“My lady, it’s not easy to obtain an annulment. It is even more difficult to obtain a divorce, which in itself must be an Act of Parliament. Have you spoken to a solicitor about this?”
A furrow appeared between her brows. “Well, no. The solicitor in town is employed by my father.”
“Is there no other family member you can live with, besides your father?”
“I have a great aunt in Manchester, but I hardly know her. She will not take me in; we’re complete strangers. Where does it leave me? Become a paid companion to a peer’s widow? I was married to an earl, I am the daughter of a baron. I have no idea how to be a companion. Or a governess. Nor do I wish to become one. It is not to be borne,” she sniffed scornfully.
A pampered lady of society with no means to look after herself. In one way he pitied her for her hopeless situation, but in another he resented her snooty tone. She had no idea what it was like to truly struggle. But then, neither did he. “And you think being married to a penniless schoolmaster will be a step above a paid companion?” He didn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. Let her hear it, for his opinion of her had dropped several notches. “You wish for me to enter into a scheme to swindle money out of your father in order for you to continue to live the life to which you have become accustomed.”
Riordan could never stand the spoiled, pampered young women of the upper class. They couldn’t even open a door for themselves, let alone pour their own tea. And here sat a perfect example of all he disdained, thinking she could bend people to do her bidding.
Lady Pepperdon at least looked contrite. “Well, since you put it in such stark, mercenary terms, I thank you for your time.” She stood, her lower lip quivering. Tears hovered on the surface, and it caused him to soften slightly. After all, she was in a bit of a fix.
“My lady, please take a seat. I know a little about annulments. Let me explain as frankly as I can.” She sat, then met his gaze. “Women have no rights. Once married, you become the property of your husband. Any dowry or settlement becomes your husband’s. You cannot even open a bank account in your own name. The laws are abhorrent, and in desperate need of reform.” Riordan took a breath and exhaled. “For an annulment to take place, you would have to claim the marriage was not consummated.”
“We don’t have to consummate it. In fact, I would prefer it if we do not.”
“Indeed?” Her words stung. Was he repulsive to her? “Regardless, it cannot be proven, as you’ve been married before. You see, the proof the ecclesiastical court requires is an examination to ascertain if your maidenhead was breached.”
“Oh, my Lord. How barbaric,” she gasped. “How perfectly medieval.”
“I completely agree. The next reason is as humiliating. Forgive me for speaking plainly. I would have to claim I’m impotent. Stand up in court and declare that I could not perform sexually. That I was less than a man. I, too, would be subjected to an examination from a court-appointed doctor.”
“Examination? What kind?” she whispered.
The conversation was growing more embarrassing by the minute, but he must make her understand how impossible this entire situation was. “To see if I would become hard under stimulation.”
Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Oh, dear heaven.”
“No amount of money would induce me to subject myself to such humiliation. My career would be at an end. I would be a laughingstock. It would cast aspersions on you, since I would have to state that you were such an abominable creature in bed I could not fulfill my husbandly duties. All this would be laid out for public consumption. You would become a pariah, and a source of amusement for society.”
“I…I had no idea.” Her tone bordered on horrified.
“The third option is for me to label you a wanton whore, one who cheated on me with several men. You have no legal right to make the same claim of me. Again, hardly fair. As I stated, once married, you become your husband’s property. He has every legal right to do with you as he pleases. Take your property. Take your money. Beat you. Rape you.”
A lone tear snaked its way down her pale cheek. “I have already endured it. All of it.” Her voice was hoarse.
The desolate admission shocked him. It explained why she was driven to such a desperate act, asking a stranger to marry her. It also explained why she did not want to consummate the supposed marriage. A surge of protectiveness moved through him. The thought of this lovely woman beaten and raped churned his insides.
“No woman should be treated as you were. But how do you know I will not behave in the same vile manner? I’m a complete stranger. If I married you, lawfully, I could do as I wished, including keeping all the money for myself. You would be taking a hell of a risk—begging your pardon, my lady.”
Lady Pepperdon opened the small reticule dangling from her delicate wrist, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “You are a complete stranger. But I believe a man who would treat children with respect and kindness would extend the same courtesy to a woman in dire need. At least, that is what I’d hoped. Lord, I am naïve. And a fool.”
He poured her a glass of lemonade and refilled his own. Blast it all, he needed a whiskey, not this sugary, sickening beverage. “Here, drink.” She reached for the glass and took a large gulp. Exhaling, she placed the glass on the desk and hiccupped. Riordan bit back a smile; he found her hiccups endearing. It made her far less haughty and more…human. At least, for a moment. “What other options do you have?” he asked.
“Marry my father’s choice, the Marquess of Sutherhorne, and subject myself to another repugnant marriage as I wait for the dotty old debaucher to die.” Her eyes again showed the weariness of a woman who’d seen and experienced much, all of it reprehensible.
His progressive soul soared with fury. It tore him to shreds to see how the damned laws did not protect the innocent. What recourse was a woman left with but to enter another “repugnant marriage,” as she called it?
“My father claims that this time he will ensure there is a provision for me when the marquess dies.”
“He should have ensured such was in place with your first marriage,” Riordan growled.
“Yes. I’d assumed it had been. What did I know? I was barely eighteen. As I said, naïve.”
Riordan laid his hand on top of hers. “You were naïve because of youth and inexperience, hardly any fault of yours. Why wouldn’t a daughter trust her father to see to all the appropriate arrangements?”
A small gasp left her throat as she wrenched her hand away from his as if she’d been burned. A look of fright shadowed her lovely face. Dear God, the touch of a man scared her? Another wave of empathy rolled through him. But he couldn’t allow it to cause him to make a hasty decision. Again, his grandfather’s warning tolled in his mind like a pealing church bell: lock away your heart.
Yet he found he wished to assist her. How, exactly, and why…Scotland. The rules for matrimony were different there than in England—at least, he thought they were. He would have to investigate it further. For now, he would keep this kernel of an idea to himself.
“I must tell my father my decision tomorrow at breakfast. If I do not agree to marry the marquess, he will turn me out on the street to make my own way, and I have no idea how to go about it.”
The damned bastard. “Tell him you agree in order to buy more time.”
“For what?” she whispered. “If I agree, I’ll meet the marquess next Tuesday. Which leaves no time at all.” She stood, flustered. “I should not lay my burdens at your door. Apparently I should accept my fate, as many women before me have done. But as melodramatic as it sounds, I would rather die.”
Riordan immediately rose to his feet, sprinted around his desk, and gathered her in an embrace. An impulsive act, but he was a compassionate man,