Chapter 59: He Tips Well
Jane’s usual mischief was still there, but beneath that was exhaustion. Her life was bruised by too many nights, too many hands, too many men. "I’d take being tied to one person for the rest of my life," Jane said, "no matter who it is, instead of getting used and abused by different men every night. The only decent gentleman I have is Lionel."
Jane lifted her chin. "He tips well, speaks politely."
"Well, I think everyone is excited too." Livia gestured toward the other girls.
They did look excited. Tense, jealous, hopeful, desperate.
Jane leaned in. "The man is quite old."
"Oh?"
"The girls he has been with say most times he just falls asleep next to them. It is paradise," Jane whispered fiercely. "Imagine it. A husband who sleeps."
Livia’s smile faded slightly.
Jane clasped her hands under her chin and looked heavenward. "Once he kicks the bucket, freedooooom!" She sang the last word so softly and dramatically that Livia had to bite back a laugh.
"Right," Livia said. "And if he lives ten more years?"
Jane slapped a hand over her mouth. "Don’t say stuff like that. You’ll jinx it!"
"I am merely being practical."
Jane grabbed her hand. "Come on. Let’s go listen!"
"I’m not really interested, Jane," Livia said. "But I do hope it’s you."
Jane’s face brightened again with hope. "Oh, I hope it’s me too." She squeezed Livia’s hand once before releasing it, then immediately turned back toward Nicholas’s study.
Livia stayed where she was. She told herself she did not care. She told herself this had nothing to do with her. Henry had promised. Henry had said he would find a way.
And yet days had passed.
The women gathered near the door shifted and whispered, their skirts brushing together. Everyone was trying to appear graceful while practically climbing over one another to be nearest when the answer came.
The study door opened. Every one went still. Nicholas stepped out first, wearing his finest expression. Behind him came a nobleman who looked to be in his late seventies, perhaps older. His back was slightly bent, his hair thin and white beneath his hat, his clothes rich but old-fashioned in cut. He carried a cane with a silver head and moved slowly.
The girls fawned instantly. Livia did not blame them. They were not swooning over him. They were swooning over escape. Over quiet rooms. Over being touched less. Over not owing Nicholas Beaumont every breath they took. If freedom came wrinkled, and likely to fall asleep after supper, then freedom was still freedom.
The nobleman passed by them with a mild smile. He nodded at a few of the girls, clearly accustomed to being desired far less enthusiastically than he was today.
Jane clasped her hands together, eyes wide with desperate prayer. Then everyone turned to Beaumont.
The corridor held its breath. Nicholas let the silence stretch. He stood at the study entrance, one hand on the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over the gathered women.
Livia folded her arms.
"Livia!" Beaumont boomed.
The hallway went so silent one could hear a pin drop. Livia did not move. She did not even understand that it was her name.
Until Jane nudged her. Livia blinked, her heart dropping into her stomach. Every eye turned to her.
"Yes, Mr Beaumont."
"I guess we are getting you married off," Nicholas announced.
Livia did not understand him. The words seemed to reach her from very far away, distorted by the stunned silence that had fallen over the corridor. Married off. Her. To that old nobleman.
The blood drained from her face.
"I don’t..." Her voice failed. She tried again. "I don’t..." Her eyes flew to Jane. Help me.
Jane looked just as shocked. The hope that had lit her face moments ago had vanished, replaced by horror and helplessness.
"Mr Beaumont," Livia said, forcing the words out, "it couldn’t possibly be me. I have never even met him."
Nicholas sighed. "Well, that’s your problem. I cannot say no to the crown now, can I?"
"The crown?" she whispered.
The king’s seal. The words from Jane returned to her with a sickening clarity. The man had come with the king’s authority. Not for the king, Jane had said. For himself. To marry the girl.
Livia’s stomach twisted. "Mr Beaumont...You... you cannot do this. Please."
"I don’t want to either," he said. "You are still in your prime," he continued, with appalling practicality. "Look how much you made me in just a month. Do you think I am eager to hand that away? It’s not me this time. Orders are orders."
Livia turned to Jane again, her eyes wide and burning. "Jane..."
Jane looked trapped between wanting to fight and knowing exactly how little power she had. Her hands curled uselessly in the folds of her skirt. "I’m sorry, Livia," she whispered.
"No," Livia said.
Nicholas frowned. "Do not make a scene."
"No!" Livia barely heard anything. All she could feel was the walls closing in, the watching eyes, the terrible weight of being chosen without being asked. "No! No! No!" she cried, backing away. "I’d rather die."
"Suit yourself," Nicholas said with a shrug. "You are of no use to me anymore."
Nicholas turned and went back into his office. The door closed behind him. Livia stood in the corridor, stunned into silence.
The girls did not offer comfort. The moment Beaumont disappeared, the gathered women broke apart in a storm of hisses, eye-rolls, and muttered complaints. Their disappointment had curdled into spite, and Livia, unfortunately, was standing nearest to receive it.
"Leave one for some of us," one girl snapped under her breath.
"She always gets the good ones," another muttered.
Livia was barely able to believe what she was hearing.
"She is a witch, I tell you," someone else said.
The girls dispersed, swishing away in offended little clusters, grumbling. Livia felt like she had been slapped.
Were these girls out of their minds? Could they not see her face? Could they not see she was clearly distressed at the thought of being handed over to a man who looked one foot in the grave and the other considering whether it was worth the journey?
But then, perhaps they did see. Perhaps they simply did not care. That was another cruel part of Beaumont’s house. It taught women to envy another woman’s cage if the bars looked pretty enough.
"Come on," Jane said softly, taking her hand. "Let’s go upstairs. Ignore them."
"I don’t understand," Livia murmured.
"I know."
"He does not even know me."
"I know."
She let Jane lead her back up the stairs. When they reached their room, Jane shut the door behind them.
"It will be fine," Jane said, the words lacked their usual confidence. "Beaumont is being honest this time. He cannot say no to the crown."
Livia looked up at her, eyes bright with panic. "Why is life so cruel? Why is it that when something good is about to happen to me, the devil thinks ’not on his watch’?"
"There is always a silver lining," Jane said. "You just have to look for it."
"Jane, I am being handed to a man old enough to have courted Eve. I’m not doing it. I’d die. I would die before I let him touch me. I need to talk to Henry."
Jane’s face tightened with helpless worry. "How will you reach him?"
Livia collapsed to the ground, her bones had given way, her skirts pooling around her. The room blurred through sudden tears. "God!" she cried, hands clasped so tightly her fingers hurt. "God, please help me. Please send help. Please!"
Jane moved toward her, distressed beyond words. She knelt and reached for Livia’s shoulders, but what comfort could she give? In Beaumont’s house, prayers rose often and answers came rarely. Girls prayed to be chosen, prayed not to be chosen, prayed for gentle men, prayed for sickness, prayed for escape, prayed for death. God, Jane thought bitterly, must be very tired of hearing from Pudding Lane.
"Livia," she whispered. "Breathe. Please. Look at me."
Livia tried, but panic had its claws in her chest. Then the door opened. Nicholas Beaumont stepped in.
He filled the doorway with his usual oily confidence, his face set in an expression of irritation. His gaze flicked from Jane to Livia on the floor.
Livia scrambled to her feet at once, wiping at her cheeks.
Nicholas looked her over coldly. "Since you have only a limited time left here, I would like to make sure I get my money’s worth before you go."
The fear in Livia’s face vanished.
"Your money’s worth?!" Livia snapped.
Nicholas’s brows lifted, surprised that the lamb had found teeth. Livia had found more than teeth.
"How much more do you want?" she demanded, stepping toward him. "Exactly how much did you pay for me? For three years, I have served as a servant without pay! And then you decide to sell my body to men!"