Page 2 of The Beast of Barendale Manor

Evangeline Longford sat in her living room, trying not to laugh at her sister.

Matilda had her tongue caught between her teeth and a frown on her face as she attempted to stitch the embroidery she was holding. Evangeline tried not to wince as her sister put in a stitch that was much too wide and left some thread exposed at the back.

“Better,” she stated with a nod.

Matilda looked up at her irritably and lowered her sewing to her lap. “It is terrible, Evie. Don’t pretend.”

Evangeline sighed. Despite only two years of difference between them, she and her sister were remarkably different. Where Evangeline was accomplished in needlework, singing, and playing the pianoforte, her younger sister struggled with them all.

Matilda was extremely intelligent and, to her detriment, excelled at mathematics. Such abilities were not useful for a woman of her station, and as a result, their father’s full attention was on Evangeline and the marriage she might one day secure.

Matilda was rather cruelly cast aside. She was neither as pretty nor as dutiful as Evangeline and often spoke her mind, much to her father’s irritation. Their mother sat nearby in weary silence, a supportive and loving woman in her own way but passive when it came to their father’s wishes.

Lord Longford was pompous and self-important in everything he did. Evangeline did not wish to think ill of her father, but she had never felt affection for him either. From the moment she turned eleven he had been schooling her in the art of wooing a husband. Everything she did was catered toward winning the most advantageous match possible. Matilda often joked about how fortunate it was that Evangeline was so pretty, as she could attract enough suitors for the both of them.

Evangeline sighed as she rested her own embroidery on her lap. Her future felt as though it had been laid out for her since before she was born. When she was very young, she had entertained the idea of falling deeply in love with the perfect man. Now a grown woman, with one season behind her, she was resigned to a loveless connection.

As her first season unfolded it had swiftly become clear, that her father would choose her partner for her based on his requirements, not her own.

What Evangeline wanted was largely irrelevant. Even the eligible men who admired her were systematically rejected by her father. The new season would be upon them soon, and she knew that her choices would slowly be stripped away from her as the months wore on.

“Is Caterina attending the Levison ball?” her mother asked suddenly. Harriet Longford sat in the corner of the room, a slight woman with copper-coloured hair and a thin smile.

“I believe she is in Bath for another few days and will miss the Levison’s ball.”

“Pity,” her mother muttered, “I need to speak with her mother about the tea she is holding. Do you know she has invited Violet Hemming? Insufferable woman that she is. I do not know why she is invited to anything these days.”

“Because she has an enormous fortune and a title,” Matilda remarked stoutly as she popped a scone into her mouth. “She will want for nothing in life with those.”

“Matilda, do not speak with your mouth full, dearest,” her mother admonished softly.

Evangeline had heard her mother raise her voice only once in twenty years. She was a soft and quiet person, with a propensity to overthink what she said until she eventually said nothing at all.

All of them gasped in unison as the door to the drawing room burst open. The sudden rush of air made the fire hiss violently, and the back-draft dragged a quantity of smoke into the room.

“I have it!” her father exclaimed, striding into the room and slamming the door behind him.

The ladies exchanged startled glances as he came to stand before them in front of the fire, looking at them one by one, an elated expression on his face.

“What do you have, my dear?” her mother asked carefully. Evangeline and Lady Longford dutifully lowered their books and embroidery to pay full attention to the master of the house.

“A match!” her father stated plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Her mother stiffened considerably, and Evangeline’s palms became clammy in her lap as she prayed she had misunderstood her father’s meaning.

“A match, my love?” Lady Longford asked. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I have found Evangeline a most advantageous partner. An earl, no less. The marriage will herald great things for this family.”

Evangeline sat utterly still. The only movement for a few seconds was the crackle of the fire. Slowly, and with no sudden movements, Matilda’s hand slid into her own.

“That is wonderful,” Lady Longford attempted, her voice careful and quiet, as always. “Will you not tell us who it is?”

“The Earl of Barendale,” he replied triumphantly. His neck wobbled back and forth as he looked at them gleefully, his chin thrust forward in delight.

No one made a sound as Matilda’s hand clenched against Evangeline’s so tightly that she winced.

“The… the Earl of Barendale ?” her mother asked. “No, my dear, you are jesting with us.” She tittered and leaned away from him, her smile expectant in anticipation of the joke.

The baron frowned at her. “Of course, I am not jesting, my dear. Do you believe I would toy with our daughters in such a way?”

For the first time in her life, Evangeline saw her mother’s temper show itself. Her eyes hardened as she looked upon her husband. She rarely spoke against him; indeed, Evangeline could not recall her ever having done so. Now, she seemed moments away from fighting his every word.

“I have procured a special license,” her father continued, unaware of his wife’s ire. “It will allow the marriage to take place in a matter of days, and we shall be aligned with one of the most prestigious families in the country.”

Lady Longford shifted in her seat, her face white, her lips pursed in a hard line.

“The Earl of Barendale may be of noble stock, but we cannot ignore the rumours about his character,” she insisted, “his very being. ”

“Harriet, you know I do not hold with rumours such as those. I am surprised you entertain them.”

“But everyone has heard them!” Matilda said fiercely. “It is not a question of ignoring them; he is a horrendous individual. He hasn’t been seen in good society for years, known for his brutish temperament and that he has let his estate all but disintegrate. Not to mention, he is horribly disfigured from the dubious fire that killed his first wife. How on earth—”

“You will be silent,” her father snapped. Evangeline closed her eyes in despair as his angry gaze fell on Matilda. “No one has asked your opinion, Matilda, and I would keep your ill-informed and incorrect opinions to yourself. I have met with the earl. I am certain all this surmise and conjecture is vicious gossip by those who envy his status.”

“What status?” Matilda muttered under her breath, and her father’s eyes speared her with another furious glare.

Evangeline’s heart pounded in her chest, and she tried to keep her composure in the face of such hideous news. How could Papa do this to me? For years, she had done everything he had asked of her, playing the dutiful daughter in the hopes that he would find a match for her that they both found agreeable.

She knew of the earl’s reputation; few didn’t. There were rumours around his first wife’s death about the reclusive life he lived in Barendale Manor. He was said to be horribly scarred, disfigured—beastly. She had always expected her marriage might not be a love match, but this was beyond reproach.

“Does Evangeline not deserve happiness in her marriage?” Matilda protested. She had never been one to hold her tongue in the face of injustice.

“Who says she will be unhappy?” her father snapped. “A successful marriage takes work, whomever she marries. His title, fortune, and reputation will give her a good life and bring great prestige to this family. We will do very well to remember how privileged we are to be linked to such an esteemed member of society.”

Evangeline remained silent even as her mother renewed her objections to her father, urgently asking him to reconsider.

She gave an outward appearance of calm while her mind was an ocean swirling with dark, unnamed fears.

In a matter of minutes, her life had been turned upside down. This morning, she had awoken, her mind filled with thoughts of the coming season and of the potential marriage prospects in her close acquaintance.

Now, all of that had been cast aside for someone she had never even met. Her hands trembled as she imagined what her future might hold now—but even in all the hideous uncertainty, there was an irrepressible spark of intrigue.

She could not deny that there was something about the earl that had always fascinated her. The idea of a man shut away in his decaying mansion and never being seen by the world at large had a gothic romance about it.

I am drawn to him, she thought with dismay. We are the same after all, both of us trapped by our positions in life. Perhaps there is some hope left for us.

If she allowed herself to wallow in despair, she would go mad. She had to find a positive in this situation, or she would wither away completely—just as he had done.

“Evangeline!” her father said suddenly, pulling her out of her inner world and dragging her back to the present. “Are you not going to thank me? This is more than you could ever have hoped for.”

“Frederick,” her mother said impatiently. “Evangeline has many excellent prospects on the marriage mart.”

“And who are they?” Lord Longford challenged, fire in his words as he belittled his wife’s opinions. It was an old scene and one that Evangeline knew well.

“Thank you, Papa,” she said swiftly as Matilda’s fingers squeezed to the point of pain. “I am much obliged to you for your endeavours.”

“As well you might be. To think my daughter will be a countess!” he proclaimed, walking to the decanter and pouring himself some port. “We are destined for great things,” he said, raising his glass to a room where no one else was drinking.

Evangeline fought back tears as she attempted to remain composed despite the onslaught of emotions rushing through her.

I must be strong for my family. There are worse fates on this earth than marriage.

***

Edmund entered the dining hall late and received a warning glance from his mother. Lady Viola Barstow was seated to the right of the head of the table, as was her wont: his cousin, Colin Barstow, on the left.

Edmund nodded to them and sat down.

How am I going to explain what I just agreed with Baron Longshire? He thought, knowing full well that his mother was likely to be utterly incensed with him.

He gripped his knife and fork firmly, glad that at least they were returning to Barendale Manor soon. She was always happier in the country.

“I saw Lady Eggerton in town today,” Colin said cheerfully, swirling his red wine and catching Edmund’s eyes. “She is enormous.”

“Colin, that is not seemly language to use for a woman who is with child,” his mother protested, looking to Edmund as though he should be defending the lady’s honour.

“It is twins, my Lady; I can assure you, it is quite appropriate language.”

The dowager countess frowned at him all the same. Edmund could not even muster a smile; he picked at his food, conscious of their curious gazes but unable to think how to open the topic of his impending marriage.

But I must, he thought bitterly. If I do not tell them, they will hear it elsewhere, and that would be far worse.

As they finished their starters, which Edmund had barely touched, the main course of venison was brought out and Edmund felt sick to his stomach as he looked at it.

I should have argued with him. I should have refused. Why did I let him talk me into marriage of all things?

The thought of having a wife again was horrifying. It may have been three years since Adelaide’s death, but he was still far from ready. All he had thought about until now was what she might look like—what her character might be.

He had not even entertained what she might think of him. The idea was dreadful. What woman would ever look at him as anything other than a hideous beast? But he could not retract it. The scandal would be enormous if he reneged on the engagement, and he did not need any more scandal in his life. He would not become the topic of yet more gossip.

At least a wedding was a positive thing for the weak-minded to talk of. They might be surprised anyone would have him, but it might keep away the vicious rumours that had circulated about Adelaide’s death.

“I am to be married,” he blurted out. The words escaped before his mind had fully comprehended what he was going to say. His mother’s fork clattered to her plate. Colin, who had been swilling his wine in a contemplative sort of way, froze in place, staring at him as though he had entirely lost his senses.

Perhaps I have.

“I beg your pardon, Edmund,” his mother said with a sharp laugh, “I believe I must have misheard you.”

“I assure you, you have not misheard, Mama. I am to be married to Baron Longshire’s eldest daughter, Evangeline Longford.” His palms were sweating. His infernal collar felt as though it were throttling him.

He glanced at Colin. The man’s perpetual smile was missing. In fact, Edmund could almost detect anger at the back of his eyes, but then the usual grin returned, and he raised his glass.

“Well, this is some cause for celebration,” he said with an enthusiastic tone that sounded forced to Edmund’s ears. I had no idea you were returning to the marriage mart, old boy. Well done, I must say.”

His next act was to finish his wine. The glass had been almost full. Edmund frowned at him, but his mother’s voice cut through the noise in his head.

“Dearest,” she said gently. “However has this happened?”

I am too monstrous to love, of course, though she would never say so.

“Baron Longshire came to speak with me today about a business deal he wished to enter into. I am leasing some land to him.”

Edmund chose his words carefully; his mother was unaware of the terrible state of his finances, and he wished to keep it that way.

“He spoke of his daughter,” Edmund continued, “of his wish to marry her to a noble line.” Edmund thought feverishly, trying to think of a good enough reason that he would ever have agreed to it.

“As you know the estate has been in some disrepair, of late. Her dowry is substantial, and they are a noble family. She is accomplished and beautiful, or so I am told. And it is time, Mama. I have been alone too long.”

He knew that those words would clinch it for him. His mother’s severe expression softened, and she took his hand. She was still pale with shock but managed a faint smile.

“Then I am happy for you,” she said tenderly.

“Well done indeed,” Colin said, irritating Edmund with a boisterous wink as he looked at him. “She is exceedingly beautiful. I saw her at a ball not four weeks ago. You are very fortunate in your wife, Edmund.”

Nausea rose in his throat. He was trapping a beautiful young woman into a marriage with a man who she could never possibly want or find any redeeming qualities in. His throat was too tight. He couldn’t breathe.

Somehow, he forced his way through the remainder of the meal, answering his mother’s questions and trying to ignore the strange atmosphere from Colin.

After the supper was concluded, the two men made their way to the parlour. Edmund desperately wanted some time alone, but Colin was a good friend, and he owed him a brandy for everything he had done to help with the estate.

His hand shook as he poured them both a drink into two cut-glass tumblers. Colin approached, taking his glass, his smile firmly in place now.

Perhaps I imagined his feelings; it is not the first time I have projected my own discomfort onto another.

“I can hardly believe it. I am happy for you,” Colin said, raising his glass. Edmund returned it, watching his cousin carefully.

Colin had a tell that did him no good in any card game: his right eye twitched whenever he was agitated, and Edmund saw it in him now. His little finger tapped incessantly against the glass as he drank deeply, almost finishing the brandy in a single mouthful. “So, what is she like, this Evangeline Longford ?” Colin asked.

“I imagine you know more about her than I,” Edmund replied. “You said you had met her.”

“Seen her, that is not quite the same. We have not been formally introduced. She has only been out for one season, and I have been occupied with your estate for much of it.”

Edmund was reminded again how much he owed his cousin, and he refilled his glass as they took a seat before the fire.

“She is accomplished, or so her father tells me,” Edmund added, attempting to find some positives in a bad situation. “I recall there is a younger sibling, not yet out. They are of good stock but not of an elite class.”

“And her father’s fortune?” Colin asked.

“Good enough to lease land from me at any rate. That will be another few hundred pounds for the coffers.”

“Did he outline the extent of the dowry?”

The questions were asked in a light tone but with an urgency beneath them that put Edmund on edge. It was understandable that Colin, who had been heavily involved in trying to get the estate back on its feet, would want to understand the terms of the marriage. However, he did not wish to discuss the details further. The questions seemed sordid and unnatural somehow."

“He did,” Edmund conceded. “I shall explain it another time when it is not so late.”

Colin raised his eyebrows at him, but at Edmund’s stern glare, he fell silent. They sat for some minutes with neither of them speaking, until finally Colin sighed. Edmund clenched his hand around his glass, anticipating another objection.

“I mean no offence, Edmund. You know how much I admire you and everything you have fought against. But is this not hasty? Who is this woman? Why should she suddenly be brought into your life when you have been battling to find an equilibrium for so long?”

Edmund made no answer, staring into the flames and wishing Colin would go to bed. He did not want to talk of Evangeline again. He was feeling more melancholic by the second.

“Have you considered all the implications of the match? We do not yet know whether the estate will return to solvency. You know that I have done everything I can to help and will continue to do so, but there are consequences to every action. A wife can be an expensive thing to own.”

Edmund kept his expression blank even as he revolted at the words.

Colin had never been married and did not understand the purity and happiness it could bring. The very thought that a man owned his wife ruffled Edmund’s feathers considerably. It was not an unknown concept that men saw women in such a manner—many did, in fact—but Edmund was not among their number.

Finishing his brandy, Colin appeared to recognize that Edmund was tired of talking. Slapping the handle of his chair, he laughed.

“Chin up, Edmund,” he said ruefully. “I am only looking out for you. I am sure all will turn out well. She will be the making of you, I have no doubt!”

Edmund bid him goodnight, and Colin left him to his thoughts. Edmund settled deeper into his chair, staring at the amber liquid in his glass.

A wife can be an expensive thing…

He scoffed at the idea—not as expensive as a failing estate.

He needed the dowry money, that was the truth of it. The idea ate at him, his thoughts turning to his bride-to-be. He wondered whether she would be able to tolerate his appearance enough to spend any time with him. She was only twenty years old; he could only imagine what she must feel to be sold off like this.

He drained his glass. And what on earth is wrong with Colin?

He had never known the man so curious. From the time he heard of the marriage, he had seemed on edge and strange. But then, Edmund conceded, it would have been a great surprise to his mother and his cousin. He could hardly expect them not to ask questions.

He settled down in his chair, stretching out his feet, his mind wandering to what Evangeline might be thinking. Had her father told her yet? He could not bear to hope that she would be tolerable.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight, and he knew if he fell asleep in his chair, Croft would wake him shortly. He was not of a mind to move—the large empty bed above him held no appeal for him. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the doubts creeping in on all sides.