Chapter 6
Phillip was in a foul temper, and did little to hide it. Lettie sat quietly, doing her best not to draw any attention to herself. Drawing on years of experience she willed her limbs not to tremble, her pulse not to race, her breathing to remain calm. When her husband was this enraged, he was beyond reason, and she wished she were invisible. But all she could do was remain still and as quiet as possible, and pray that his rage would burn itself out quickly. It did not always happen. Sometimes her very silence would make the situation worse, provoking his temper down a darker path. Seeing her, so still, so quiet, was all the excuse Phillip needed to strike out either verbally or, as was more usual, physically.
For some inexplicable reason Phillip had been incensed to discover Catherine had already arrived, and was now resting in the upstairs bedroom that had been made ready for her. His rage made no sense. Why should his temper be riled because his cousin was safe beneath his roof? She had, after all, been expected the better part of the summer.
Lettie had tried her best to hide her disappointment at their initial meeting. Despite dark smudges beneath her eyes, and the weary slump of her shoulders, it was impossible not to see how extraordinarily beautiful Catherine was. Something that would not escape Phillip’s notice. Now, keeping her countenance calm, Lettie went over all that had happened since Phillip entered the house. His rage had erupted in a profanity-laced tirade with her confirmation of his cousin’s arrival. Was Lettie herself the catalyst for his anger? Had Phillip heard something in his wife’s voice, a lightness of tone perhaps? Lord knows she had been given no reason in the past ten years to express anything akin to happiness, but was Phillip’s anger a perverse reaction to knowing Lettie now had a companion to help fill her lonely days?
She watched him warily, recognizing all too well the signs that warned her what kind of release her husband needed to quell his temper. As his anger burned, so too did the need to slake his lust. Grabbing Lettie by the arm, Phillip jerked her to her feet.
“No, Phillip, not here—the servants!” she begged, revolted by the all too familiar look in his eyes.
“Am I not master in this house?” He growled, turning her around and pushing her face down across the settee’s low back.
Lifting her dress and petticoats, he flung them over her head. She offered no protest. To do so would only prolong her humiliation, but she could not stay the silent tears coursing down her cheeks as her husband forced her legs apart. He entered her from behind, making Lettie gasp with each agonizing thrust. She pressed a clenched fist against her mouth, stifling her cries until she heard her husband groan, and a shuddering spasm of his body against hers told her he was done. With his need gratified, Phillip had no more use for his wife. After wiping himself on her petticoat, he readjusted his clothing and left the room.
Lettie silently counted to ten, wanting to be sure Phillip did not return, before pulling down her clothing. The passing years had not diminished the shame she felt, but she hastily wiped away the tears with the back of her hand before settling the mask back into place. The question that had planted itself in her mind the first night Phillip had taken her now crashed inside her head.
What had happened to make her husband the monster he was?
* * * *
The bath water was rapidly cooling so Phillip quickly sluiced himself off and, after toweling dry, lay on his bed to think. Having a hip bath was a luxury few of his peers indulged in, but it had been the first extravagance Phillip had bought with Lettie’s money. He couldn’t say why such a convenience had caught his fancy, but it set him apart from others. And he enjoyed the distinction, even though he rarely used it more than once a month. Like everyone else, he simply hand washed himself when necessary. Bathing was an indulgence meant more for restoring his humor than cleansing his body. It helped to clear his mind, soothe his temper, and allow him to think.
His focus was now on his newly found cousin. Whatever conflict had resulted in his father being disowned by his family was of little consequence. The man was dead, and his cousin a stranger. As the only living Davenport male, he could have claimed The Hall, but an inheritance so heavily mortgaged was a liability. So he abandoned any claim and decided to let Catherine’s home become someone else’s headache, especially as he did not possess the means to satisfy the creditors. But even though he had relinquished his rights to bricks and mortar, the damned attorney still had the effrontery to suggest he provide a home for an impoverished girl with no means of support.
He cared nothing for Catherine or her situation, and the idea of giving her shelter filled him with cold indifference. Why should he be expected to support her? It was as if he was being punished because she was not wed. The only reason she even knew of his existence was because she was now destitute. Would she have been so eager to search for his whereabouts had this not been the case? Phillip’s derisive snort was answer enough.
It made absolutely no difference that Catherine was equally as ignorant about him. That she knew nothing about the circumstances of his birth or wretched childhood. Or that, even if she had known, she was in no position to change those circumstances. All that mattered to Phillip was knowing she had grown up in a big house with servants, and would, most likely, still be welcome in circles where he would be turned away. Seething at the perceived injustice, he let the bitter taste of revenge coat his tongue and flood his mouth.
When he’d first received Jacob Whitney’s letter, he was tempted to burn it, unread, but instead of setting it alight, he opened it. The start of the letter repeated information he’d already been told, but then Jacob made an unexpected suggestion. Perhaps Phillip might fulfill his duty to his cousin by helping to arrange a suitable match for her. He frowned and read the letter again, to be certain he understood. The attorney seemed confidant Catherine would have no difficulty in securing a husband, and there was only one thing that would prompt a man to ask for a hand that came with no dowry. His cousin must be very beautiful indeed.
“Marriage?” he asked Jacob’s representative at their next meeting.
The small mousy man, fully apprised of the situation, nodded. “Mr. Whitney assures me that Miss Davenport is most accomplished.”
“I care nothing for her accomplishments. Is she so comely that she could tempt a man with no dowry to offer?” He smiled sourly, recalling his own path to connubial bliss.
“I am told she is fair,” the other attorney stated. “Very fair indeed.”
Phillip gave him a disdainful stare. “All women could be considered fair. I need details.” And he proceeded with a list of questions.
Though Jacob’s response was favorable, Phillip was still hesitant. The notion of beauty was apt to change according to the viewer, and, if dire circumstances were also a factor, it was reasonable to assume some embellishments would have been made. But Phillip was not interested in finding a suitable husband for his cousin. Marriage was an agreement that depended on far too many variables beyond his control. He looked instead for a simpler arrangement. One where the only matter of concern would be financial, and that was something Phillip could dictate. Especially as he enjoyed an understanding with the proprietor of a certain establishment.
A place where the walls were dark and filled with mirrors.
A place where, for the right price, any depraved appetite could be satisfied.
A place where a girl’s virginity could command a king’s ransom.
His proposal had been tentatively accepted with the proviso that Catherine met all expectations. The whoremaster was a cautious man, but he sweetened the deal with the promise that Phillip could watch as his cousin was broken in.
And so Phillip had set his plan in motion with meticulous care. To all concerned, the attorney in particular, he gave the outward appearance of helping a destitute relative and, giving weight to the lie, he instructed his wife to decorate and furnish a bedroom for his cousin. But it was never his intention to have Catherine set foot inside his house.
People went missing all the time. They vanished without a trace, and a young girl who was a stranger to the city, traveling with no relative to escort her…it wasn’t so difficult to believe. Tragic yes, but not unheard of. Still he had to be careful. Others would know Catherine’s destination and Phillip had to make sure that the finger of suspicion was never pointed at him. The pivotal part of his plan was to make sure she was abducted before she ever arrived in the city. So he paid handsomely for her to be taken at the last coaching station where horses were changed. But it never happened, and with no explanation as to why. Phillip’s anger spilled over into fury, making him vent his anger and frustration on his wife. His cousin was supposed to have already been on her way to the new life he had chosen for her, not resting upstairs! Now if Catherine were to disappear it might look suspicious.
Unless, unless…it were to happen while she was with his wife.
An abduction in the park perhaps?
Phillip felt his spirits lift. If Lettie were to witness Catherine’s disappearance it would give the tragic event credibility, and definitely remove any suggestion of his own involvement. He would just have to make certain that once his cousin Catherine disappeared, it would be a permanent arrangement.
After getting up from the bed, Phillip went to the bureau and put ink to parchment. A few lines confirming his resolve, and explaining how an unforeseen circumstance had forced a change of plan. Quickly he outlined an alternate proposal for delivering Catherine to the man who would ultimately control her fate. The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, the delicate sound totally at odds with the room’s occupant. Melting some wax, Phillip quickly affixed his seal and arranged for the letter’s delivery before dressing for dinner.