Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 9

  “Ewan, dear,” his mother leaned forward to speak around his bride, “you must be careful not to overwhelm your new wife with your charm.” She added a fake smile for effect.

  “I will thank you not to comment further on my appearance, my Lord Marquess,” Henrietta quipped. “You made your feelings quite clear earlier this day.”

  “Yes, about that,” he began contritely. “I must speak with you about that. I behaved very badly.”

  She gave no reply, so he contented himself with studying her profile, for as she kept her eyes stubbornly fixed on something across the room, that was all she would allow him. The tip of her petite nose turned up pertly. He hadn’t noticed it before, but from this angle, and with its current crazy accoutrements, it was absolutely delightful. What was she saying?

  “My Lady?”

  “Does your hearing fail? I said, from the ashes of humiliation a great Lady rises.” Each word was punctuated dramatically.

  He drew his brows together into a question. “Phoenix?”

  She finally turned her head to look at him, and the hard expression in her eyes did not fit her absurd appearance. The dirt streaks were surely a combination of dried tears and sweat from her run to who-knows-where, and the stray ribbon that hung loose by her ear only served to add to the comedy. He smiled, stifling a chuckle.

  “Sir?” she said curtly.

  “I believe you mean a phoenix rises. From the ashes a phoenix rises.”

  “And I believe you should not presume to know what I mean or do not mean. I see it a different way. We can agree to disagree, my Lord.” He found her utterly charming.

  “Can we?”

  “I think it best. For us. As a general rule.”

  “Some say rules are meant to be broken.”

  “And under normal circumstances, I might agree with you, my Lord, but no. Rules are certainly meant to be kept. This rule especially.”

  “We agree to disagree then.”

  “You see how easy that was? A useful rule for us.”

  “I henceforth agree to agree with you,” he offered pleasantly, hiding his wry smile by sipping his wine. “Even when we disagree.”

  “Suddenly, the Marquess is all congeniality and yet,” she paused and proudly met his eyes again, “I still await this apology which is allegedly forthcoming.”

  “Ewan,” the Duchess chided, making no secret of her eavesdropping. “Do please make your apologies.”

  The Marquess rolled his eyes at his mother’s interference, a well-timed reminder of how one complication in his life stacked upon another. He sighed.

  “Miss Oliver,” he began, quickly realizing his mistake. She was no longer Miss Oliver. She was a lady. His lady. It was not natural to think of her that way. “May I call you Henrietta?”

  “You should hardly call her Miss Oliver,” the Duchess interjected.

  Now it was the Marquess who chided. “Mother.”

  “Very well,” the older woman said, standing to leave the table. The Marquess stood respectfully with her and she added, “I will leave you to find the Duke. He has been long missing from this most joyous affair.” The sarcasm in her voice could hardly be missed.

  Though others sat at each end of the long table, the two of them were indeed left to themselves, and due to the happy noise in the room, out of earshot of everyone.

  He surprised himself at how relaxed he felt with her. Well, relaxed in one sense, surely the important sense. However, some other part of him was decidedly not relaxed as he sat so near her, dirty face and all. Something stirred. Awakened, perhaps? He couldn’t say, but it felt fresh and new. And if he dared be honest with himself, he liked it very much.

  “Henrietta, please accept my apology for my behavior in the chapel. It was most unseemly.”

  “It was most unkind,” she corrected him matter-of-factly, and he dared not disagree for she was right. It was one thing to act the cad. It was something else entirely to insult her.

  “There was no excuse for it.”

  “Your mother believes you to be unstable.”

  “Does she?” he remarked dryly. “How helpful of her to offer her opinion on my emotional state.”

  Henrietta bit her bottom lip as if considering her words carefully. Finally, she spoke.

  “She told me why. I am sorry for your loss, my Lord.”

  Ewan tried to keep his face blank despite his mood swinging dramatically. This was a conversational direction he did not want to go.

  “So am I,” was all he could say, suddenly withdrawing within himself. It was, after all, a well-worn path. He gave his attention fully to his dinner for the first time since he sat down. As usual, the duck was perfect.

  The silence grew awkward while he ate until finally she said, “I accept it.”

  He glanced at her sideways in silent question.

  “I have decided to accept your apology,” she explained.

  He cleared his throat and gave her his own version of a fake smile. “Your condescension is both noted and appreciated.”

  Awkwardness returned to the space between them with full force. At last, distraction arrived in the form of the wedding cake. A delicately-frosted fruitcake was deposited with much fanfare on a small table before the bride and groom. The room erupted in applause as the happy couple indicated their approval of the sumptuous confection.

  Henrietta managed a convincing smile as a very generous piece was cut and set before them each.

  “You outdo yourself, my Lord. A feast for the eyes.”

  Ewan eyed the cake. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a piece of Cook’s cake. In what seemed like another lifetime, Cook’s confections had always served him well as a remedy for the occasional boorish mood. Perhaps emotional stability was in reach after all. He simply needed to eat cake.

  “My dear Lady, I assure you, I had very little to do with any of this, including the cake.” His words sounded sour though he hadn’t really intended them to.

  “It seems our parents have conspired against us at every turn.” She savored a bite. “At least the cake is good.”

  Ewan took a bite and surveyed the dining room. It was a veritable sea of people, some of whom would be staying at the manor for days. He spotted the General and his new mother-in-law. They looked to be naturally inclined toward displeasure. His eyes roamed until they landed on his mother and father. They appeared equally unhappy. He glanced to his left and looked again upon the disheveled state of his bride. If she could run, why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t they? Impulsiveness wasn’t generally in his nature, but change was certainly in the wind. He was a fool to deny that much.

  “What do you say we go to Scarborough?”

  Henrietta’s eyes widened dramatically like saucers, suddenly showing as much white as blue. She swallowed a large bite of cake and then looked at him with suspicion.

  “Do you tease me, sir?”

  “No, I do not tease you. I’ve no great wish to remain here where our every move, our every word no doubt, is scrutinized for emotional stability.”

  “When?” She could hardly get the word out.

  “Tomorrow. We have just wed. We have all the excuse in the world to run away from home for a few days.”

  “Scarborough. Tomorrow.” Her words came almost breathlessly.

  He tilted his head slightly and as he took another bite of cake, he wondered at this sudden change in her demeanor.

  “You puzzle me, my new Lady Peterborough.”

  “I prefer paradox.”

  “As you wish. I like a good puzzle,” he paused, “or paradox, as you say. If you agree to agree, tomorrow we will alight for a few days of refreshment by the sea. I think it a good plan and will benefit us both.”

  “I am most agreeable, my Lord, for tomorrow.” She took a deep breath, as if to speak, but then did not.

  Something had clearly put her ill at ease. Scarborough? She had seemed pleased with the suggestion at first. Perhaps the space of time between now and tomo
rrow? She had no cause for concern though he admitted she could hardly know that. He had discussed his plan to leave the marriage unconsummated with no one

  She glanced toward the long windows, confirming the sun was nearly done with the day. With a look of obvious alarm, she returned her attention to the cake crumbs on the plate.

  She is a puzzling paradox indeed.

  “So,” she managed, swallowing hard, “tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Chapter 14

  Molly helped the new Lady Peterborough out of her pitiable gown and into her nightclothes, brushing out her mussed hair. The girl chattered endlessly, recounting how she had been informed that none of her Lady’s things were to be unpacked for they were leaving in the morning for the seacoast, which surely meant a grand adventure.

  Once all was made ready, Molly tucked her mistress into the big bed, turned down nearly all the lamps, and put a few more logs on the fire. There was a distinct chill within the large room. The abigail wasn’t sure if it could be blamed on October or on her Lady’s solemn disposition.

  “I will leave you now, My Lady,” Molly said, awkwardly curtseying as her mistress had risen significantly in rank in the last few hours.

  “Thank you, Molly. Good night.”

  The girl scurried out of the room and Henrietta was alone. A bundle of nerves, she stood up on the bed and pulled at the heavy velvet curtains that encircled it. Now completely enclosed within the old tester bed, but with no lamp on the inside, it felt like a tomb. A dark, airless, oppressive tomb.

  * * *

  The Duke finished saying good night to his guests and wearily walked the long portrait hall toward his rooms. What a day it had been! Horrendous in some ways, but at least it had been successful. The Marquess had wed again, and they could all put the past behind them. Hopefully. He spotted his son at the end of the hall and quickened his stride to catch him before he disappeared again.

  “Ewan,” he called.

  “Father.”

  “You are well?”

  “I am tired.”

  “Son,” he began, but stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say. He was sorry the wedding had been such a debacle. He regretted losing control of himself in public and ordering his son to fetch his bride from the field. And somehow, he now felt they may have gone too far in pushing the Oliver girl on him. The resemblance to Patricia really was uncanny. It had seemed so right at the time, like such a capital idea. And now, well, now, it just felt foolhardy, like a big mistake.

  “Ewan,” the Duke began again, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nor do I, Father,” the Marquess replied, sounding drained. “‘Tis been quite a day. And as Lady Peterborough and I take our leave tomorrow, I wish to retire if you don’t mind. There’s little more to say on the subject anyway.”

  Surprise rattled through him. “Leaving? Leaving for where?”

  “Scarborough.”

  His gray brows drew together in question. “But why?”

  “Because I have just taken a wife. Because I have no desire to remain here. Because I need to be away from prying eyes. Because I damn well please. Why not?”

  “On such short notice? You have nothing arranged.”

  “We will stay at Edward Donner’s or the Old Bell on the cliff. Father, really, you don’t need to trouble yourself. I’m in good standing as the son of the Duke of Everly with a title of my own. All will be well.” His tone was stern, indicating he would tolerate no further argument.

  “You must take Gerome, the new servant. I am told he is most resourceful when things are unsettled.”

  The Marquess turned in the direction of his apartments, apparently finished with the conversation. Though the Duke chafed slightly at being dismissed, he felt something stir fresh. Relief? Perhaps. This sudden impulsiveness, this desire to exchange Nightingale for new places, for now at least, meant his son was going to try. Or, perhaps it was more than relief that welled up within him. Perhaps it was something deeper and stronger, something like hope.

  Hope.

  “Ewan,” the Duke called after him.

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good night, Father.”

  * * *

  Henrietta nestled herself under the coverlets of the burrow-like bed, and breathed deeply, trying to relax. She had no idea if she would even see the Marquess again before tomorrow.

  Insult to injury.

  The words stung afresh. Having given his opinion of her at the altar, she had little cause to worry that this would ever be more than a marriage in name only. She certainly admitted to limited knowledge of such things, but she imagined that a man who looked upon his bride for the first time and felt insulted would probably prefer to sleep alone. Besides, the man was still grieving his first wife. That should have given her some peace of mind, but they had agreed to nothing. They had discussed even less. She knew not what to expect.

  Getting no closer to a sense of calm, Henrietta turned her thoughts toward tomorrow. Scarborough! He was taking her to Scarborough! In her wildest imagination she could not have anticipated such a wonderful surprise. The sea. Fresh air. Freedom!

  The medicinal spa waters. The circulating libraries. The postal-office. A dream come true!

  It wasn’t long before the ever-present voice of reason cleared its throat. Truth be told, it wasn’t exactly a dream come true, but it was an opportunity to begin her quest afresh. She would write a few more letters to the universities, perhaps under an assumed name. Yes, that was a far better plan. With the Marquess by her side, she would be allowed to investigate the medicinal claims of the famous spa waters. His pocketbook would surely open the right doors, and she would visit the reading rooms at Whiting’s or Ainsworth’s. There were no doubt new science periodicals in the stacks, and the journals in those private libraries were known to be far more impressive than those in the General Library.

  There was only one problem with her plans, reason returned to insist, and it was a big one.

  Molly.

  And why should Molly be such a big problem? I will simply dismiss her. I am the great phoenix lady that has arisen from the ashes of humiliation, she giggled at her silliness, and I will not endure my father’s spies. No doubt the Duke and Duchess have plenty of their own to spy upon me.

  She would send Molly back home with the General. She knew it would infuriate him, but right now with Scarborough on for tomorrow, she was too happy to care.

  Henrietta was quite pleased with herself, then she suddenly froze, hearing someone enter the room. She was unable to move, barely able to breathe. The key in the lock turned with a click.

  She waited, holding her breath, straining her ears for clues as to who it was. Her nerves were rattled mercilessly as another log was dropped upon the fire with a thud and a fresh crackle from new wood. She sighed, relaxing slightly. Popping and hissing noises continued to come from the hearth as the fire consumed its fresh fuel, but Henrietta could make out no other sounds in the room.

  The moments ticked by with agonizing slowness, giving no clue as to what was going on beyond the four curtained walls of her hideaway. Her curiosity eventually got the better of her and she carefully crept from beneath the covers to the foot of the bed where the curtains came together. She lay upon her belly, as flat as she could make herself and with one finger furtively parted the heavy velvet drape ever so slightly. She just wanted a quick peek.

  Her eyes widened as she took in the scene. The Marquess had extinguished the few lamps Molly had left lit, but the fire was behind him, offering a soft silhouette of his movements. He stood before the hearth with no sign of his coat and his linen shirt untucked from his breeches and hanging loose. She watched as he unwound his rather elaborate neck cloth, and tossed it to the settee before he laid down.

  Henrietta felt herself blushing. Besides the General, she wasn’t sure she had ever seen a gentleman’s naked neck. The Marquess was indeed a fine figure stretched out full length on the set
tee, his stockingless feet crossed comfortably at the ankles. His breathing became even and deep, and she wondered how he had fallen asleep so quickly.

  “Do you spy upon me, my Lady?” he asked softly without moving, without even opening his eyes.

  Henrietta jumped back from the curtain as if she had been burned. How had he seen her? Heart racing, she said nothing as she carefully moved back to burrow beneath the safety of the coverlet.

  Soon she heard him snoring lightly, and she felt the tension leaving her own body too. Sleep, however, would not come for quite some time.