Free The Last of Lady Lansdown by Shirley Kennedy

You must be the soul of discretion.
    She should not even be talking to Douglas Cartland, let alone riding with him.
    She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. “I cannot.” How to explain? She could easily think of a dozen white lies, but instinct told her not to lie to this man.
    A flash of humor crossed his face. “Ah, but, of course, you cannot ride with me, especially now. No doubt Sir Archibald has warned you of the perils involved in so much as speaking to a man during your ... shall we say, period of waiting? Aside from all that, your reputation would be in tatters. You could never hold your head up again. Mama might be so horrified she’d go into a decline. All because you chose to ride along the river with that scoundrel, Douglas Cartland.”
    Despite his sarcasm, she felt relieved she didn’t have to lie. “I’m glad you understand.”
    “I understand all right.” His shrewd eyes drilled into her. “I feel sorry for you.”
    She bristled. “I may be recently widowed, but I am in no way an object of pity.”
    “That’s where you’re wrong.” He crossed his arms and assessed her with a critical squint. “You, my dear countess, represent everything that’s wrong with our society.”
    “That’s a rather grandiose statement. Would you care to explain?”
    “Gladly. You have been born into a society that keeps its women virtual slaves.”
    “Are you daft?”
    “Let me count the ways.” He brought up his fingers and began to count. “One. You were forced into a marriage with a heartless sod who hadn’t the faintest notion how to treat a woman.”
    “I suppose you do?”
    “Yes, I do, but that’s beside the point. Two.” He ticked off another finger. “Look at you, all dressed in dreary black on a lovely summer day. You wouldn’t dare wear anything else, would you? All to mourn a man who treated you badly, an old letch you never loved in the first place. You would never admit it, even to yourself, but you’re glad he is gone.”
    Now he had definitely gone too far. “How dare you, sir? I refuse to listen to more of your outrageous remarks. I will have you know—”
    “Don’t bother.” He paused, then shook his head as if genuinely concerned. “Don’t you ever get tired of living a lie? Doing what you’re told to do and not what you want to do?”
    “We must all do our duty.” After the words left her mouth, she silently cringed, aware of how priggish they sounded.
    “Duty be damned.” He ticked another finger. “Three. You would like to ride along the river with me, but you won’t because Mama, sister-in-law Beatrice, and a whole slew of self-righteous ladies of the Ton would not approve. Therefore, you must forego all pleasure in your life and do as they say.”
    The whole time he’d been talking, she knew she should turn her back and walk away. First, of course, she should thank him again for bringing Beauty back and insist upon reimbursing him for whatever he paid Lord Gamfield. Then she should inform him his remarks were unacceptable and she would never again engage in conversation with a man so vile.
    She opened her mouth to speak but could not get the words out. She had to admit that he was absolutely correct in every respect. She had been forced to marry the earl. She was not sorry he was dead. She hated wearing black, and most of all, she very much wanted to take Beauty for a ride along the river with Douglas Cartland. Why, she didn’t know, because Beatrice was right. The man was despicable, a totally depraved individual.
    Timothy emerged from the stables carrying a blanket and her hand-tooled lady’s saddle, a treasured gift from Papa long ago. Before she could say a word, he walked to Beauty, set down the saddle and laid the blanket over the horse’s back. He picked up the saddle and with one easy motion slung it over the blanket.
    “Never mind. I am not going riding after all.”
    “That’s too bad, mum.” Timothy’s broad Irish face reflected his disappointment.