Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Read online

  “Yes, my Lady. He married for love.”

  Chapter 18

  This was a truly remarkable development and the mystery of the Marquess only seemed to deepen. For him to marry for love was conceivable, but to marry a nobody? That was just not done. Could Anna be mistaken? Henrietta sought to clarify with her abigail. “I know ‘tis a delicate subject, Anna, and I appreciate you helping me understand. Where did she come from?”

  “No one really knew. She didn’t even know. The Duke and Duchess, well, they were not happy as you would imagine. Lady Patricia was not at all suitable, they said. She would not do, they said. It had the makings of quite a scandal, but it was all hushed up.”

  “Oh my,” Henrietta sighed. “How did they meet?”

  “I really shouldn’t say, my Lady.”

  “Anna, please indulge me. I will not gossip. I simply wish to know the history.”

  “Very well,” Anna acquiesced uneasily. “He was on holiday on the Continent. She was the particular travelling companion of a young lady whose father had generously funded her trip as part of her education. Lady Patricia was her governess, I believe.” Anna paused briefly to ponder that statement and check it for correctness. “Yes, that’s right. She was the governess.”

  “A governess? I can see that would indeed bring scandal. A governess is hardly considered suitable for any marriage in the ton. Did you like her?”

  “Very much. For a governess, she made a great Lady. And she made the Marquess very happy.”

  Henrietta could not have been more surprised by all this new information. Her husband was not supposed to fall in love with Patricia. He was certainly not supposed to marry her, but he did despite the disapproval of his parents, society, and perhaps even the King himself. There was much more she wished to know, but she didn’t want to make Anna even more uncomfortable with more questions. Perhaps in a different setting she could bring the topic up again and take a different tact.

  She glanced at the windows and took note that the gray sky had given way to bright October sunshine. Suddenly, an idea struck her fancy.

  “Anna?”

  “Yes, my Lady?”

  “What do you say you and I go into town and sip some of the famed Scarborough Spa waters? I’m quite anxious to try them.”

  Anna beamed. “I would like that very much, my Lady!”

  “Get your cloak then. Adventure awaits!”

  The two of them made a day of it, which was easy to do in the seaside resort town designed for leisure. First, they visited the renowned Pump House at the Spa to take the waters, then walked the beach as the tide was out and the sea air, while briskly cold, was fresh and free. They shared a giggle as Henrietta wondered aloud who would be foolish enough to try the bathing machines that sat in the icy waters just off the shore. With sandy shoes, they perused the shops, admiring the hats in the window at the Mrs. Peacock Shop.

  When passing the Agricultural and General Library on King Street, Henrietta was careful to appear unimpressed, not willing to take any chances with Anna. She enjoyed herself with her good-natured abigail, but she had to keep in mind that the girl worked for the Marquess. Ultimately, she was employed by the Duke.

  They returned to the Old Bell late that afternoon to find a message had been left with the innkeeper addressed to the Lady Henrietta, Marchioness of Peterborough. She did not recognize the handwriting.

  Odd.

  She thanked the man and took her note to her room.

  Gingerly, she broke the seal and unfolded the page.

  My dear Lady,

  It has come to my attention that you have renewed your interest in medical school. If you do not wish some harm to come to you, please withdraw said applications immediately. Also, do be careful. I am watching you.

  Sincerest regards,

  A Friend

  Dread settled over Henrietta like a fine mist.

  Seth. Who else could it be?

  Besides her mother and father, only Molly and Seth Booth knew of her former applications to university. But she had sent the new letters only yesterday. How could anyone have known? Even Anna hadn’t known she had already mailed them. And her letters had been signed H. Oliver Clark. Only Seth could know she and the pseudonym were one and the same. Having seen Seth in town made this menacing threat possible, especially after their encounter on the promenade, but could he really have intercepted the letters, read their contents, and sent them on their way?

  She certainly could not tell the Marquess about the threat. He would be livid. And learning she had applied to medical school under a misleading – but technically correct name – would only add fuel to his fire.

  Just then, the connecting door opened, and the Marquess entered. His disposition seemed unimproved since yesterday. She would proceed with caution and try not to provoke the bear.

  “My Lady,” he said formally.

  “My Lord Marquess.”

  “You have returned from you outing in one piece, I see.”

  “Yes, my Lord. Anna and I went to the Spa and took the waters.”

  “And?”

  Henrietta scrunched her nose indicating her distaste. “Bitter.”

  “I see. I am happy that Anna can serve you as both abigail and companion.”

  She could see he was still ill tempered. She wondered suspiciously if he meant Anna could serve as both abigail and chaperone. No matter. She like Anna very much, and she felt no threat from her. At least not for now.

  “I have read, my Lord Marquess, that taking the spa waters can cure whatever ails you.”

  “You have read?”

  Inwardly, she cursed her foolish slip of the tongue. It was best she kept her reading choices to herself. She did not want him restricting her library activities before she even got started.

  “Yes, even if what ails you is simply a foul mood.”

  “Care to disclose where you have read this, my Lady?”

  “My dear Lord Marquess, in the Scarborough Gazette. ‘Tis quite well known. Gout, rheumatism, poor attitude,” she teased.

  “May I remind you, my gracious Lady, that ‘twas you who put me in bad temper yesterday?”

  “It was you that made a rule, my Lord, that I could speak in freedom. You did not make a rule that I must only speak what you wish to hear.”

  “I could hardly make such a rule for wouldn’t it make null and void the former? I must instead rely upon your good judgment, to use your freedom to speak wisely and to not abuse your husband. Especially when he defends your honor.”

  “My honor or your honor?”

  “They are one and the same, my Lady. That is what is means to marry a Marquess.”

  She decided to argue no further. She knew she was right in finding hypocrisy in him. However, perhaps wisdom was accepting that it wasn’t always necessary to mention it.

  “Very well, my Lord,” she acquiesced.

  He sat down in a chair across from her, apparently intent on visiting further.

  “But to be clear, and at risk of being tediously redundant, I take no issue with you speaking with freedom, even should I not appreciate the subject matter.”

  That was all very well and good. He would allow her to speak her mind, to him at least. And while she appreciated the allowance, as wonderful as that freedom was, she had to admit she wanted more. It would not be enough just to speak freely and share her opinions with him. Before she knew it, she heard herself declaring her intentions to embrace more than freedom of thought and speech.

  “I don’t just want to speak with freedom, my Lord. I want to live with freedom.”

  “And what does that mean, Henrietta? Please be clear.”

  “I want to make unconventional choices.”

  “Such as?”

  “Choices society traditionally denies women.”

  “Yes. I understand. Can you please be more specific?”

  “Education.”

  “You have been educated, my Lady. In fact, your education certainly exceeds the
education of three-quarters of the Duchy.”

  “More education. More knowledge. Discoveries. Science.”

  “Medicine?”

  Surprise shot through her, leaving her without a pithy retort. His eyes were bright, but she could not make out what he might mean by the suggestion he had just made. At last he saved her by changing the subject.

  “Lord Averson has a box at the theater in Tanner Street and has invited us to join him tonight. The theater season closes tonight. It is set to be most memorable. Are you agreeable?”

  “Are you agreeable?” she asked softly, finding her voice at last.

  “I am if you are.”

  “We agree to agree then.”

  He smiled for the first time since the tea room. For a moment, it seemed to Henrietta like he had forgiven her for calling him a hypocrite.

  * * *

  Lord Averson had some estate lands in the area just outside Scarborough, and his family had held a position on the town corporation board for generations. He was thus often called upon to participate in matters of judgment relating to the Spa and Pump House, usually a rebuilding project undertaken to make repairs to the buildings that brought in the pleasure seekers. Damaging storms pummeled the sea coast, leaving the spa’s structures in ruins with discouraging regularity.

  As he was frequently in town, Lord Averson kept a box for the entirety of the season at the Tanner Street Theater, though he himself did not usually stay at the coast for long. He had lately finished some business in York after his jaunt to Nightingale and decided on some diversion by the sea.

  The theater in Tanner Street had been lately painted on the outside, with the stone architectural embellishments perched along its roofline also getting a freshen up. Inside, the fancy boxes had all benefited from a thorough renovation before the season opened, and though it was closing night, they retained their novelty, having weathered the usual swell of happy tourists comfortably.

  From mid-July until October, for two fashionable nights per week, the Tanner Street boards were graced with the acting of some of London’s most popular performers, and usually to a sold-out crowd. Tonight, though the curtain would fall on The Merchant of Venice one last time for the year, the theater buzzed with the electricity of excitement.

  After the performance, which earned thunderous applause from all, the Marquess and Lady Peterborough were in no great hurry to return to the Old Bell, and the crowded theater was nearly empty by the time the three of them moved toward the doors to the street. When their coach and driver were not waiting for them in front of the theater, the Marquess did little to hide his annoyance. The street was nearly deserted which made the situation all the more –

  “Irritating?” Henrietta replied to her husband’s grumbling as she watched him pace. He whistled sharply, but no one appeared from around the corner to answer his call.

  “Perhaps he’s had an issue,” Averson suggested as his own chaise rolled up.

  “With his beer? Or with the time?”

  “Perhaps both,” Averson laughed.

  For all Averson’s lightness of spirit, the Marquess was not laughing.

  “’Tis bloody cold out here,” Ewan complained. “Before you leave, Averson, wait with my Lady, will you? I will look to see if Manson is stuck around the corner.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  Henrietta felt tense from the cold and her husband’s prickliness. The evening had been pleasant enough, though she was not much of a theater lover, but each time Ewan’s gloom appeared to lift, it seemed to Henrietta that his mood soon dived again into a somber distance.

  “He’s often –”

  “Irritated?” Averson suggested before she could finish. “Yes, I know.”

  Now she laughed. Ewan’s friend was quite charming in his own way, and she hoped she could come to know many more of the Marquess’ acquaintances. They may not appreciate all her opinions, but friendship, like laughter, was good medicine. If the Marquess was ever going to relinquish his grief and truly heal his soul, he would have to let his friends back into his life.

  “He’s not so bad, you know. You will come to see that eventually.”

  “If he will let me, Lord Averson. If he will let me…”

  Something like dust suddenly drifted down upon his shoulders, and hers too, their dark woolen capes speckled with a fine white grit. He brushed at it before looking up to determine where it came from.

  “My Lady!” Averson screamed before throwing her to the ground several feet away from where they had just been standing. His large form covered hers protectively, and painfully, as shock coursed through her.

  With great care, so as to make nothing worse, Averson removed himself from atop her, helping her stand again. Just a few feet from them on the cobblestone pavement, an edifice lay in crumbles, having fallen from the roofline of the theater. Had Averson not acted so instinctively, Henrietta would have been crushed.

  The coach then appeared from around the corner with the Marquess occupying the groom’s seat. When he noticed the commotion on the cobblestones in front of the theater, he jumped to the street and ran, shouting in alarm.

  “Henrietta! Averson! Are you hurt?”

  “No, we don’t appear to be,” Averson began, brushing the dust and dirt from his cloak. “We were both very lucky.”

  Without saying a word, the Marquess gently helped a wobbly-legged Henrietta into the coach. He wrapped the blanket tightly around her, and he sat her down. He stepped back out into the street, turning an alarmed face to Averson.

  “What the devil happened?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Ewan. But had I not been quick-witted, you would be burying another wife.”

  Chapter 19

  Inside the coach, Henrietta began to shake uncontrollably. It was just a moment before Ewan was back with her in the coach, enfolding her securely in his arms and holding her very close to him. She felt his warmth emanating through the blanket as he enveloped them both securely in his cape for another layer to ward off the bitterly cold air.

  She could not stop shaking, but as the coach rumbled over the pitted cobblestones toward the Old Bell, the protection of his embrace did not waver, and at last she felt herself begin to relax ever so slightly. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and she could feel the frantic thud of his heartbeat. It seemed to be racing wildly.

  He surely felt the tension begin to drain from her body, but he pulled her all the closer, and all the tighter. She didn’t mind. Finally, she felt his breath stir against her ear.

  “Are you hurt?” His words were apprehensive but tender.

  “I do not think so, my Lord,” she whispered. She could feel his heart rate slowing to a steadier beat.

  He breathed a sigh, but made no move to release her from the snug cocoon his arms made. “Thank God.”

  She tipped her head back to look up at him. His face shone stark white in the moonlight. “You were very worried for me.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. He gingerly brushed at wisps of her angry hair, tucking them back under her disorderly bonnet. He was careful to avoid some abrasions and cuts on her forehead that she had acquired from Averson’s tackle. “You are all scraped up.”

  “Is that a comment on my appearance, my Lord?” she teased.

  “Ssshhhh,” he hushed her. “We will not speak of silly rules now.”

  “Is Lord Averson well?”

  “Yes, I believe so. He was well enough to set about investigating before he went home. He would like to be sure this was an accident.”

  “Of course, it was an accident. What else would it be?”

  She heard herself say the words, and ask the question as if there was no other reasonable explanation, but she knew it might very well have not been an accident.

  The real question is how much do I tell the Marquess?

  She snuggled closer, enjoying the warm circle of his embrace far more than she expected to.

  Nothing. For now.

  * * *
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  The connecting door stayed open that night and Ewan hardly slept, worried for his wife, wanting to hear if she stirred and to be there if she needed anything. She slept soundly, and he supposed that was a good sign that any injuries she endured were purely superficial and would take little time to heal.

  He had to admit when the coach had pulled up to the scene in front of the theater, panic had rocked him. All he saw was the giant stone from the roof smashed upon the street, rubble scattered everywhere, and Averson’s body crushing Henrietta’s, pinning her to the pavement. At least, that’s how it looked at first.