In Compromise with the Earl by Ava MacAdams

Chapter One

It occurred to Bridgette Farbridge more than once in her short years that life was not fair.

“Shush, come now, Love, do not cry, it will all be all right.” The soothing voice of her mother, Petunia Farbridge, was normally something that made the whole world better. She had such a soft, pretty voice.

“Sit her down, Vanessa, fetch me that cloth, please. The water as well.”

Mothers were supposed to have soothing voices. Though tonight, not even her mother’s kind words were going to be enough to settle Bridgette’s shaking hands. Bridgette watched with hollow eyes as her mother and sisters set about the room. Serafina, locking the door and Vanessa fetching any items that she thought might appear soothing.

Bridgette let them fuss over her. She could not stop thinking about it. She could not stop replaying Lord Lork’s hands on her. Never in her life would she have imagined that somebody could use her in such a way. She was hurt, she was shaken, but most of all she was angry.

Bridgette was a woman of breeding. She was a Farbridge. Even more than that she was a person. She was not an object to be used or grabbed at like she was some sweet biscuit at a tea party. She understood that it was a widespread, common misconception that a wife belonged to her husband. That once marriage vows were taken that she was little more than a decoration piece to be moved around and displayed at his leisure.

I have taken no vows. I am not an object.

“We will get all of this sorted out before you know it, Love.” Petunia was the sort of woman who was always destined to be a mother. She had boundless patience for nearly anything that her daughters threw at her.

“You cannot possibly know that.” Bridgette’s voice was soft. “One word from Lord Lork and I am ruined, you know that as well as I do. The truth of the matter will be inconsequential.”

The culmination of all of these failed Seasons, of her betrothal now broken and she was ruined. Petunia said nothing as she dabbed a soft, wet cloth across Bridgette’s forehead in an effort to make her more presentable.

This is not fair.

“Serafina, please stop pacing, you are making me anxious.” Vanessa chimed in. She was seated in the chair across the way, her foot a nervous tap dance on the floor. As the third daughter, she tended to be more rational than the others.

“It is making you anxious, dear sister?” Serafina countered, pausing her pacing for only a moment. “I am a mess of nerves. Poor Bridgette is upset, I cannot think of any situation in which anxiousness would be more apt.” She threw her hands up over her head. “Our dear eldest sister, who did everything right only to be rewarded for a lifetime of polite behavior with this?”

Serafina lifted one gloved hand to tick off her words on her fingers, “She attends the balls, she is well spoken, perfectly mannered in all the ways that count and now what? One terrible misfortune and it was all for nothing?”

It was like Serafina plucked the words right from Bridgette’s head. Out of the four sisters, Serafina was always the one most free with her opinions.

“Now is hardly the time for theatrics, Sera, you will wake your sister,” Petunia chastised.

Amanda, the youngest of the girls, was asleep upstairs. Or at the very least she was upstairs pretending to be asleep. Too young to be out in society, these troubles would not be hers for another year yet. Unless of course, the older sisters managed to ruin their family before that year was up.

I do not deserve this. My sisters do not deserve this.

“Lord Lork is a brute. It is spoken about plainly enough. Just ask any of the staff from his Manor!” Serafina continued as if their mother had not spoken. “All of the ladies used to dread him on their dance cards, but tolerated it because he would be a smart match for any young lady. War hero, soldier's pension, medals and the title to match. He attacks my sister and it is her reputation that will be ruined?”

Bridgette nodded, agreeing with Serafina. “One offhand comment from him and I am undone, Mama. He only has to find a single pair of attentive ears and he will twist this affront into something where I am the villain. I promise you that.”

“Curse his pretty face,” Serafina rolled her eyes as she spoke. Simon was, unfortunately, very handsome. “I hope he gets boils.”

Bridgette nearly laughed, pulling her dress back to rights as best she could. “It will not matter that he was forward with me. If he chooses to be slighted and spread rumors, my reputation, all of our reputations will be on the line.”

Vanessa lifted her hand to stop her sister, speaking as kindly as she could “Be that as it may, our family cannot endure another scandal. Not so soon after father.”

“Do not worry your three lovely heads about that now,” Petunia interjected.

“This is not something you can shield us from Mama,” Bridgette shook her head, insistent. “I know that you mean well but this very well could be the height of gossip before breakfast tomorrow.”

Serafina snorted, containing her laughter. “I was across the hall when Bridgette rushed out and even I saw the angry red handprint on Lord Lork’s face.”

Bridgette smirked, and quickly hid it away. Serafina saw it anyway. “It is the least the man deserves. You have every right to be proud of the way you defended yourself. ”

“Perhaps his pride will save us,” Vanessa commented. “A gentleman would never stoop so low as to speak in such a way about a woman he was supposed to marry.”

“That is true, a gentleman would not.” There was no kindness in Bridgette’s tone left for him. As much as she wanted to believe that she was safe here at Evans Manor, it would never be her home again. These were not the safe, kind walls of her childhood. Not anymore.

“When your uncle arrives, I need you three to promise me that you will let me speak to him. Let me handle this.”

“I will not marry him, Mother,” Bridgette asserted. “This is how he behaves toward me without any vows. What sort of husband do you think he would be? A loveless marriage is one thing, but this? He tried to—” Bridgette cut off that thought instantly. She could still feel the artless way his lips bashed against the side of her face. Muttering about how they did not need to wait, that she belonged to him.

I belong to no man. Certainly not Simon Broadley.

“I wish I could have seen the look on his face when you slapped him,” Vanessa commented dryly.

Serafina gasped at her sister’s words. “I did not know you were so vicious, dear Vanessa.”

Bridgette smiled, starting to feel better. “It really was a sight to behold. His nose all crinkled in shock.” Bridgette attempted to recreate the expression to the best of her ability.

Vanessa covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. Bridgette could already see the lines of worry forming between her mother’s eyes. Petunia did not have to voice her fears, Bridgette already knew. A broken betrothal at two-and-twenty? She was far from in her prime years. She was quickly running out of time before she was considered ineligible.

“It would be in the best efforts of everyone, if we can find a way to handle this with delicacy,” Petunia said.

“Lord Lork will be fine,” Serafina interjected. “No doubt he is already nursing his wounded ego with any pretty-faced woman within earshot. The sort that likes to hear his war stories and fawn over how strong and brave he was.”

Viscount and Soldier, Simon was considered a catch. Bridgette could not pretend to know what compelled him to accept the Earl's low dowry for her, but she had been grateful for him. Grateful. Knowing what she knew now, the mere idea of it made her skin crawl.

“I have been replaying over the evening in my mind, Mama. Picking apart the pieces and attempting to fit them together in a way that might help me understand how things went so poorly. There was no signal too forward. I did not say anything untoward. I laughed at all of his jokes, it was the same sort of evening we have had countless times before now.”

“Some men are simply too entitled for their own good,” Petunia answered, patting her daughter’s hand once again.

“What happens now? I cannot marry him now, Mama,” Bridgette insisted again, firmly. “I cannot go back to him when he is so—” Bridgette struggled to find the word, “so callous. I know that this is larger than myself.” She looked from one sister to the other with sad eyes. “The last thing that I want is to compromise our name or the potential prospects of my sisters.”

That was the last thing that she wanted. Family meant everything to her. Her sisters were so dear to her heart. She would never intentionally injure them or their feelings in any way.

“The final say in this is not up to me, Love,” Petunia commented, resigned.

“No, of course not,” Bridgette spat. “That honor is only for our dear Uncle Tobias.”

“He has done much for us, and you need to remember that.” Petunia looked to her other daughters. “You all should, or else you will find other occupation for yourself when he arrives.”

Tobias, the one who had so graciously stepped in to care for his brother’s family after his passing. He was ready and willing to sing his own praises to anybody that would listen. To bolster himself proudly in any social situation with Bridgette and her sisters as trophies for his display. As if to say, ‘Look, here is my proof of how wealthy and decent I am’.

Bridgette turned to see her mother more clearly, her eyes widened and bordering on wild. “No, Mama, I cannot hear it…‘What will the Earl say?’ He threatens to put the lot of us on the street as it is and this will only displease him further.”

“It is not like he worked for some advantageous match, Bridgette, he accepted the first suitor willing to have you and ran with it.” There was no shortage of bitterness in Serafina’s tone.

Nothing about the events of the past year had gone according to plan. “His eyes have never been set on our wellbeing but instead on his own successes and the influx of good fortune thrust upon him and born of our pain.” Serafina’s arms crossed over her chest.

Petunia shot her a look and Serafina sat heavily on the nearest chair, silenced. “It was never my intention to push you so quickly, Love, but you know as well as I do that our time here is limited.”

Bridgette nodded. “What of my sisters? What if Lord Lork found the Earl on his way out of the ball? If Lord Lork stopped him and had words with him then he will already be set in his opinion of events before he has even paused to consider my welfare.” Words were leaving her too quickly as she attempted to scramble some solution to mind. As if by voicing her thoughts aloud a resolution might become clear.

“Love, I do not think that your opinion of events will trouble the Earl greatly.”

There was the sinking truth of it. All that the Earl would be concerned with was the possibility of scandal. “The turn of tonight’s events might be an inconvenience to his own agenda, this is true.” Vanessa spoke as the voice of reason. “But, we must remember that this is all new to him. He only has a son and these social politics are difficult for him.

“He is not exactly known for his patience.”

“Serafina, that is quite enough,” Petunia stated. “Let us not make assumptions as to how he might handle this. Perhaps he will surprise us all.”

There came a commotion from down the stairs.

In the silence of the Manor the clatter of the door banging against the doorframe, as well as the hurried demands too distant to be understood properly, were like thunder in her ears. Bridgette felt sorry for the servants by the door. Yet another shock to see the way that the Manor was run now compared to under her father’s care. Their staff and hired men were not held to the same standards as before.

“I cannot allow him to send me back, any more than I can allow him to threaten the position and wellbeing of my sisters…there must be a way to reason with him. I am sure that perhaps if I implore him—” Bridgette had read so many similar stories over her life that there must be some cunning turn of phrase embedded into her memory. There must be some similar scenario that would allow her to find the perfect words to say to smooth over this situation.

“This is not one of your stories, my dear. As much as I wish it was, there would be a great number of things that I would see rewritten.”

The sound of heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs to the accompaniment of his grumbled protests. Whether it was reluctance that stopped her from understanding the demands that he uttered as he came down the hall toward them or simply the fact that his speech was slurred with drink, she would never know.

“So what do we do?” Bridgette whispered, panic blossoming anew.

“We do what women do best, Love.” Petunia patted her daughter’s knee soothingly. “We will sit here and diffuse the situation with grace, poise, and control.” Bridgette wanted to feel as calm as her mother looked.

“Where is she?” Tobias Farbridge’s heavy voice demanded from down the hall, checking one door and then the next. “I said, where is she?”

If Father was about to come through those doors, he would be the picture of worry. He would march straight back down to that ball and demand an explanation. Her father would fight the thin-lipped rake of a man, Simon, who had made such lofty promises to his daughter one moment, only to abuse her so readily the next. He would not stand idly by…but the Earl of Evans was not her father, and he never would be.

“Now, Girls, mind your manners. All of you. I mean it.” Petunia rose from her seat and moved to stand in the center of the room to greet the Earl.

The drawing room door slammed open, shattering the last of her thin, shredded self-control and a strange sort of calm took over Bridgette. Whatever would come from this, whatever he might throw at her, she would simply have to find a way to endure it. For her mother, for her sisters, she could do it.

She could…could she not?

“Where is she?”