Page 39 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“To France? Yes, of course.”
“Naturally, My Lord. I only ask to offer informed landmarks. Off the coast of Normandy, the Isle of Guernsey it is called.”
The Marquess’ brow raised in a mix of recognition and question.
“You know of it, My Lord?”
“I am familiar. A British dependency.”
“I have British blood on my father’s side.”
“He was a soldier then?
“He was at one time, yes.”
The Marquess smiled. “And your mother is French no doubt.”
“A most obvious and correct assumption, My Lord. My mother, however, is deceased. She died when I was but a babe.”
“I am sorry for your loss, Gerome.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
“It is hard on a child to grow up without a mother. And your father?”
“I have no family to speak of, My Lord.”
“I see. In whose care were you raised?”
“An orphanage in Guernsey.”
“Catholic?”
“Indeed, My Lord.”
“Ah,” the Marquess sighed as Gerome finished up the shave and handed him a warm towel. “I am thankful for the charity of the Church.”
Gerome gave a rigid smile in response before quickly wiping the blade clean and putting it away.
“Will that be all, My Lord?”
“Yes, only please let My Lady know I await her company in the receiving hall.”
“As you wish, My Lord.”
Gerome disappeared, and Ewan donned his tail coat and heavy cloak. The seaside in October was proving to be as cold as promised, but so was the scenery proving to be a boon to his mood. A debate raged in his head as to whether his new wife should have some credit. When she spoke and when she smiled, she was very much her own delightful person, and he could almost forget she looked like she was Patricia’s sister.
Almost.
Alas, as far as the debate in his head, for now, he would only admit his mood was better for the fresh air. Something had passed between them, however, in the coach ride to Scarborough. Something that felt intimate, and whatever it was, it made it a tad frightening. Henrietta had spoken of a need within her, a deep need, a need for freedom. Ironically, she spoke of it while hardly realizing how freely he let her speak. And without him passing the judgment or censure she feared.
Freedom.
What did she mean by it? Free to think and speak? He could give her that freedom. Hehadgiven her that freedom. He took no issue with her thoughts or opinions, whatever they happened to be. And if she wanted freedom to be something other than wife and mother, he could hardly see himself taking issue there as he himself had no great desire for either.
Henrietta had lost her courage to speak so freely when he had asked her about her dreams. He was not really surprised that she hadn’t offered up confirmation of the rumors he had heard about the medical journals. Considering the military rule she had been living under, which no doubt came with the disapproval of her thoughts and opinions, freely given or not, she would be foolish to trust her new husband so soon. But whether she believed it or not, she could trust him with her secrets, even with her dreams. Suddenly, he wanted to win her trust. How to bring that to pass presented another puzzle. Another puzzle within the paradox that was his Lady Henrietta.
As if on cue, her appearance in the Old Bell’s receiving hall interrupted Ewan’s musings. She spoke quietly to the innkeeper before dropping her letters discreetly in the post’s receiving box. Wrapping herself tightly in her bright blue woolen cape, she took his arm, and they set out.
