Page 11 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

“That is between me and the man in question and is none of your business. You can march every eligible man before me from a hundred-mile radius; the fact remains, I would have to approve of the match.” A smug smile curved about his lips. “And he would have to meet the terms.”

What terms? She sipped her tea. “What does it matter? I cannot leave my husband, can I? Obtaining an annulment is next to impossible and a divorce even more so.”

“At least you understand that much. Very well, Daughter. If you find a desperate man who will agree to marry you, by all means, have him come see me.” Her father’s cruel smile widened. “I will be sure to inform him of all your many faults. Pepperdon kept me apprised through the years. The fact that you are a barren, frigid bitch will give any man pause.”

Again, his words sliced across her heart. How she wished she were frigid and unfeeling, then his hurtful words would be a glancing blow, nothing more. Were all men as malicious and spiteful as her father and late husband? She had no other men in her life to compare them to; perhaps all men were hateful creatures.

The image of Mr. Riordan Black formed in her mind. No, not all men. However, she would not take advantage of his kind, compassionate nature and draw him into this messy mire. There must be another solution, but what?

He deserved better than her, a broken shell of a woman.

Chapter 5

Not ten minutes after Lady Pepperdon departed, Riordan penned a letter to the law firm in London that the Wollstonecrafts had used for years. One of his mates from Cambridge worked there as a solicitor, and Riordan laid out the woman’s dilemma (without mentioning her name), asking if there were any precedents for dissolving a marriage, and was Scotland an option? He asked for William Chambers’s complete discretion in the matter. Lady Pepperdon—Sabrina—haunted his thoughts as he made his way home at six o’clock in the evening. He felt compelled to help her—why, he hadn’t quite worked out. But her desolate declaration of being subjected to horrors from her husband played over and over in his mind.

His residence came into view. The board provided him with a small, partially furnished cottage not a half a mile from the school. They employed a housekeeper/cook, who came four days a week for general cleaning, laundry, and meal preparation. Often Mrs. Ingersoll, the wife of a laborer at the flour mill, made enough to last for days.

Since he’d been brought up with servants to see to his needs, and given every luxury one could imagine, it was an arduous process to learn how to prepare his own tea, fry an egg, and reheat Mrs. Ingersoll’s meals. Thinking about it, he could hardly fault Sabrina for wishing to maintain her comfortable living. He may have been hasty to exact a harsh judgment on her when he too had been pampered his entire life.

Becoming used to such a small area in which to live also proved to be difficult. The entire cottage could fit into his dressing room at Wollstonecraft Hall. Yet he understood he still had an easier time of it than the many families in and around Carrbury.

Never had he been so alone. Damn it all, he was homesick. Preparing lessons for the next day took up most of his evening, but he was used to lively conversations and the presence of his family. Sometimes in this small abode, the silence was deafening. The ticking of the wall clock sounded like pistols firing, and the slightest breeze whistling through the shutters mimicked a banshee wail. All this did lessen in intensity whilst he prepared his lessons.

After unlocking the door, he entered the cottage. The bits of furniture were not in the best condition, obviously donations from various residences in town. There would be a brief break next week on the first of October, in conjunction with the harvest moon, an agreement reached by the farmers and board members to allow children to help with the harvest and prepare for winter. Riordan would head home, borrow a wagon and horse from Garrett, and return with a few choice pieces of furniture, like a more comfortable mattress. He sighed as he lit the oil lamp. He missed a great many things. But even in his maudlin bouts of homesickness he found a sense of accomplishment in the fact that he was earning his keep. When he’d accepted this position, he decided to live within his means for the year. It had been sobering and humbling.

Teaching exceeded all his expectations. Never did he believe he would derive such inner contentment. Turns out he enjoyed the experience, and already it had moved beyond research for his educational reforms. He began to foster plans, like building the progressive school he’d spoken to his grandfather about. Perhaps he would make himself headmaster. Until then, he soldiered on with his work.

He’d instituted Sabrina’s suggestion of a brief cessation of study, and it had been a complete success. The children gobbled down the ginger biscuits, and after their respite appeared brighter and more alert for the remaining day. Riordan made a mental note to bring up the subject at the next board meeting. There was no reason why the children could not break for a short recess and play outside for ten minutes, weather permitting.

Laying his satchel on the table, he exhaled with relief when he spotted meat pie and fresh bread on the counter. Moving efficiently about the small kitchen area, he lit the wood stove and placed the kettle on it, then slid the plate into the oven to warm up the pie. A knock sounded at his door. He’d already removed his frock coat and rolled up his sleeves—should he answer the door in such a casual state? Riordan strode to the front door and opened it.

Sabrina. At least, he guessed—the lady in question wore a wool cloak with a large, fur-trimmed hood that obscured her face. But the enticing scent gave her away. “Do come in, Lady Pepperdon.”

She scurried across the threshold and he closed the door after her.

“May I take your cloak?”

“No. I’m not staying.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“My maid inquired for me.”

Her words were clipped. She would not meet his gaze, remaining hidden under the hood. Gently, he lowered it, and she gasped. Grasping her chin, he made her look at him. “Why have you come?”

Her lower lip trembled. “Let go of me.”

Sabrina’s harsh tone was covered in frost. This from the woman who’d desperately clung to him a mere couple of days past. Riordan did as she asked. “Answer my question.”

She looked about the small room, and in finding a chair, sat upon it. He could see the distaste in her eyes as she observed his sparse and simply furnished cottage. She was the same as those pretentious young ladies he’d come across at balls. Her haughty tone and look dismissed his earlier sympathetic thoughts toward her. Annoyed, he crossed his arms and waited for her to respond.

Clasping her gloved hands tightly in her lap, Sabrina finally met his gaze. Her harsh expression relaxed, her eyes glistened. “First, allow me to apologize for being forward in asking you to marry me. I haven’t been myself of late. I have nowhere to turn, and the feeling of being lost and desperate makes me cross and annoyed with myself. I do not like being helpless, I abhor it, and yet I have been from the moment I was born.” She laughed cynically. “I have had no say in any aspect of my life. My mother died when I was young. All I have known is cold disregard from my father, even hatred, for I was a daughter, not the son he wanted. The first chance he could be shunt of me, he took it, would not even allow me a season to find a suitable husband near my own age. Instead, I was handed off to an old man—sold to the highest bidder, so to speak.”

Sabrina looked away, her eyelids blinking rapidly. “Forgive me. I’ve been indulging in bouts of self-pity. I suppose I could surrender and allow my father to dictate whom I marry. But I cannot. I must fight in any way I’m able, do you see?” She met his gaze once again, her eyes full of unshed tears. She spoke with such heartrending emotion, his annoyance fled. And to think he thought her chilly and snobbish.

“Yes, I see. As a man, I cannot begin to comprehend how powerless a woman must feel. You’re right; from the moment of birth she is dependent upon men to see to her comforts, her very survival.”

“Precisely. My father threatens to turn me out to find my own way. Where? How? What is a woman to do? I don’t want to be a kept woman, but I’m not trained for any kind of occupation. There is the companion path, but those positions are few and far between. This is the best option I can come up with to work my way toward the independence I crave. I need to formulate my plan without haste.” Sabrina hesitated, and sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”