Stranger in My Arms(32)

Lara’s attention was caught by the bleakness in her sister’s expression. She looked closely at Rachel, suddenly noticing the lines of strain around her eyes and on her forehead, and the tension in her posture. “RacheL what is wrong? More problems between you and Lord Lonsdale?”

Her sister shook her head uncomfortably. “Not really, it’s just that… Terrell is so quick to take offense of late. He is bored and unhappy, and when he indulges in strong drink he becomes so agitated…”

“Agitated,” Lara asked in a low voice, “or abusive?”

Rachel was silent, her gaze downcast. It seemed that she was making some unpleasant decision. After a lengthy pause, she took hold of the white lace chemisette covering the d`ecolletage of her gown, and pulled it aside.

Lara stared blankly at her sister’s bared throat and upper chest, where two large bruises and a pattern of four shadowed fingermarks showed prominently against the translucent skin. Lord Lonsdale had done this to her… but why? Rachel was the gentlest and mildest of creatures, always mindful of her duty, living for the comfort of her husband and all those around her.

Lara felt herself quiver with fury’ tears springing to her eyes. “He’s a monster!” she said sharply.

Hurriedly Rachel replaced the concealing lace.

“Larissa, no, no… I didn’t show you in order to make you hate him. I don’t know why I showed you.

It is my fault. I complained about his gambling and incensed him beyond his capacity to bear. I must try to be a better wife. He needs something I am not able to supply. If I could only understand him better-” “When Hunter returns, I will have him talk to Lord Lonsdale,” Lara said, ignoring her sister’s protests. “No! Not unless you want this to happen again. or something even worse.”

Lara sat in miserable silence, fighting tears. She and Rachel had been brought up to believe that men were their protectors, that a husband was the superior, wiser half of a marriage. In her former sheltered innocence, she had not imagined that a man would be capable of striking his wife, or hurting her in any way. Why, of all people, was this happening to Rachel, the sweetest and gentlest woman she had ever known? And how could Rachel claim that it was her fault?

“Rachel,” she managed to say unsteadily, “you have done nothing to deserve this. And Lord Lonsdale has proven that his word means nothing. He’ll continue to inflict violence on you unless someone intervenes.”

“You must not tell Lord Hawksworth,” Rachel begged. “I would be so humiliated. Besides, if your husband took up the matter with him, I believe Terrell would deny everything and find some way to punish me later. Please, you must keep this a secret.”

“Then I insist that you tell Papa and Mama.”

Rachel shook her head hopelessly. “What would you have them do? Mama would cry and beg me to try harder to please Terrell. Papa would only brood in his study. You know how they are.”

“Then I’m to do nothing?” Lara asked in anguished protest.

Rachel laid a gentle hand over hers. “I love him,” she said quietly.

“I want to stay with him. Most of the time he is very kind to me.

It’s only now and then, when he can’t seem to control his temper, that things become… difficult. But those times always pass quickly.”

“How could you want to stay with someone who hurts you? Lord Lonsdale is a selfish, evil man-” “No.” Rachel withdrew her hand, her beautiful face turning frosty. “Not another word against him, Larissa. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have burdened you with this.”

A housemaid came to announce the dressmaker’s arrival, and the two women prepared to meet her in the downstairs parlor. Rachel left the room first, while Lara lingered behind with the sleeping child.

She laid a large embroidered shawl over him, tucking it at his neck, smoothing his soft, newly shorn hair.

“Rest here for now,” she whispered, kneeling by the sofa, staring into Johnny’s small, peaceful face. He seemed absurdly helpless, left at the mercy of a large and uncaring world. Thinking of his plight, and of Rachel’s, and the various problems of all her friends at Market Hill, Lara closed her eyes briefly.

“Dear Father in Heaven,” she said under her breath. “There are so many who need Your mercy and protection. Help me to know what to do for them. Amen.”

Chapter 9

IT WAS LAUNDRY day, a massive undertaking that occurred once a week and absorbed fully half the household. As had been her habit since the early days of her marriage, Lara supervised and participated in the washing, folding, and mending. In a house as large as Hawksworth Hall, it was necessary to sew cloth tickets on every pillowcase, featherbed, sheet, and blanket to determine where they belonged. Articles that were too worn or damaged to use were kept in a scrap bag to be sold to the rag merchant, the proceeds of which were divided amongst the servants.

“Bless you, milady,” one of the maids said as they folded freshly laundered linens in the washhouse.

“We’ve all missed the extra money we used to get from the ragman. Lady Arthur kept every shilling for her own purse.”

“Well, now everything is back the way it used to be,” Lara replied.

“Thank heaven,” the maid said fervently, and went to collect another basket of laundry.

Lara frowned and began to retie the loose strings of her white apron.