Free The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) by Margaret Brazear

without a wife and I hoped
he would not take my interest as an invitation to elevate me to that
position.  The reply I received was that His Majesty had a husband in mind
for me.
       
My heart sank.  Although he was no longer my servant, Harry was kind
enough to make a few more enquiries for me in the hope that Lord Summerville
had returned to London, or even Suffolk, but no one had heard from or seen
him.  I could only hope he was safe and look to my own interests.  I
felt sick to think about it; I knew that Richard would help me if he only knew
my plight. 
       
Damn my uncle!  Why could he not have been honest with me?  Had he
only told me that this might happen on his death I could have been prepared,
even sought help from my only friend before this.  I could curse the day I
had ever met Uncle Stephen, but it went back farther than that.  I cursed
the day I was ever born.
       
It was a quiet and hasty service, no preparations made at all and it seemed I
was to be wed to yet another man who had no desire to meet me first.  I
thought I knew what to expect, a repeat of my time with Lord Connaught , another nobleman who wanted only an heir except
this one was a marquis, a little higher up the ranks.  But I would not be telling
this one that I was barren.  Whoever he was or whatever he wanted of me, I
needed this marriage far more than he did.
       
I only wondered if there was some sleeping draught I could take so that I slept
through the whole, disgusting ritual.  I made a mental note to ask Lucy to
try to get some poppy juice.  I could give it to him, but I would rather
take it myself.
       
I may be lucky this time, perhaps, I thought.  This one might be kind,
have some consideration.  If I was really lucky he might even be impotent.
       
The church was dark and I did not look at my bridegroom.  I could tell by
the way he walked that he was not a young man, and from the corner of my eye I
saw grey hair.  But when the service was over, I turned and looked at his
face and I thought my heart would stop in my chest, I thought I must be asleep
and having one of my nightmares – along his cheek he bore a scar, an ugly
t-shaped scar.
       
It seemed that God had a sense of humour after all.  I had just married my
tormentor, the monster who had stolen my innocence, stolen my childhood and
turned me into an incomplete woman.  I could not believe it!
       
Why did he want a wife?  I was a grown woman, not a little girl which was
more to his taste.  I looked across the church to see if his friend were
also there, but there was no sign of him.
       
Tears gathered in my eyes then, tears of despair.  Perhaps his tastes had
matured and he now wanted a full grown woman.  I wondered if he had done
this deliberately, if he knew who I was and this was giving him some sadistic
pleasure.
       
I was shaking as I placed my hand on his arm and was led along the aisle and
out of the church.
     
    ***
     
       
The festivities began at once with many guests congratulating the Marquis on
the acquisition of such a beautiful wife and I gathered from their words that
despite his advanced years, I was his first.  I also gathered that I was
probably the only one who knew why that was.
       
He said nothing to me as he shook hands and accepted good wishes and I was sure
he had no idea who I was.  Why would he?  He must have done the same to many children, so why should I be memorable?  I
could not bear to look at him.  Every time I tried I was reminded vividly
of the horrors of my tenth birthday and I wondered just how I was going to cope
with the consummation of this cruel match.
       
I reminded myself that I had married for one reason and one reason only – I
could not survive without it.  I had to do as he wanted, did I not, or I
would be starving on the streets.
       
Lucy had come with me and now she met me in the bedchamber, ready to perform
the ritual of undressing me.  I must have