The Duchess Takes a Husband, page 19
“You’ll be moving to Paris.” It wasn’t a question and was filled with his brother’s displeasure. “What about Montague?”
Montague wasn’t the problem. Although Evan had sold most of his shares back to them after getting married, he was still nominally involved. Christian spent much of his time there, and Cavell had proven himself capable of running the daily activities.
“For a time, but not permanently. Montague will continue to be my primary focus and home. I’d never give it up. If all goes well, I will stay in Paris for a few weeks at a time throughout the year.”
“I don’t understand the impetus for this. It seems as if it could require a lot of your time and it’s a huge risk,” Evan said. His tone continued to be measured as he handed the contract to Christian, who accepted it but didn’t glance down at it.
“So was this in the beginning.” Jacob raised his hands, indicating Montague Club. “We didn’t know if we’d earn enough in the ensuing years to support ourselves, but we have earned more than enough. I am comfortable and I wanted a new challenge.”
“A new challenge? What’s wrong with enjoying what we have here?” Christian asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, but I wanted something new, something I had achieved on my own.”
“What does that mean?” Christian asked.
“It means that my whole life I’ve had my father’s money to live on. I have had both of your titles”—he indicated Evan—“to lend influence to Montague Club. I want to prove that I can make something on my own.” This wasn’t going quite as well as he had hoped.
“Is this why you went to an investor instead of coming to me?” Evan asked with a fair bit of hurt in his voice. As the owner of a newly inherited mine in Montana Territory, he had access to more cash than anyone Jacob knew. He would have been an ideal investor except for the fact that Jacob wanted to do this without him.
“Yes. It’s not that I do not want you involved. It’s more that I need to do this for myself.”
“You could have told me.” Christian’s voice was rough with anger or frustration or some blend of the two. “You could have come to me—to us—back in the summer when you started this and let us know, but we had to find out from Turner.”
Turner and his brother weren’t enemies by any stretch of the imagination, but the businessman’s crude nature rubbed Christian the wrong way while Jacob rather thought his cunning would aid in the business venture. While not enemies, they would never be friends. It was likely why Turner had gone to him the second the final contract had been produced, to arrogantly proclaim that he had finally obtained his prize despite Christian believing he wasn’t good enough.
“You’re right. I could have. Perhaps I should have, but I am telling you now. I only received the final contract earlier tonight.”
That didn’t help, either. Christian’s jaw clenched as he realized that was what Cavell had brought to him. “I didn’t want to tell you then because I knew you’d react this way and I didn’t want to spoil the evening.”
“You mean you knew I wouldn’t appreciate your betrayal?”
Jacob took a breath in through his nose to keep at bay the anger that was beginning to stir in him. “It’s not a betrayal.”
“You could have told me.”
“Yes, I could have, and perhaps I should have, but it’s not a betrayal to want something for myself.”
Christian sat back, digesting the bit of news.
“Christian, I know you see me as some sort of favored son, but that’s not how it was.” Whenever there was friction between them it always went back to his brother’s idealized view of Jacob’s life.
Christian gave a bitter laugh. “That’s exactly how it was.”
“No. Father tolerated me because he wanted my mother. Like you, my birth wasn’t arranged. I was a mistake. He wanted my mother despite me. They had more children because Mama wanted more children. He knew that to keep her, he had to give her the family she wanted. Our family life was never like what you and Violet have created.”
“What does that bloody well have to do with any of this?”
Jacob shook his head, angry that his own brother wasn’t understanding. “I’ve spent my entire life living in the shadows. I was never the heir.”
“You never wanted the earldom.” Christian said it in such an accusatory way that he was momentarily taken aback.
“No, I didn’t want that. I don’t want that, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a cost to being the bastard. People know you, but they usually only whisper my name. They might disapprove of your mother, but they look upon mine as a literal whore. She was the best woman I have ever known but she doesn’t get any credit for that. People whisper that I only have this”—he again raised his hand to encompass the entirety of Montague Club—“because of my association with you. If ever they want to besmirch my name, I get called the by-blow in public.” He still regretted not laying Scarbury low because of that one.
“Is that why you’re doing this? Because people talk and you need to prove them wrong?” Christian raised a brow.
Jacob stood. “Don’t reduce this to some misplaced sense of inferiority. I have lived my life knowing what people say about me and my family. It’s that, but it’s more. My entire life has taken place within the walls of this building. I want to see what more is out there.”
Evan stood slowly and held out his hands palms up. “Let’s step away for a moment.”
“Good idea. I need some air, anyway.”
Jacob left the room filled with a frustrated anger he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He had known they wouldn’t be pleased, but he thought they would at least find a way to be happy for him. Christian knew his weakness and knew where to strike to make it hurt the most.
Damn him!
In fact, Christian knew him better than anyone. Even better than his sisters, because as they had grown up and found their own lives, his brother had been here with him. Their business venture along with how Christian had found his way to his wife had drawn them together. He should have understood Jacob’s need to find his own way.
Sticking to the corridors, he found Webb discussing the finer points of serving a whisky with one of the footmen in the servants’ dining room. “Inform Cavell I’ll be in the gymnasium for the next couple of hours.” Pounding out his frustrations on sandbags would be better than pounding on his brother, which is what he really wanted to do.
* * *
* * *
Camille smoothed down the lapel of her coat as she hurried inside the open front doors of the Hanover Square house. A large banner had been stretched across the front of the building with the words London Suffrage Society Meeting written on it. Even though the meeting should be starting now, carriages were still lined up outside to drop off their passengers. Victoria Woodhull was scheduled to speak tonight, and she could only assume that was the reason for the excitement. She was a celebrity of sorts. Lilian had assured her they only had around one hundred people attend their regular meetings. Yet, the hall was already packed.
Camille was despairing of ever finding Lilian in the crowd or even a place to sit when she heard her name being called.
“Camille!” Lilian’s high and pleasant voice cut through the group of people to Camille’s right.
“I am so happy you came. I wasn’t sure you would.” Her smile lit her entire face as she took Camille’s hands.
“I admit I dithered a bit, but here I am.”
“You won’t regret coming.” Lilian took her arm and led her down the aisle between the rows of seats toward the front of the large space. A high stage dominated the head of the room with a single podium and several chairs set off to the side of it. “I saved us seats in the first row just in case you came.”
The front row was filled except for two seats near the aisle where pamphlets had been placed and Lilian’s coat had been draped over one of the chairs. Several women who were already seated rose at their approach.
Smiling proudly, Lilian said, “I would like you to meet several women important to our organization.”
Over the next couple of minutes she was introduced to the officers who oversaw the LSS. The women greeted her warmly and welcomed her to the meeting amidst comments like, “Mrs. Greene tells us you have a special interest in women’s suffrage” and “Let’s arrange a meeting to discuss your unique insight.”
Camille nodded and murmured her assent, but the truth was she didn’t think she had any particular insight to offer them. She still wasn’t certain she agreed with Jacob’s assessment of her situation and the term abuse, but she was certain that she wasn’t ready to share her experience with anyone, particularly strangers, even if it was for a good cause. It was too intimate, and she felt like such a fool having not been able to change her circumstances.
Finally, a chime sounded and a familiar-looking woman with a regal bearing walked up the steps to the stage. Her hair was threaded with silver and she walked with purpose. Standing behind the podium, she introduced herself as Lady Anna Gore-Langton. Then she spoke a bit about how much women’s suffrage meant to her and her husband, who was a member of Parliament. Camille had met her only once but hadn’t realized her level of involvement in the cause. She was the rare daughter of a duke who would lend her name to women’s suffrage. At the end of her short speech, she introduced Mrs. Woodhull to much applause.
Mrs. Woodhull was a handsome woman in her forties with dark hair and a calm manner. She stood tall and confident as she looked over the audience before gesturing for quiet. When she spoke, her voice rang out loud and clear, as she went through her time running for president and her address to Congress. But it was when she talked about her peculiar ideas regarding marriage that Camille truly began to pay attention, as did the rest of the hall. Silence descended as she spoke.
“The marriage law is the most damnable Social Evil bill—the most consummate outrage on women—that was ever conceived. Those who are called prostitutes, whom these bills assume to regulate, are free women, sexually, when compared to the slavery of the poor wife. They are at liberty, at least to refuse; but she knows no such escape. ‘Wives, submit yourselves to your husbands’ is the spirit and the universal practice of marriage.
“Of all the horrid brutalities of this age, I know of none so horrid as those that are sanctioned and defended by marriage. Night after night there are thousands of rapes committed, under cover of this accursed license; and millions—yes, I say it boldly, knowing whereof I speak—millions of poor, heartbroken, suffering wives are compelled to minister to the lechery of insatiable husbands, when every instinct of body and sentiment of soul revolts in loathing and disgust. All married persons know this is truth, although they may feign to shut their eyes and ears to the horrid thing, and pretend to believe it is not. The world has got to be startled from this pretense into realizing that there is nothing else now existing among pretendedly enlightened nations, except marriage, that invests men with the right to debauch women sexually against their wills. Yet marriage is held to be synonymous with morality! I say, eternal damnation sink such morality!”
Mrs. Woodhull paused only long enough to catch her breath before she launched into her ideas of marriage agreements and how they should be free from involvement and influence of all parties except the two people entering into the marriage. Camille couldn’t help but think how that statement was grossly at odds with her own parents and all of Society who believed it was their mission to arrange alliances through marriage.
She tried to listen to the rest of the speech, but her mind kept returning to Mrs. Woodhull’s earlier words.
Anger, cold and hot, prickled its way down her spine, making her skin feel tight against her bones and uncomfortable. And just like that night with Jacob, she didn’t know with whom she was angry. The emotion was simply there. She was not Hereford’s victim. She could not be a victim. It was such a diminishing word.
And yet, as the woman’s melodious voice spoke about the importance of voting and power, Camille could not help but remember how powerless he had made her feel. That feeling was so strong that she wanted to get up and leave rather than remember it. But she couldn’t leave without drawing attention to herself, so she made herself listen to the woman speak. Camille had noticed that when she felt overwhelmed with her memories, she could take a deep breath and force her mind to whatever was happening in the present. That meant she noticed the brown coil of Mrs. Woodhull’s hair, shining and tinged with yellow under the gaslight. She took in the smell of wool from the winter coats around her and the light scent of Lilian’s perfume, something floral she couldn’t place. It was enough to settle her until an enthusiastic round of applause brought her attention to the sounds in the room.
Lilian rose, and Camille thought it would be for a standing ovation, but she left her seat, hurrying toward the stage. A man there in the shadows offered his hand to help her up the stairs, and a tender look crossed Lilian’s face. That must be Mr. Greene. She craned her neck, trying to get a better look at him, but she saw only his gloved hand guiding Lilian up the steps. After, he faded into the standing-room-only crowd and Lilian moved to the front of the stage.
“Good evening. Many of you know me, but for those new to our meeting, I am Mrs. Lilian Greene.” She didn’t introduce herself as Mrs. Anthony Greene, Camille noticed. A round of applause followed. “On behalf of the London Suffrage Society I thank Mrs. Woodhull for speaking with us tonight. Her experience in women’s rights and her persecution for her beliefs should be an inspiration to all of us. Change is never easy, and it is usually uncomfortable, but it is always necessary to make ourselves better. We cannot afford to be comfortable when there are young women in our society who do not have security, who cannot see their homes as a safe place, because those who are charged with their care abuse their power. As women, we are human. We are citizens. We deserve the right and the opportunity to take charge of our own lives.” Her gaze met Camille’s before passing on.
“Please donate if you can, but if you cannot we value the donation of your time as much. We need people to join our demonstrations, to pass out pamphlets, and to talk to those who can be influenced to our cause. Every woman deserves the right to have her voice counted by those in power. Every woman deserves the right to run for office. They cannot silence us if we all stand together. Help us get to that glorious future.”
Applause made her pause. “Our next crucial step in this mission is to pass the Married Women’s Property Act to ensure that marriage no longer steals the assets of women. It is vital to our ability to secure suffrage for women, and it won’t come easy. Every woman should retain her voice and personhood in marriage. We will be meeting outside Parliament in a fortnight. Join us there so we can make certain they hear our voices.”
Applause filled the room again. Camille clapped along with them. She would not allow herself to ever feel powerless again. The only real way to ensure that was to make certain women had a say in their government. As the crowd moved around her, standing to speak to friends, hurrying forward to talk to Lilian as her husband helped her from the stage, lining up to have a word with Mrs. Woodhull, Camille sat and let the words of the night move over her. For the first time in a long time the heaviness inside her eased. Where before the idea of women’s suffrage had seemed important but out of the sphere of her reality, she now understood how important it was as a stepping-stone in gaining control of her life. Jacob had been right when he had approached their lessons with the idea of giving her control. It was the only way she could truly feel comfortable and in her own power. It wasn’t about domination or submission; it was about equality. That was the one thing Jacob had given her that life never had. Suddenly, she wished he was here, because she wanted to share this night—this realization—with him.
Chapter 17
Jacob’s mother had loved to host grand balls to celebrate special moments in their lives. High Society never attended them, but those outside of proper Society—the mistresses of lords, businessmen, entertainers, and those eager to rub elbows with the earl—were always keen to attend. There was always a winter ball around Christmastime and, occasionally, a second one held later in the year. Perhaps their infrequency is what made them special. The first ball he attended was in honor of his father’s birthday. Mama had deemed him old enough to participate, but only for the first half hour. Jacob hadn’t cared that he’d had to leave before the dancing started. It had been long enough for him to see his parents in all their finery and to experience the magic that was the lit grand chandelier that hung in the center of the room. The crystals had sparkled as if each one contained a fairy. When he had relayed the information to Lilian, she had insisted they find out for sure and free them. Very early the next morning they had snuck into the room to discover the chandelier dark with all the candles removed. She had been disappointed, and so had Jacob although he hadn’t dared admit he actually thought fairies could exist.
There hadn’t been a ball here since his father had died. Mama had closed the room and never expressed interest in entertaining again. When Jacob, Christian, and Evan had decided to add a gymnasium to the club’s offerings, the ballroom had seemed the perfect place. It was large and the high ceilings could accommodate the various apparatuses needed for exercise. They had installed many pieces of equipment, each with a focus on developing the muscular structure of a different body part. For the legs, there were several machines that allowed for leg lifts and repetitions. For the abdominal area, there was a machine for rowing as well as one that featured an incline with cables and pulleys. For the arms, there were standing machines with straps for pulling, which lifted weights from the floor, and a wall hung with slats and bars for climbing. Near the roped-off area that housed the exhibition fights, there was an area with burlap sacks stuffed with varying amounts of sand hanging from the ceiling.
