| |
Arthur was crueler behind closed doors. In the company of others, he hid his darkness behind cold smiles and quips that were rarely clever. His wife, Wilomena, was afraid of him. When she married a rake, she knew it was a risk, as many rakes were known to stray. But she never would have guessed there was a torturer lurking behind his ice blue eyes.
After they married, he changed. The man who wooed her with sweet words and compliments was gone forever, lost on their wedding night. He suspected she wasn't a maid, and when he interrogated her, Wilomena had no lie to fall back on.
“You disgust me,” he told her that night. “I've deflowered enough virgins to know you're not one of them. I can't even stand to look at you.”
When they were with others, like Cecilia and George, Arthur feigned politeness. He pretended his marriage wasn't a mess of his own making. He pretended he didn't insult her, abuse her, and make her life miserable. He pretended he hadn't told her the names of his mistresses.
Her Aunt Cecilia knew there was something amiss, but she didn't know the extent of it, and Wilo didn't want to burden her. Her husband was a monster, and she would face him alone. Wilomena didn't want her problems to become Cecilia's problems.
Even though he was cruel, Wilomena tried to get along with him. She tried every night, but her efforts were useless.
Wilo was in her nightrail with her blankets pulled to her nose. Over the linens, she watched him undress. He removed his clothes, tore off his cravat, and stepped out of his boots. Arthur, Lord Winterbottom, was still one of the handsomest men she had ever seen, but she would have traded his beauty for kindness if she could.
“Arthur?” Wilo tried to get his attention, but he had a talent for ignoring her. “Arthur... may I ask you a question?”
Arthur glanced in her direction, but only briefly—long enough to share the hatred in his eyes. “I met Lord Calloway's daughters today,” he told her. “If you didn't know, Lord Calloway is an old friend of my father. After my father's death, I fell out of contact with him, but I wish I hadn't. His daughters are exquisite.”
Wilomena closed her eyes and listened. Unfortunately, it was impossible to close her ears as well. It wasn't uncommon to hear him speak of other women. He would praise their virtues, and in his next breath, he would insult his wife.
“Their names are Mercy and Constance. They're seventeen and nineteen. They're beautiful young ladies, positively glowing with purity and grace,” Arthur said. “But... I suppose they might not be as chaste as I suspect. I was wrong about you, after all.”
Wilomena felt sick as she listened to him. Arthur's rants often unsettled her stomach.
“I prefer to think most young ladies aren't as duplicitous as you,” Arthur continued. “With names like Mercy and Constance, I'm sure they wouldn't be the type to trick a viscount into marrying a whore.”
“Arthur...” Wilomena whispered his name. “I wish you wouldn't say these things to me.”
Arthur chuckled at her request. “You can wish all you want, darling, but your wishes won't wipe away the truth. I'm stuck with a woman who's been defiled by another man. Do you think you're the wife I wanted?”
Do you think you're the husband I wanted? Wilomena wanted to scream the words back at him, but Arthur frightened her. More than once, she had seen the darkest side of him—the side that was hidden from the world. What would Aunt Cecilia do if she knew how Arthur treated her? What would she do if she knew how much her niece had tolerated? Wilomena was too embarrassed to reveal the extent of her misery, so she kept most of it to herself.
“You've cheated me out of what I deserve in this life,” Arthur said. “I deserve a good wife. Now I'm stuck with... whatever you are.”
He made her hate herself. Every time he insulted her, every time she checked her reflection in the looking glass, she despised herself a little more.
With a heavy sigh, Wilomena requested, “I wish you would be a bit kinder to me, Arthur.”
“I am kind,” he said. “Earlier, when we were with Cecilia and George, I wrapped my arm around you and said you were lovely. How much more kindness do you think you deserve?”
Wilomena tried to change the subject. She needed to get him talking about something else, so he would stop talking about all the ways she had disappointed him. “Cecilia and George have been spending a lot of time together. Do you think they're fond of each other?”
“He's as fond of her as a man can be of a woman of her years. He probably sees her as an aunt, same as you.”
When Arthur slid beneath the blankets with her, Wilomena felt pinpricks all over her skin. Her disgust for him had manifested on her flesh.
“We should have separate rooms,” Wilomena suggested. “I think we should both have our own space.”
Arthur laid down and slipped an arm under his head. “I couldn't agree more. As soon as your aunt leaves Welwyn Hall, it will be arranged.”
“Do you flirt with her?”
“Cecilia?” Arthur chuckled at his wife's question. “Who I flirt with is none of your business.”
“Why not? You made it my business before,” Wilomena said. “You even told me the names of your mistresses, and yet... I am the one who ruined our marriage. Your logic astounds me.”
“You ruined what we could have been when you opened your legs for another man.” Arthur visibly shuddered at the thought. “I cannot purge the image from my mind. You, on your back... letting some other man have his way with you. Whoever he is, he is your real husband. I had to settle for whatever was left of you.”
“I wish he was my husband!” Wilomena screamed at him.
Arthur's eyes rolled at her outburst. “Settle down, dear. Do you want the servants to hear our squabbles?”
“Perhaps they should!” she cried. “You pretend to be decent in pleasant company, but someone should know what a terrible man you are!”
Arthur sat up and caught her neck in his hand. His fingernails dug into her flesh as he tightened his grip. “You do not speak to me like that,” he hissed. “You will be an obedient wife!”
When she spoke, her voice was strained by his constricting hand. “You cannot demand my obedience any more than I can command you to be a decent husband!”
Infuriated by her words, he squeezed even harder. “I am more than decent. You're lucky I haven't cast you out!”
“You wouldn't.” Wilomena's eyes narrowed into slits, and she spoke through gritted teeth. “You wouldn't want the world to know your marriage is a sham.”
Arthur retracted his hand and murmured curses to himself. “We'll need children. An heir. If you give me a son, I would resent you a bit less.”
“What about a daughter?” Wilomena rubbed her neck. Even though he released her, she could still feel his fingers clamping down on her.
“I would prefer a son,” Arthur said. “I wouldn't want a daughter to turn out anything like her mother.”
Wilomena wanted to throw his words back at him, but she had tested his patience enough for one night. Instead, she said, “I would love any child of mine, son or daughter.”
“Good for you.” Smarmy chuckles rolled from his throat. “I will lay with you once a month and only once a month. If we're lucky, God will grant us a child with minimal effort.”
Wilomena laid down, turned away from him, and cradled herself in her arms. She felt the familiar sting of tears, building behind her eyes. It wouldn't be the first night she cried herself to sleep, and it wouldn't be the last. She felt entirely alone in the world. Wilo was convinced she would be miserable for the rest of her life.
Little did she know, there was someone in her life who was desperate to see her happy.