"Surely you jest!" Sara gasped, her lips slacking as she released her grip on the laces of Frances' corset.
Reaching up in time to stop the corset from falling to the floor, Frances shook her head. "No," she murmured, clutching the corset to her chest, where her heart pounded to the rhythm of fear. Her eyes burned with fatigue, the consequence of staying up all night seeking for a way out of her predicament. But she'd found no way, none other than the way of marriage.
She could neither return to America, nor could she survive the uncertainty of a life in a country she knew nothing about. She was ill prepared to navigate the employment market and certainly could not do so with a child growing in her womb. They risked starvation and homelessness, but worse than that was the dark future that waited her child; one ruled by the prejudices of society. He—perhaps she—would be rejected for his illegitimacy.
No, she shook her head; marriage was the only way to truly protect her child. She must find a worthy gentleman and conceal her pregnancy long enough to be bound to him by law. The law would protect her then. Mr. Brown had assured her of the difficulty—impossibility, even—of a divorce.
Upon the revelation of the truth of her deception, she expected her new husband to be furious enough to banish her from his presence while he found comfort in the arms of a mistress. She'd spent the latter half of the night wondering what her life might be like with a husband who would never love her, a man who would utterly despise her. The thought had reduced her to tears, for she'd tasted love before and hoped she might find it again in whoever she'd marry. Still, she knew she'd be undeserving of his love and very deserving of his hatred. Banishment would be a small price to pay for her deception.
Perhaps too small a price. She shivered slightly at the thought of his fists pummeling her, for she'd heard many stories of men who found release for their anger through their fists. Perhaps, like Papa, he might seek to harm the child—to rid her of the source of his rage and shame. Surely she was making a horrible mistake!
"Then you must have taken leave of your senses," Sara said, dragging her to the present.
"Perhaps," Frances nodded. Common sense warned her to turn from this dangerous path before it was too late, but desperation urged her on.
"You cannot do this." Sara gripped her shoulders and turned her around, her eyelids bulging.
"I'm without a choice. Mr. Brown was right; it's the only way."
Maintaining her hold on her shoulders, Sara shook her slightly, as if to shake sense into her. "There is no such thing. And perhaps I do not think it is wrong that Mr. Brown wants to help find you a suitable man to settle down with. But he's made the suggestion under a falsehood that you're a single woman in need of a husband. I'm certain his mind shall be duly changed once he learns you're with child."
Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach at the thought of Mr. Brown discovering the truth before she'd had the chance to secure her child's future. "Mr. Brown must never know. You will make certain to remain silent about the child."
Shaking her head, Sara stepped forward and took both her hands. "I shall keep your confidence, Miss Frances. I always have," she whispered, and Frances felt her shoulders droop at her words. "But the child shall make known its presence, sooner rather than later."
Swallowing, Frances nodded. "I intend to be married by then. I shall conceal this child until I've secured a suitable proposal from a kind gentleman of esteem."
Tightening her grip on her hands, Sara shook her head in disbelief. "You cannot marry while the child of another grows within you. It is beyond cruel; a treacherous act that will never be forgiven."
