Page 55 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

How wonderful that Mary used her name. “I am. It is utterly marvelous to have choices in one’s life. Women have no power at all in this suffocating society; it is gratifying to know I alone will choose the path I wish take.”

Mary folded the blankets from the chaise and placed them in the cupboard. “Things are progressing with Mr. Black?”

Sabrina turned to face her. “Yes. I believe I am in love with him.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “You’re seriously considering keeping this arrangement permanent?”

“Yes…I’m considering it. No matter what I decide, I want you with me. Of course, you may make your own decision. Your life is your own as well, Mary.” She sighed wistfully. “But first, I must discover more about Riordan’s circumstances. He reveals little, and it concerns me.” She crossed her arms. “The quality of his clothes, for example. The fine greatcoat—tailored, to be sure, the way it fits his broad shoulders and tapers in to his slim waist. The top hat is of the finest beaver, not usually worn by those of the lower and working classes. Then there are the shirts and waistcoats with brass buttons, his silk drawers—”

“Silk drawers?” Mary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Sabrina slapped a hand over her mouth as a giggle escaped it. “Good heavens. You see, I assisted him with his bath last night.”

“That’s a discussion best had over a cup of tea. I’ll make us a pot, along with toast and cheese.” Mary stared over her shoulder. “Writing someone?” Sabrina explained about the recipient and why she was writing it. “Well done. Only, allow me to write it. What if the girl shows your father? He will recognize your handwriting. And we will pay to have it personally delivered, not sent through the post. It will save time and ensure it arrives in her hand.”

“You are clever.” Sabrina smiled.

“Devious, more like. We’d better put off making the apple pie until tomorrow or the next day. Now, for tea.” Mittens rubbed against Mary’s skirts, purring loudly. “And feeding the little beast.”

“What I said, about Riordan being middle class? In the end it does not matter. I would love him even if he was penniless.” If only he was more forthcoming. Yet she hadn’t told him about meeting her father in town. There were secrets between them on both sides. Until they were revealed, how could they have a future?

Chapter 21

His grandfather’s words filled his thoughts of late. The curse. If nothing else, it had made his family infamous. It had also brought unwanted attention. Their blood ties to the late Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, were removed by several generations. How did the connection go? His grandfather was fourth cousin to the author of Frankenstein? Or was it third?

Riordan had never met them, as the two branches were not close. Though they shared a number of progressive causes, his grandfather couldn’t abide William Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft’s husband. He leaned toward anarchism—far too radical for the earl. Besides, the man contacted the earl more than once before his death in 1836 looking to borrow money, as did his wife before him. To Riordan’s grandfather, that was well past enough, and he decided to have no further dealings with them.

Did a version of the curse touch the other branch of the family? There was solid evidence. Mary Wollstonecraft died in childbirth at the age of thirty-eight. One of her daughters reportedly committed suicide at age twenty-two. Mary Shelley’s first child, a daughter, did not survive birth. Then Mary found herself a widow at twenty-five when her husband, the poet Percy Shelley, drowned in Italy. But death touched all families. Riordan remained dubious, yet cautious about the curse.

As an educator, he was open to interpreting and learning all he could. The curse could not be completely dismissed. Once, when he and Aidan played in the dusty attics of the ancient Wollstonecraft Hall, they came across a neglected trunk. Locked, of course, but that would not deter fourteen-year-old boys filled with curiosity. Once they broke the lock, the insides turned out to be a disappointment. No gold coins or other treasure, just moldering ledgers. Aidan had stomped off in disgust, but Riordan stayed behind to investigate.

As Garrett had stated, generations of Wollstonecrafts suffered devastating losses of loved ones, mostly female. All were meticulously catalogued in the ledger, but one entry stayed with Riordan. It was written in 1704, by the ancient Earl of Carnstone. In visiting an infamous Scottish sorceress, he begged her to remove the curse, as he had lost his second wife to illness. The woman claimed only a love bond by all the living men of the family during a lunar year would break the curse.

What could it mean? That every living Wollstonecraft man must fall in love within any twelve month period? Unbelievable. And unrealistic. Regardless, the sobering proof of the endless rows of gravestones dating hundreds of years back would give any man cause to believe. Should he live his life as Garrett does, far removed from romantic entanglements, or instead embrace the overwhelming feelings of love coursing through him?

Three nights ago, he shared something rare with Sabrina. A desire he’d never known. Since losing his virginity at seventeen, he’d gained knowledge in the art of love. With each affair he learned a new technique; when to love with slow purpose and when to engage in wild sex. He enjoyed both equally and believed that in any intimate relationship there was room to explore both aspects.

But he was also a considerate lover, mindful of a woman’s pleasure. And her trepidations. Sabrina had plenty. Over the next several weeks he would show her that sex did not have to include the violations she’d been subjected to. His anger flared at the thought of her miserable husband.

Riordan glanced down at his beefsteak sandwich. He’d decided at the last minute to not go home for luncheon break today. Instead, he stayed at the school in order to make up lesson plans for the coming week, leaving Saturday and Sunday free. Spend it with Sabrina. He yearned to move beyond sizzling kisses and her touching him. God, how he wished to see her lying flat, her legs spread, him feasting as she writhed and moaned, culminating in her release.

They would get there. The vision formed in his mind, and he was lost in the erotic fantasy and did not hear a young lad enter the schoolroom.

“Are you Mr. Riordan Black?”

His attention returned to the present. “Yes, I am.”

The lad touched his forelock. “Delivery for you, sir.” Riordan fumbled in his pocket, found a shilling, and passed it to the boy. “Thank you, sir.”

He handed an envelope to Riordan, turned on his heel, and departed. There, on the reverse of the sturdy envelope was the wax seal of the Wollstonecrafts; a large wolf standing on a stone, howling at full bore. Breaking the seal, he pulled out the papers.

From his father. Riordan frowned as he read: Do not become angry, Riordan, but I have set a tentative date for the annulment hearing, with the understanding that if Miller Kenworth does not hear from you by the end of November the appointment will be henceforth cancelled.

The option is there if you wish. I did say I would not interfere, but I wanted to use our family’s influence to our advantage in order to procure a date as soon as possible. As you stated, you are of age, and the decision is ultimately yours. Regardless of my initial reaction, I will abide by and respect your judgment.

As I respect and love you. Forgive my harsh words. Riordan paused, his annoyance dissipating. A lump of emotion lodged in his throat. You are not your brother. Chalk up my irrational and emotional behavior to worry and concern, not only for you, but for Aidan’s mysterious disappearance.

Love, Papa