Page 56 of Venus in Disguise

Her father is another matter. He seems to take great delight in vexing me. Indeed, I feel certain he is becoming more provoking by the day, goading me into retaliating. I won’t, naturally, for such displays are beneath my dignity. He’s such an arrogant devil, though, I fear it has become a game to him. One I shall not play. Men like him think women are sport, something to be conquered. No doubt he thinks his beautiful face is enough to have me swooning at the slightest scrap of attention he throws my way. You’d think after knowing me for some years now, he’d know better. I cannot fathom why he has suddenly turned his attention to me. Perhaps his latest light o’ love is a dull creature, and he has nothing better to do. Either way, I shall not let this latest turn of events trouble me. He is just another man, and he will grow tired when he cannot gain a response.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Harris (governess to Ottilie Barrington) to her aunt.

17thMarch 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

Narcissa stared down at her gorgeous husband, unable to keep the smile from her face. He lay sprawled on his front, his arms bracketing the pillow. Her gaze drifted over his muscular biceps and big shoulders, wondering how on earth his tailor made him appear so refined when the body of a prize fighter lay hidden beneath all that beautifully cut cloth. She let out a breath of laughter as she considered his taste for extravagant waistcoats and lavish embroidery, remembering one that had been covered in delicate pink peonies. Narcissa could think of no other man who would dare wear such a thing, yet Ash went his own way, choosing things that pleased him no matter what anyone else thought.

“Are you laughing at me?” he murmured sleepily as he cracked open an eyelid.

“As if I would,” she said, reaching out to stroke his hair.

He made an indistinct sound of content and closed his eye again, drifting back to sleep. A swell of happiness filled Narcissa’s heart, such deep contentment that her eyes brimmed with tears at the overpowering emotion. She had never known such peace and joy as he had brought her in the days since they had married, had not known she could feel the way she did. But he had filled the past two nights and days with lovemaking and in sharing himself with her by telling of her about his childhood, of his beloved Nani Maa, and the parents he so obviously adored. His twin sister was clearly a woman he held in the highest regard, and Narcissa knew she must do everything in her power to become friends with the woman or else life might be difficult indeed. That Ash valued Vivien’s opinion above all others was a truth she had become increasingly aware of, and that his twin shared some indefinable bond with him, one she must accept. She only hoped the woman did not dislike her for the way they had married and did not think Narcissa had manoeuvred him into a hasty marriage for her own sake.

Though they both knew they must return to Ash’s own home and face the world, every time they had tried to dress and leave the intimacy of this little retreat, they could not make themselves go. Whilst no one knew they were here, they were safe from the opinions and judgements of others and they could simply enjoy this time together, getting to know each other in ways they could not do until now.

The sound of the front door knocker did not trouble Narcissa, for no doubt it was someone looking for Mr Weston, and Barnes would send them onto the club as he had done several times already. Yet this time she heard raised voices, and something of a commotion. Anxious, Narcissa gave Ash a little shake.

He sighed and stretched languorously, turning onto his back and regarding her with a wicked glint in his eyes.

“Again?” he asked mildly. “My lady, you are ins—”

“Ash, listen,” she said, increasingly unnerved as she heard footsteps mounting the stairs.

Suddenly awake, Ash sat up. There was a knock at the door before Barnes spoke. “Mr Anson, my lady, beg pardon for disturbing you but Lord and Lady Cavendish are here. They wish to see you, Mr Anson. At once.”

“Bugger,” Ash said succinctly, running a hand through his black hair and making it stick up all over. “Tell them I shall be down directly and then come back with hot water so I can shave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your parents,” Narcissa said, wide-eyed with dismay.

“So it appears,” Ash replied, hurrying out of bed.

The next twenty minutes were a frenzy of activity as Ash played lady’s maid and shaved himself at record speed. He’d had Mrs Fenchurch send over clean clothes for him, and Mr Weston’s housekeeper had freshened up Narcissa’s gown so at least they did not look horribly rumbled and dishevelled by the time they made it downstairs.

“I feel sick,” Narcissa admitted as Ash led her to the parlour, where his parents waited for them.

“There’s no need, it’s me they’ll be furious with,” Ash said, which did not make her feel any better.

“What if they don’t like me? What if they think I tricked you into marrying me? What if—”

Ash stopped and pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. “They will love you. Stop fretting,” he said calmly, before giving her a swift kiss on the mouth and facing the door. “Here we go, then,” he muttered, before guiding her through.

Narcissa was uncertain what she had expected of Ash’s parents, but upon seeing them both, her husband made perfect sense. His father was a large, powerfully built man who looked more like a fellow who’d spent his life doing manual labour than being an aristocrat. His hair was a little on the long side and peppered with grey but that did not diminish the sense of restless energy that emanated from him. Eyes of intense blue the exact same shade as Ash’s settled on her with interest, and Narcissa held her breath whilst she took in his mother. Here was where Ash had inherited his stunning good looks, then. Though her raven black hair was streaked with white, the strong cheekbones, dark gold skin, and stunning figure were that of a woman half her age. The Countess of Cavendish was simply gorgeous and Narcissa did not doubt men still turned their heads to watch her instead of women young enough to be her daughter.

“Father, Mama, allow me to present to you my wife, The Lady Narcissa.”

Gathering her nerves, Narcissa executed a low curtsey and dared to meet his mother’s eyes.

“Good morning, child. Why, you are a ravishing creature. I can quite see why my son ran off and married you without a word to anyone,” she said, smiling, though there was something in her eyes that told Narcissa she was not entirely pleased.

“It might have been nice if you’d troubled yourself to introduce her to us a little earlier,” Lord Cavendish added mildly. “Especially when her father presented himself upon our doorstep with such insistence. His visit to your home was even more eventful, according to what Mrs Fenchurch told us this morning when we visited.”

“My lord, I am so terribly sorry,” Narcissa said, taking a step towards Lord Cavendish and then checking herself. “I’m afraid my father is n-not a very good man, nor a kind one, and… and he did not wish for me to marry Ashton. Indeed, he did not know I meant to do so.”

What his lordship might have said in response to this she would never know, as Ash spoke before he could reply. His voice was hard, the words ringing through the room.

“He beat her, Father.”