My Lady's Guardian by Gayle Callen Read Free Book Online
Authors: Gayle Callen
the ache that never went away.
How could she have been so foolish? She had been the envy of every woman because of her wonderful family and her wealth. She could have chosen any man who'd pleased her. But she'd chosen Peter Fitzwilliam, who revealed himself to be nothing more than a scoundrel, a slave to his family.
She'd let herself be charmed by his good looks, his easy manner. And then she'd let herself be seduced.
She had a sudden memory of lying naked in a garden, and Peter looking at her body.
Margery shook with humiliation. Oh, they'd exchanged heartfelt vows of love—or so she'd thought. They spent every spare moment together, whispering of betrothal and marriage and children. She had thought her perfect life was just getting better and better.
She'd been a gullible fool. After Peter's talk of a quick betrothal the moment his father was back in London, she'd agreed to meet him in the garden late one night. They were so in love, she'd thought, they didn't need to wait for the formality of a contract. Margery let him take her virginity.
And the shame of it was—she'd enjoyed it! She sank into a chair and rubbed her arms, feeling like she could never get warm again. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with both hands.
Peter had been considerate and gentle, and she'd felt no embarrassment whatsoever. When he'd suggested they meet again, she had gladly sneaked away a week later. After that they couldn't manage to be alone, but she'd thought about Peter every moment of every day, thrilled to be in love with the man she was mariying, when so many of her friends were being forced into loveless marriages. When she realized she wasn't with child, she'd thought her unending luck had continued.
My lord, she'd been so naive. When Peter asked her if she carried his child, she'd been happy to ease his mind by saying no. And then her whole world had tilted, spilling her into the abyss. Peter had told her he couldn't marry a barren woman, that he needed an heir to carry on as earl.
She remembered staring at him, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at the enormity of what she'd done. Could it be true? She had no mother to ask, no true friends she could confide her sins to.
With a sob, Margery covered her face and leaned over her lap. So she'd let Peter go. A man who'd
say such a thing obviously didn't love her, and his betrayal hurt as much as if he'd stabbed her. She'd given him her love, her respect, her trust—her body. And he hadn't wanted any of it, if it meant disappointing his family.
She'd thought briefly of telling her brothers, of making Peter marry her after he'd taken her maidenhead. But they'd want to kill him, and her terrible shame would become public knowledge. Everyone would know what a sinful woman she was, and she and Peter would despise each other for the rest of their lives.
So she had picked herself up out of her sorrow, and resolved never to marry. She was luckier than most, with a few manors and a small inheritance at her disposal. She would live well, alone.
But then the king had decided to gift her with more land and wealth, and her own choice of husband. How could she refuse it? She certainly couldn't tell him the truth. So here she was, trying to figure a way out of marriage, something she'd wanted all her life, but now could never have. No man would want another man's leavings. If she lied and married some poor man, she would be found out eventually, and her husband could annul the marriage and reveal her shame to all. And if it were
true that she was barren, she couldn't let a man think he could have heirs.
No matter how hard she prayed at Mass or did penance, nothing helped the endless guilt that tore apart her soul. She also had to live with the constant worry that Peter would tell someone what she'd done.
And now she'd hired Gareth, another man she had to circumvent. And she only had two months left to do it, for the king had given her until the beginning
How could she have been so foolish? She had been the envy of every woman because of her wonderful family and her wealth. She could have chosen any man who'd pleased her. But she'd chosen Peter Fitzwilliam, who revealed himself to be nothing more than a scoundrel, a slave to his family.
She'd let herself be charmed by his good looks, his easy manner. And then she'd let herself be seduced.
She had a sudden memory of lying naked in a garden, and Peter looking at her body.
Margery shook with humiliation. Oh, they'd exchanged heartfelt vows of love—or so she'd thought. They spent every spare moment together, whispering of betrothal and marriage and children. She had thought her perfect life was just getting better and better.
She'd been a gullible fool. After Peter's talk of a quick betrothal the moment his father was back in London, she'd agreed to meet him in the garden late one night. They were so in love, she'd thought, they didn't need to wait for the formality of a contract. Margery let him take her virginity.
And the shame of it was—she'd enjoyed it! She sank into a chair and rubbed her arms, feeling like she could never get warm again. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with both hands.
Peter had been considerate and gentle, and she'd felt no embarrassment whatsoever. When he'd suggested they meet again, she had gladly sneaked away a week later. After that they couldn't manage to be alone, but she'd thought about Peter every moment of every day, thrilled to be in love with the man she was mariying, when so many of her friends were being forced into loveless marriages. When she realized she wasn't with child, she'd thought her unending luck had continued.
My lord, she'd been so naive. When Peter asked her if she carried his child, she'd been happy to ease his mind by saying no. And then her whole world had tilted, spilling her into the abyss. Peter had told her he couldn't marry a barren woman, that he needed an heir to carry on as earl.
She remembered staring at him, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at the enormity of what she'd done. Could it be true? She had no mother to ask, no true friends she could confide her sins to.
With a sob, Margery covered her face and leaned over her lap. So she'd let Peter go. A man who'd
say such a thing obviously didn't love her, and his betrayal hurt as much as if he'd stabbed her. She'd given him her love, her respect, her trust—her body. And he hadn't wanted any of it, if it meant disappointing his family.
She'd thought briefly of telling her brothers, of making Peter marry her after he'd taken her maidenhead. But they'd want to kill him, and her terrible shame would become public knowledge. Everyone would know what a sinful woman she was, and she and Peter would despise each other for the rest of their lives.
So she had picked herself up out of her sorrow, and resolved never to marry. She was luckier than most, with a few manors and a small inheritance at her disposal. She would live well, alone.
But then the king had decided to gift her with more land and wealth, and her own choice of husband. How could she refuse it? She certainly couldn't tell him the truth. So here she was, trying to figure a way out of marriage, something she'd wanted all her life, but now could never have. No man would want another man's leavings. If she lied and married some poor man, she would be found out eventually, and her husband could annul the marriage and reveal her shame to all. And if it were
true that she was barren, she couldn't let a man think he could have heirs.
No matter how hard she prayed at Mass or did penance, nothing helped the endless guilt that tore apart her soul. She also had to live with the constant worry that Peter would tell someone what she'd done.
And now she'd hired Gareth, another man she had to circumvent. And she only had two months left to do it, for the king had given her until the beginning
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