer that would actually add income instead of demanding a dowry?
But one year later, she cringed at the thought of her husband’s touch, and her father was yet to see the deeds to the land owed to him. She knew now that he never would…
Her husband expected her to cower. To submit. To let him dictate everything about her. Legally, as a wife, she was his property.
Only, she’d never let him crush her, never show him the hurt his words caused.
Therefore, she smiled. “As I told you, I have my courses. You cannot bed me tonight.”
She saw the exact moment Sir Jasper snapped. He snarled in a helpless rage. His teeth bared, then he stared out of the window...
