Ruination on WIP Wednesday
The fear of ruination was real in a society in which rank, power, and wealth depended on male primogeniture–that is, inheritance based on the eldest legitimate son being heir to everything. Of course a man wanted no doubt that the baby the wife delivered after their wedding was, in fact, his. Hence, even being alone with a man, if you were a maiden of the upper classes, could be enough to cause all other men to avoid you. Who knew what you had been up to? Of course, the consequences for the maiden were dire, and that is why historical romance writers find the situation so tempting! Here’s the first part of my new newsletter subscriber story:
A country road in the Midlands, 1815
Miss Amber Williamson muttered insulting epithets as she stalked down the road. “Arrogant idiot.” Stamp. “Stupid fool.” Sniff. “Despicable loon.” With her chin in the air, she gave another stamp, which proved to be mistake, for her slipper landed in a puddle she had not noticed until then. The displaced water splashed across her calves and petticoat, and the standing water soaked through both footwear and stocking to chill her foot.
“Botheration.” Amber wished she knew a few worse words, for if ever there was a time for unladylike language, this was it.
Slippers were not made for country walking, and she must have at least another two miles to go. At least that awful man was not likely to be after her. In fact, she would be surprised if he dared chase her even when he did finally manage to escape from her knots and the room she had locked when she left.
Dare to kidnap me, did he? Try to force me into marriage? Intolerable! “I should have shot you. I hope you do follow me, you swine. It will give me an opportunity to repair that oversight!”
Just in case, she would stop and load her muff pistol. It had worked well enough unloaded at that nasty little inn the not very Honourable Wilbur Menningham had chosen as a place to change his horses and ravish his victim. But she could not rely on the stupidity of other villains she might encounter.
“Bird-witted blaggard.” Menningham had believed her frail little lady act. Didn’t he know her better by now? He had been courting her for weeks, ever since her cork-brained brother had doubled her dowry. Again.
Amber amended her first assessment. While Menningham was largely and most immediately responsible for her current state, Kit’s ridiculous and increasingly desperate attempts to marry her off by increasing her dowry had also played a part.
From the moment Menningham had attacked her, Amber’s instinct had been to play helpless and dumb. Fighting back then would not have worked, for she was a slightly-built woman. She had no choice but to let him drag her into his carriage, shove a handkerchief into her mouth, and tie her up.
What she could do, though, was pretend he had subdued her—that she was weak and frightened. She had, in fact, been scared. But not witless. At some point, he would have to stop. At some point, he would have to untie her. And then, she could surely escape, for the man was a fool.
The opportunity had come sooner than she expected.
