The second suitor, Mr. Clyde Murray. He wore a scowl on his broad forehead. His hands and neck were speckled with brown spots like those of a man who worked the fields and hunted without gloves. He spoke with a North country brogue, and even from a distance, Harry could hear the tone of his voice: querulous, condemning. As he watched, the last two guests vacated the dining room and hurried out, driven away by an unpleasant quarrel—except one person said nothing at all.
That left only the chaperone in the corner, placidly eating her meal without showing any sign of interfering.
Harry moved to a small, square table, and Jessica glanced up. She met his gaze, then shook her head slightly. Don’t meddle.
Very well. He would not, but neither would he leave her alone. He seated himself close enough to heed every word spoken, and to observe Jessica as she listened. What he heard lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.
“My first wives did as they were told, and you will, too, miss. You’ll trust me on this. I’ve got experience in marriage, where you do not.” Mr. Murray stopped long enough to place a kipper in his mouth, chew, and swallow.
Jessica took the opportunity to answer, “No, I certainly don’t, but—”
Mr. Murray interrupted. “I’ve got few requirements, and you’ll fulfill them well.” Lifting one finger, he said, “I need a woman to raise my children”—he lifted another finger—“to bring money to dower my daughters”—he lifted his third finger—“and to warm my bed.”
“Mr….Murray!” Jessica blanched.
“Ach, we’ll have none of that missishness between us. I’m a plainspoken man, and you’d best get used to it.” Picking up a crisp slice of bacon, he shook it at her. “Once you understand that, our marriage will do very well. You’ll stay home and keep the house in a frugal manner. No running to London to party for you!”
Jessica shook her head.
Mr. Murray thought she shook her head in agreement with his strictures.
Harry knew better.
Mr. Murray continued, “I’ll expect marital favors twice a week, on Tuesday and Saturday. Ten minutes should not trouble you too much. In return you’ll be allowed three new gowns a year.” He leaned forward. “I allowed my first two wives only two gowns, but you’re a pretty thing, almost as old as my eldest daughter, and I’m growing indulgent in my dotage.”
Jessica’s fingers shook as she said, in a voice an octave too high, “Mr. Murray, as appealing as this all sounds, I must refuse your suit.”
“What do you mean, refuse my suit? Are you daft?” Mr. Murray’s blue eyes protruded in shock. “Your father has chosen me for your husband.”
“But I don’t want to marry you.”
“You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head, and do as you’re told.” Mr. Murray sighed heavily. “I suppose you’re imagining you want to fall in love. Well, I assure you, my other wives have been well pleased with me, and you will be, too.”
Again she shook her head.
Mr. Murray took her hand, the one holding her fork, and held it with enough force to bruise. “Yes, miss! You’ve got rank and a fortune, to be sure, but your father says you haven’t a smidgen of sense, and your stepmother says you need only a firm hand, and I’m the man to give it to you.”
The chaperone blotted her mouth, stood, and left Jessie alone with the beast.
Mr. Murray concluded, “Now, consider the betrothal done and we’ll be on our way back to your home.”
Harry couldn’t stand it anymore. The bright girl he’d met yesterday was drooping under the weight of Mr. Murray and his bullying, and he had no doubt she could object all day to the betrothal and Mr. Murray would ignore and coerce her.
Standing, Harry approached the table.
Murray looked up in annoyance. “Can’t you see, man, we’re having a conversation here?”
“Yes, but I need to speak to Lady Jessica before I go off for the day.”
“Who are you?” Murray demanded.
“One of Jessie’s friends.” Harry faced her. “I was in the village yesterday and the milliner asked that I tell you your new hats are ready. The bill is over eight pounds, which made me think they must be extraordinary hats.”
Jessica’s brow puckered in confusion. “Hats?”
“Eight pounds!” Murray sputtered. “What are you doing spending eight pounds on new hats you’ll not need in the countryside?”
Jessie’s lovely mouth puckered. “Ohh. Hats.”