Page 34 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“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 tomorrow? 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.
