The Belvedere.

Loss of Innocence.

A pitiful life saved, but then ruined.’ What is happening to me? Is this the Devil? No. But it might as well have been. Please, Lord, help me. But, on second thoughts, not just yet.’

Harriet was not sure how long she had been sitting there, becoming even colder and less inclined to move as her muscles stiffened up and her legs became numb with the cold. She might never get out of here if the weather did not soon let up.

She was aroused from her reverie by the sound of footsteps echoing on the stone floor, the sensation of movement around her, and the spattering of raindrops from clothing. Then a calm, inquiring voice, that of a man, speaking to her.

She looked up, having difficulty focusing, and saw a man about her own age standing in front of her. He was asking if she was well. He must just have come in from out of the rain, as she had. He was as wet as she was. He had no hat upon his head. She tried to put her feet down off the seat and close off what must be obvious to him of her body, opened up beneath the raised front of her dress, clinging to her legs, but could not. Her muscles would not respond. He would be able to see everything about her under the edge of her dress with her sitting as indecorously and carelessly as she was, and probably had.

Despite her embarrassment she thought she was well, and tried to tell him so but had been unable to say it, though she had nodded, precipitating a sudden downpour of water droplets off her hair. She had been sitting too long, and did not feel as well as she would have liked, and she was cold and wet. Her teeth were chattering. It was clear to him that she was not as well as she would have liked to be, or as well as she said she was.

He touched her by her head as he turned her face up to look at him, and then by her neck. She could see water running off his hair and down his face, but he ignored his own situation as he saw to her. He was far too personal with her, touching her like that by her neck.

She flinched when she felt his hand touch her on her bare leg, high under her dress on her thigh and above her hose, finding that she was just as cold there as everywhere else he touched.

He swore, took off his light outer coat—unsuitable for the weather that had descended upon them both, as her clothing had been for her—and tossed it to one side.

She watched him as he checked that the wood, laid for a fire, had not suffered from rain coming down the central chimney, and then heard him manage to light the fire before he swept the rain off his face, his hair, out of his eyes, and then came back to see to her. He seemed to be making up his mind about something; struck for the moment by indecision.

The gentleman, if he was a gentleman, was standing over her again. He was apologizing over what he was about to do, whatever that would be, and then she felt herself drawn to her feet into his arms as he looked into her face. She was stiff with cold, and her muscles refused to respond as they should. Without him supporting her she would have fallen.

He undid and then took off her jacket, dropping it on the marble seat, and then began on her heavy walking-dress at the back.

Surely not!

She should protest and resist, but found that she was too cold, and could not do so, but moved closer into him. She knew that he was disrobing her. An inner voice told her that what he was doing was necessary for her comfort, and perhaps even her survival. He talked to her all of the time to take her mind, or his, off what he was doing with her. She was not sure how to respond, or whether she could resist, or suggest something else. But what else could she suggest? One dreadful predicament was about to be exchanged for another one that would be even more damaging to her.

She felt she should object, but she was far too cold and wet for that, and wanted to sit back down, and curl up as small as she had been before and try to discover warmth again. He should let her die. She was not worth bothering with. Her father’s last angry words as she had deserted the house, and him, rang in her ears.

'You deserve whatever happens to you, you ungrateful girl.'

Had he said something so heartless? Yes, she was an ungrateful daughter. But what was there to be grateful for in his company?

Nothing worse could happen to her than seemed to be happening already. No, that was not true. She was being too rash to believe that. However, almost anything would be preferable to the predicament she faced at home with her father, and the dismal life laid out ahead of her. Almost anything. She realized that she had better be careful what she wished for. As bad as things seemed at home, they could soon become much worse away from it.

He spoke again. He had a nice voice and spoke intelligently. “At last we meet, whoever you are. I have seen you at a distance several times. I tried to catch up, once or twice, but you were too far ahead of me.” He tried to explain what he was about to do next. “You are much too cold and wet for me to ignore this, or I would. I shall need to get you out of this heavy walking dress, and out of most of your petticoats, and we’ll bring some life back into your cold limbs as I try to get you and your clothing dry.”

Most of your petticoats? No doubt he assumed that she would have on a shift, or a chemise or bodice of some kind under all of that to cover her, but she didn’t, and she was beyond being able to tell him how lightly she was dressed. The weather this morning had given no hint of this change, and she had dressed, assuming that the day would be as warm and as dry as the previous few. He might also assume, from her well-worn clothing, that she was a mere country girl who had run away, or got lost and needed his help, or deserved even worse.

Her mother’s warning voice managed to penetrate into her thoughts.

’If you do not object now, my dearest Harriet, it will soon be too late for you.’

Yes, she should object to what he was doing, and tell him who she was; that she was Miss Harriet Ward of Ackle in Lin…. Her mother’s voice interrupted that foolish consideration.

’Never mind the needless formalities, my love. It is no defense at such a time as this. He is a man. He doesn’t care who you are. You will soon be naked and will have a much larger problem to deal with if you do not wake up to what he is doing to you and put an immediate stop to it. Without clothing you are just another vulnerable, naked woman that he will take advantage of in the cruelest way. They always do.’

Harriet would have to stop him, somehow. She would tell him who she was.

I am Miss Harriet Ward…of…of nowhere, now, but the words did not come.

Her mother was right. She should object. She looked up at him and saw that he was smiling down at her. No objection was forthcoming.

“We will soon have you warm and dry.”

She should stop him doing what he was doing and tell him that she did not need his help. But she did need it, despite what her mother was trying to tell her.

She should tell him that the heavy walking dress, and one petticoat beneath it, were all that she had on, and nothing else of consequence, but her teeth were chattering so much she could tell him none of that.

She had never before had a man so close to her, never mind undressing her and she was helpless to object or to resist him. Today would indeed be a nightmare if she survived it. Too many young women caught in similar predicaments did not.

He began to ease her dress off her shoulders. She felt her dress, everything, begin to drop from her, but could do nothing about it.

She would have to accept what would happen to her now as her just punishment for her rebellious behavior, going against her father, and not listening to her mother’s counsel.

She heard him swear yet again, when he discovered how lightly clad she was when everything dropped to her ankles under the weight of water they both carried. She had nothing else under that; no chemise, no bodice, nothing. She was now naked, except for her hose.