Grace through herself down on her bed, burying her face in the blue silk eiderdown, and did something that she hadn't done since she was ten and had just found out that her birth had been illegitimate – she cried. Her sobs echoed through the lonely room, reverberating on the polished stone walls and rebounding back twice as loud.
It was so unfair. Her grandfather expected her – no had ordered her – to marry Tavington. She had raged against him, told him that she wouldn't dream of marrying a man with such a reputation as his, and such an unfeeling disposition. But her Grandfather, for once, had not given in. He told her that she would be married in two weeks on her seventeenth birthday and that that was the end of the matter. He had called her a silly girl for making such a fuss, when (of course) it was every girls dream to marry so young and to such a 'distinguished' Colonel. It was as though he was simply telling her that she was to attend a garden party, and not a ceremony that would change her life for ever.
Perhaps the worst thing was that she knew that Tavington had been bribed into the arrangement. He had never shown the slightest interest in courting her, and only a few days before had taken great delight in humiliating her in front of her Grandfather's dinner guests, treating her as though she was a small, disobedient, child. She had never felt more like her grandfather's property in her life. Since she was a young toddler he had treated her fairly, spoiled her in fact. But now she was a 'woman' it seemed that he was more than ready to treat her just like the other court ladies – part of a mercenary exchange between powerful men.
He had told her that the marriage was for her own good. He had said that it would secure her reputation and teach her to be a lady. But Grace wasn't ready to be a lady. In fact she had never desired anything less than she did to be a lady. Ladies were dull and staid and steady. Grace wanted to tear around the countryside of the colonies, the wind in her hair, sitting astride (not side saddle) on a fine black horse, jumping the brooks and hedges and making acquaintances amongst the so-called peasants, who, as far as she could tell, had not even heard of etiquette, let alone practiced it.
Instead she was now destined to be the wife of someone who didn't love her; tied to him as sure as if she was bound with chains and sent to the tower.
Grace felt she knew a little something of love. She spent most of her days wiling away the hours reading poetry or plays. Shakespeare was her favourite but she had also read much from the renaissance period. All were tales of passion, love and feeling. Tavington did not seem capable of possessing such ardour. Maybe in battle, but not, perhaps particularly, where she was concerned. Grace had always presumed that she would be swept off her feet by some suitor – maybe one who'd have to fight for her like in the story of Romeo and Juliet - and she sobbed bitterly now as she realised instead that the only romantic experiences she would ever have would be the result of a heartless pact between her Grandfather and Tavington.
Automatically she reached for the small leather-bound diary which she had hidden in a secret draw in her bedside cabinet. She had found her mother's diary in the attic of her grandfather's Surrey estate, along with a locket with a small portrait of the lady she knew to be her mother, and the man she didn't know who was her father. Her mother's life had, in Grace's opinion, been remarkable. Her diary was full of tales of adventure and passion and love. She had known what it was like to feel, and she had been swept off her feet by an older Captain, who, though she had been with only briefly, had doted on her and with whom she had fallen head over heels in love. Grace flicked through the crisp and yellowing pages to her favourite entry, dated May 5th 1762:
Oh diary,
My love for the Captain knows no words. He is my breath, my warmth, my sustenance – everything I have ever dreamed is he – and though I rattle on like a dreamy maiden I can scarcely help but confide in you.
I told him today that I am carrying his child and he cried with poor joy. He is going to take me and the baby away to France to escape the cruel wrath of London. Though I know it may break my father's heart it will break mine not to go …
Though she loved reading about her father's more honourable intentions towards her and her mother, Grace wept inconsolably now. Never would she know such love as that. She wept both for her lost dreams and also for the dreams which her mother had never fulfilled. She had died less than a year after that entry – her Captain deserting her finally for the security of his wife's income.
After a few moments indulgence Grace pushed away her long blonde hair which had matted to her red sticky face and she rubbed her eyes viciously. She knew she was being pathetic. It was not at all unusual for matches to be agreed by families. She knew also that she could not refuse her Grandfather's request. He had been good enough to keep her, even though she was born illegitimate. She could have been given to the workhouse as yet another orphan, which London, at present, seemed to teem with. Instead she had been given privilege and opportunity. No she would do her duty as far as her Grandfather was concerned. Tavington, however, was another matter.
She drew herself purposefully up off the bed. So Tavington thought he had acquired a little wife to do his bidding, and to keep him satisfied when he returned from battle? He thought, as her Grandfather suggested, that he could somehow 'tame' her into becoming a perfect lady, only too willing to talk of his greatness to any who would listen, and perhaps wipe his brow when he was perplexed. No, Grace would not do any of those things. She would satisfy her Grandfather by marrying this man, but she would not make it easy for Tavington. She brushed aside the way her face had flamed when her Grandfather had told her about the arrangement. True she had in a weak moment found him alluring, and true also that she had shivered slightly as when he had looked at her hard, commanding her to show him the due respect. But she must not show fear when she was his wife. Grace had never feared anything or anyone in her life. She did what she pleased and, wife or no wife, she was not about to stop the things she loved - it was what made her feel real against that shadows of selves which she saw in her cousins or the old spinsters. It also made her feel connected to her mother.
She felt herself age five years in the fifteen minutes that she sat rigid on the bed, staring out of the open window into the scorched countryside, which showed no signs of lustre or life, the diary still clasped tightly in her hand. The only thing that marriage could really change was her freedom, and as she had no intention of allowing that to happen she suddenly felt better. She smoothed down her clothes and, without so much as a shaking hand she stalked from the room and down to the stables.
Pleases review if you get chance, I know this chapter is a bit short! The next chapter will see more action and the first proper encounter between Tavington and Grace … also perhaps another couple of familiar faces will emerge …
