The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams
Chapter One
“Marriage is just another word for a servant, except one does not get paid,” Catherine Ferguson said, folding her arms and fixing her friends, Rebecca Lowood and Samantha Osmond, with a look that challenged them to contradict her.
Samantha laughed and Rebecca rolled her eyes, the two of them returning Catherine’s look with their own – looks that suggested complete disagreement. “Oh, really, Catherine, surely you do not believe that?” Rebecca said, and Catherine pouted.
“I do, and you would too, Rebecca, if you found yourself in the intolerable situation I do,” she replied, glancing across the room to where her father – Broderick Ferguson, a wealthy merchant – was deep in conversation with an elderly man; Horace Carson, the Earl of Westwood.
The earl would occasionally glance up and smile at Catherine, causing her to shudder at the thought of what was intended that very night. There was to be an announcement, the announcement of a betrothal, and she, Catherine, was its object. There had been little discussion of the matter and she had only met the earl – a man of lecherous intentions – on two rather formal occasions when the two of them had taken tea under the watchful eye of her father, who had already decided that the match was to go ahead, regardless of Catherine’s feelings. “But do you not think it is time?” Samantha asked, and Catherine raised her eyebrows.
“Is there a time, Samantha? Am I to suddenly reach that moment and decide that any man will do?” she asked, words to which Samantha had no answer.
Catherine was a pretty young woman, with long red hair and hazel brown eyes, always impeccably dressed, and with the slenderest of figures. She had never failed to attract suitors, but those suitors had never been to her taste. She was far too independent to entertain any notion of marriage – at least on someone else’s terms – and was happy to remain a spinster, despite the opinions of the ton, which wagged its gossiping tongues and whispered behind the fans of Catherine’s failure to secure a husband.
“Not any man, Catherine, but you deserve to be happy, just as we are,” Rebecca pointed out.
Rebecca was married to Nicholas, the Marquess of Somerset, and Samantha to Norman, now the Earl of Brimsey. Both were happy, Rebecca having recently given birth to a son, Cuthbert, and Samantha heavy with child and also guardian to her father’s son, Hubert, so that each had a family that was complete. Catherine had rather prided herself on her independence and had observed that her friends, though happy, were now consumed into the expectations of rank and class from which there could be no escape – they had their place and that was that.
“But I am not happy, Rebecca, I am quite miserable at the prospect of this evening’s announcement,” Catherine replied, sighing and glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, gradually ticking toward her fate.
The three women were guests of the Duchess of Sinclair – Rebecca’s mother-in-law – who had invited them to a ball to celebrate her husband’s achievements in the colonies, he now returned to England in a blaze of glory, though Catherine was unsure why such an event should be so heralded given the atrocious reputation that preceeded him.
Rebecca’s husband was acting as joint host, and the three friends had spent the past half an hour sat out of the dancing, deep in discussion over Catherine’s predicament. The prospect of the announcement was deeply shaming to Catherine, who had no desire to be married to the Earl of Westwood, much less to have the fact paraded in front of the whole ton, who had gathered for what was one of the most spectacular balls of the season.
“Is he really so bad? He has always come across as a kindly gentleman, a little eccentric, perhaps, but no rake. He is too old for that,” Samantha said, though she soon realized she had said the wrong thing when Catherine fixed her with an angry stare.
“And that is it, I suppose? I am to accept the old man and spend a few years in misery before becoming a widow,” she replied, and Samantha flushed red with embarrassment.
“We only want your happiness, Catherine,” Rebecca said, and Catherine sighed.
It was what she wanted, too – who would not wish to be happy? – but in Catherine’s mind, that happiness would not be achieved by marrying a man she had no love for, nor by being forced into a marriage simply for the sake of it. In Catherine’s mind, marriage was a matter of love, and why should she not find that same love which her two closest friends had come to know?
“And I am quite happy as a spinster and will gladly remain so until such a time of my choosing. I do not wish to be married, and I certainly do not wish to be married to him,” she remarked, glancing across the room to where the Earl of Westwood now looked up and smiled at her, raising his glass with an expectant and leering look on his face.
“Have you told your father this?” Rebecca asked.
“Half a dozen times, he does not listen, he will not listen,” she replied, thinking back to their heated discussions of the previous few days. She and her father were too alike not to argue, and having witnessed the manner in which her father had treated her mother – who had always taken his verbal lashings like an obedient puppy – Catherine had been determined not to follow suit. From her father, she had inherited her confident independence, and from her mother an intelligence and wit, which, when combined, made her a formidable opponent. Catherine was no retiring wallflower, but now it seemed she had come up against an insurmountable obstacle, one which could soon see her independence replaced by subjection to a man, not of her own choosing, but of her father’s.
“My father was the same when it came to Norman, at first, as you know,” Samantha said.
“Which is all the more reason you must surely understand my predicament, Samantha,” Catherine replied, confused why her two closest friends should not be helping her extract herself from the situation, rather than trying to persuade her to settle for something less than they themselves enjoyed.
“But perhaps the time has come for you to accept that time is not on your side, Catherine. There are many women who must… compromise,” Rebecca said, and now Catherine felt her anger flame.
She was not about to be dictated to in the same manner that her father had done. Catherine was tired of the constant expectations placed on her, and her father’s ever-increasing desire to join the ranks of the aristocracy. He was richer than most of them, but without a title, he was still looked down on as something less. Now, his plan was to marry Catherine into their ranks and thus find his own place in the very highest society. As far as Catherine was concerned, she had all the time in the world.
“Time for what? A lifetime of unhappiness?” she asked, fixing Rebecca with a glare.
“Merely that… well, there is talk,” Rebecca replied, glancing at Samantha, who nodded.
“There is talk, Catherine,” Samantha said, glancing around the room.
A waltz was in full swing, couples twirling and whirling about the room, and most all of London society was in attendance. Elderly dowagers sat in groups along the wall, and aristocratic men stood in deep conversation, whilst young debutantes were wooed and enchanted by gentlemen inviting them to dance or take a turn about the room. In one corner, a group of tittering ladies were fanning themselves and glancing every now and then across at where Catherine, Rebecca, and Samantha stood talking.
“Talk of what? About me, I suppose?” Catherine asked, and Rebecca and Samantha nodded.
“I think it is more a case of wondering why a woman like you – so attractive in every way – should be without a husband, or even a suitor. They say that a lady only has so many seasons before she is considered… on the wall,” Samantha said, her voice trembling as she spoke the last few words.
“And that is what I am, is it?” Catherine demanded.
“Not yet, no, but… you do have a reputation, Catherine. There is so much to commend you, and yet you insist on never putting yourself forward, and you scare away any suitor who might take an interest,” Rebecca replied.
There seemed to be a concerted effort on the part of her two closest friends to persuade her, as though marriage was the supreme goal to which any woman must aspire – even if it meant marrying a man in whom she had no interest at all. But Catherine was happy with her current state and the freedoms which it gave her. She had no desire to marry. Quite the opposite, in fact, and would gladly live out her life as a spinster – the thought of marrying the Earl of Westwood making her blood run cold.
“Then I am pleased to have a reputation, because I have no desire to end up like them,” Catherine said, glancing across at the cackle of women still tittering behind their fans.
The grandfather clock had just struck nine o’clock, and another waltz had been announced. Catherine knew that the hour of the announcement was coming close and, in that moment, she despised her father for what he was about to force on her. He intended to take advantage of the gathering, a gathering at which the whole ton was present and would hear it told that she, Catherine Ferguson, was to marry a man whom she already detested merely for his intentions.
“But Catherine, think about it, you would have no worries in life, your future would be secure, and you would have everything your heart could desire,” Rebecca began, but Catherine had heard enough.
“Everything except love, which is more important than fine clothes and wealth. I have thought about it, Rebecca. There was a time when I could have counted on my two closest friends to do whatever was necessary to help me. But now, it seems that you have become just like them, taken in by the fantasy of marriage as the only means to happiness,” she said, folding her arms and sighing.
“And we will, Catherine. We shall stand by you, whatever you decide. It is not our place to persuade you either way. We only want what is best for you, Catherine. We really do,” Samantha said, trying to sound reassuring.
“Well, it does not matter now. I have made my mind up,” Catherine replied, and Rebecca and Samantha glanced nervously at one another.
“What does that mean?” Rebecca asked, and Catherine smiled.
The thought had occurred to her only the day before, at the same time as her father had announced his intentions to make the announcement of her betrothal that very night. There had been nothing she could do to dissuade him from his intentions, nothing which would change his mind, and nothing which would prevent her and the Earl of Westwood from being married. Which was why Catherine had decided to present a reason, one which would ensure that there could be no hope of the marriage ever taking place.
“I am going to cause a scandal, Rebecca, just you watch,” Catherine replied, and her two friends looked at one another in horror.
