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

  “I am merely tired”

  “From doing what precisely— reading all the day?”

  Henrietta’s jaw tightened.

  “Please? May I be excused?”

  “Let her go, Aaron. She does seem pale. It will benefit no one if she falls ill before the wedding.”

  “You may go,” Aaron grunted. “Ensure you rest. I will not have you remaining up until all hours of the night with your nose in a book. It is a small wonder you are tired.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  She rose, running her hands along the folds of her dress before moving toward the hallway.

  “Molly, attend to her,” Aaron called as he always did, but he did not need to waste his breath. The abigail was at her side already. As they walked in silence toward her chambers, Henrietta’s knees slightly buckled and reaching for the wall, she gasped.

  “Miss Oliver!” Molly cried. “Are you all right?”

  “I…I am fine,” Henrietta replied, straightening her body and shaking her head. She was overcome with dizziness, but it was subsiding.

  “I will run for your mother…” Molly trailed off and peered at her skeptically.

  “There is no need to alarm my mother,” Henrietta replied, returning her gaze. “Why do you look at me in such a way?”

  “I will send for your mother after I return you to your chambers,” Molly told her. “Would you like to take my arm, Miss?”

  “No,” Henrietta snapped, suddenly understanding. “I am capable of walking without aid.”

  “As you wish.”

  She thinks I am pretending to be sick.

  Molly led the way back to her bedchambers and turned down the covers before moving to stoke the fire burning behind the hearth with another log.

  “I will send for your parents,” Molly assured her, turning to leave, Henrietta’s protests falling on deaf ears.

  When will I learn that I have no voice in this house? Even the servants feel they have more power than me. Will that change once I am a Marchioness?

  She did not have high hopes for what the title meant, but Henrietta would be happy if she was not reprimanded by servant or ignored by an abigail. She heard the key in the lock again and sighed, sitting up in her bed.

  “Darling, should I send for Dr. Slater?” Tabitha’s eyes widened with concern. “Have you a temperature?”

  “Mama, I am fine. I only need rest.”

  Yet it seemed that with each word she spoke, her tongue grew heavier, her words more slurred.

  “Have you been imbibing, Henny?” Tabitha demanded with shock. Henrietta’s lids became blocks of lead and she could no longer keep them from closing.

  “Henny? Henny, are you all right?”

  “I must sleep, Mama…”

  She was unsure if the words left her lips, but it was the last thing she recalled before falling into a deep, dark slumber.

  * * *

  She could not be certain what had woken her, but when Henrietta’s lids parted, she was enshrouded in darkness. Her head was aching, and her eyes felt gritty, and as she struggled to sit up, her body felt beaten. A touch to her forehead told her she was plagued with fever.

  “Mama?” she called out, but her voice was raspy. “Molly?”

  There was no one in the room but her and the dying fire. She realized she must have been asleep for hours. Slowly, she slid her legs off the side of the mattress, her muscles protesting the movement with every poppy seed she moved. She was parched, her throat filled with spools of cotton and she laboriously made her way to the water basin to pour a cup with shaking hands. Taking a long sip, her stomach lurched in protest, and for a terrifying moment, she thought she might vomit. Before she could fully entertain the notion, a sound at the window caused her to whirl and she gasped, dropping the cup from her hands in a loud crash.

  There was a man in the window.

  Without pausing to think, Henrietta threw her head back and screamed with the little bit of energy she possessed, but just as quickly as the face appeared, it was gone. She stumbled toward the panes, her head swimming with waves of dizziness, and pressed her face against the glass. She watched in horror as the shape of a man disappeared across the yard toward the neighboring property.

  “Good Lord, Henrietta! What is the meaning of this?” Aaron roared, stalking into her chambers with anger. His face was creased with sleep, even in the shadowy light.

  “There is a man! A man outside!” she choked, her breaths nearly wheezes. “At the window!”

  “I see no one,” her father growled. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes!” Henrietta cried. “Yes, I—”

  She swooned again, only to be caught by her father’s strong arms.

  “Oh dear, Aaron,” Tabitha muttered, joining them at the window. “I should have sent for Dr. Slater earlier. She is delirious with fever.”

  “No!” Henrietta denied, shaking her blonde hair passionately. “I saw him! Father, please!”

  “How did he look, Henrietta?” Aaron asked gruffly but he was gentle as he placed her back into the bed. “Molly, fetch her some tea and a compress for her fever, then send for Dr. Slater at once.”

  “Yes, General.”

  In her weakened state, Henrietta had not noticed the abigail had also entered her quarters.

  “Well?” Aaron demanded of his daughter. “Was this a man you knew?”

  “I…I did not see his face,” she mumbled.

  “I thought you did see his face.” He was attempting, quite unsuccessfully, to keep the exasperation from his voice.

  “I…I saw the profile!” Henrietta exclaimed. “A man…”

  “What of his hair? His eyes?”

  “I…” she thought about the man in the window. “Blue…like my own.”

  “But I thought you did not see him clearly,” Aaron replied, and exasperation almost overtook her feeling of fear.

  “Father, I swear it—there is a man running from the house as we speak! Why would he be looking through the windows if his intentions were pure?”

  Aaron sighed and adjusted the covers about her as though she was a small child.

  “Henny, when one is sick, oftentimes, one’s mind will play tricks. I believe you thought you saw such a man, but I assure you, he was not there.”

  “Oh, my poor darling,” Tabitha muttered. “All will be well soon. You rest now.”

  Her parents did not believe her, that much was clear, and no matter how much she tried to convince them otherwise, they remained steadfast in their belief that she was simply babbling from the fever.

  “Shh,” Tabitha murmured, touching her face with cool hands. She gave her husband a worried look. “Aaron, she is rife with hot.”

  He rose from the bedside where he had perched and moved toward the door. For the first time in her life, she thought she saw a glow of fear on her father’s stern face, but of course, that could not be so. Her father was an army general, one who had seen battles all throughout England and France—he did not know fear. Henrietta, however, could not shake the terror that the face in the window had brought along with it.

  “I will go for Dr. Slater myself,” Aaron told his family. “Tabitha, remain with her until I return.”

  He disappeared into the corridor as Tabitha turned back to her daughter, murmuring comfortingly.

  “Close your eyes, darling,” she cooed. “All will be well.”

  Henrietta had little choice to oblige her mother, but when she did close her lids again, the image of the wide-eyed stranger instantly surfaced in her mind’s eye.

  Who was he and what did he want? She wondered, her heart thudding in her chest. She tried desperately to get a clearer picture of him in her thoughts, but it was futile, her faculties cloudy.

  It does not matter, a small voice whispered at her. You will see him again.

  Chapter 7

  Two Weeks Later

  It was the night before the wedding, and Ewan found himself surrounded among noblemen whom he had not
seen in over a year. While he was there in body, his mind was anywhere but on the imbibing and boisterous laughter of the bachelor party around him. While he sported a drink of his own, Ewan could not bring himself to enjoy the festivities around him. He was vaguely aware of how the Duke watched him with intensity, perhaps anticipating some production of emotion, but Ewan was unsure of how he felt. In the morning, the Olivers would come with Miss Oliver, and the wedding would proceed as planned.

  To Ewan, it seemed the time had snuck upon him, that he had not had enough time to prepare for the nuptials, but of course, that was not the case. A month was ample time for him to get himself right for the inevitable union.

  “You seem rather deflated for a bridegroom on his wedding night,” Lord Averson declared. “You must have another drink.”

  “If I have any more, I will sleep through my wedding day,” Ewan quipped, but he did not refuse when the earl handed him a glass of port.

  “I have, on occasion, laid eyes upon Miss Oliver,” Averson told him conspiratorially. Ewan found himself staring at the man who, in mid-life, still considered himself a youngster. The words piqued his curiosity.

  “Have you?” he asked, attempting nonchalance but failing terribly. He would be lying to declare he was not interested in the woman he was to marry.

  “I have and I daresay, Lord Peterborough, you are one lucky chap. She is a comely article.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Fair, dainty but a queer one, I am afraid.”

  Ewan’s eyebrows arched.

  “Queer how?”

  “Well…” the Earl leaned forward to disclose his secrets, and Ewan could not help but move his head toward Averson’s lips to hear him better.

  “Her father, as I am certain you are aware, is a general in the army, and I cannot say with conviction that he keeps her under lock and key, but it appears that way.”

  Ewan’s eyes narrowed.

  “How so?”

  “She is rarely seen at social events for a girl of her standing. I do not know the family personally, but I have heard from Roger Carter that Aaron Oliver is quite rigid. He runs his home like the barracks.”

  “That sounds…dismal,” Ewan murmured.

  “I imagine Miss Oliver will be happy to be free of her father’s reign,” Averson chuckled, raising his glass in silent toast. “Marrying a noble, no less.”

  “I wager we will see. What is that adage? The harvest is always more fruitful in another man’s field, is it not? She may be relieved for a short while to be here, only to find she longs for her family.”

  “Then you must make her with child to keep her occupied,” Averson chuckled. “It has worked wonders for Lady Averson.”

  The words filled Ewan with dread. Perhaps he had deliberately cast the idea of having children from his mind, but the mere thought of fathering a brood with anyone other than Patricia caused him panic.

  “Oh, I see Vickers gesturing for me to join him at the card table. Will you play a hand?”

  “I…no,” Ewan replied, his words choked slightly. “Excuse me.”

  Lord Averson did not seem to notice as Ewan stumbled away, desperate for air suddenly. The walls of the game room seemed to be closing in about him, and he could no longer bear the stench of cigar smoke and the sound of loud voices ricocheting through his head. He barely made it into the courtyard when he fell into the stone wall, using it to prop him up.

  You must not lose control of yourself, willing his breathing to regulate. He remembered his promise to show absolute stoicism, no matter his feelings. Ewan had wasted enough time moping about Nightingale and he would not fall into that again, not when he could do nothing about it.

  The sound of approaching hooves captured his attention and he turned his head to look toward the front of the house where a large coach approached. Servants ran forward to attend to the new arrivals and Ewan wondered who else had come to join the party which had commenced hours earlier.

  The coachman opened the door as Ewan’s house staff stood by, awaiting direction, but the Marquess was fixated on the door, his neck tingling as he waited to see who might emerge. Inherently, he sensed that it was not simply a newcomer for the bachelor affair.

  Have the Olivers come early?

  He would not be surprised to learn that his parents had fibbed to him about the timing of his fiancée’s impending arrival. They would want him to enjoy his final night of freedom before marrying him off to a stranger.

  A pant leg appeared first, followed by a man’s tall, solid frame. From the distance between him and the carriage, Ewan could see little other than the fact that the man was fair, and it led the Marquess to conclude that he stared at General Aaron Oliver from the shadows. A moment later, his suspicions were confirmed when the General led his wife out of the carriage. To Ewan’s amazement, the coachman closed the door. His betrothed was not inside.

  His mother shuffled forward from near the walls of the manor where Ewan had not previously seen her and welcomed them, the lilt of the Duchess’ voice reaching his ears although the words were lost on him over the space. Ewan remained in place after they retreated into the house, expecting another coach to appear, but after several moments, he realized that Henrietta was not coming.

  “You cannot hide at your own bachelor party,” the Duke chided him. “I have been seeking you for twenty minutes.”

  “It is insufferable in there,” Ewan protested. “My lungs demanded air which was breathable.”

  “Oh, and I thought you to be avoiding your peers.”

  “They are more your peers than mine, Father.” Ewan sighed, turning fully to face him. “Why did you not tell me the Olivers were arriving tonight?”

  Phineas’ face clouded, and he sighed deeply.

  “Did you see them arrive?”

  “I did.”

  “We did not want to further upset you, Ewan,” the Duke replied quietly. “Your mother and I are well aware of how hard this has been on you. We are attempting to make the transition easier any way we might.”

  Ewan felt a bolt of endearment toward his father, and he nodded.

  “I am aware of that, Father. You are not to be faulted for being decent parents.”

  The men shared a private smile before Phineas broke his gaze.

  “We best return to the party. You do not wish to keep your father-in-law waiting.”

  Ewan stifled a shudder at the characterization of the General, but he reluctantly turned to follow his father back toward the smoky game room where the festivities had only increased in volume since he had departed.

  The General had yet to make an appearance, and a small part of Ewan hoped that he would opt to retire for the night, but he knew it was not likely to happen. It would appear improper if he did not show his face when he was on the property, after all.

  “Miss Oliver did not come?” Ewan asked his father who stared at him with some confusion.

  “I assumed she did,” the Duke replied. “Did you not see her?”

  “I did not.”

  His father did not comment, but both men found their attention diverted by the strapping General entering the game room, his eyes darting about but his expression displaying nothing.

  “General Oliver!” the Duke called pleasantly, stepping forward to greet the man. “We are so pleased you could join us!”

  Ewan inhaled deeply and trailed after his father, watching as the General bowed stiffly.

  “Your Grace, the pleasure is mine.”

  Instantly, the man’s eyes strayed toward his future son-in-law and fixed on his face.

  “Permit me to introduce my son, Ewan, The Marquess of Peterborough.”

  “Lord Peterborough,” the General said, again bowing. “It is my great honor to welcome you into our family.”

  “The honor is mine,” Ewan replied, hoping his words did not sound as dull as they felt leaving his lips.

  “Let us fetch you a drink, General Oliver,” the Duke said smoothly before a lull could
form in the conversation. “Gerome, a drink for General Oliver.”

  The butler moved toward the trio, his head down.

  “What is your pleasure, General?” Phineas asked, his voice booming much louder than Ewan knew was common.

  Father is uncomfortable also. Oddly, the fact comforted him somewhat.

  “Scotch,” Aaron replied dismissively to Gerome who immediately turned to retrieve his order.