Page 4 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, attempting to gather his wits about him. For one long year he had mourned the death of his wife and child and yet each day did not heal the gut-wrenching agony which filled him. When he opened his eyes again, a blank, broken man returned his stare as one question echoed through his mind in the most reasonable fashion.
For what else do I have to live for without Patricia?
It was not the first time he had entertained such a morbid thought but, in that moment, as he peered at the stranger before him, he was consumed with the desire to end his own life.
I will see you again, my love,he vowed quietly.You and our son.
Chapter 2
Henrietta’s index finger trailed along text, her stormy blue eyes taking in the words as quickly as her mind could absorb them. She did not notice that the single candle flickering nearby was nearly extinguished, and her irises were straining against the darkness.
The flame sputtered out, startling her. Abruptly, she sat up and looked about her bedchambers in surprise. She had done it again, losing all sense of time and space to these contraband books, which she was forced to smuggle inside her family home in Bryne.
The fire in the hearth had also sputtered down to a few smoldering embers, letting the cold creep in. Here, inclement weather snuck up the coast in the colder months, after Summer’s heyday had faded, bringing snow and bitter rain. She ought to have been looking forward to winter games and revels, but it meant only one thing to her—greater caution in reading her books by night, lest her father catch her.
Getting out of bed and crossing the room, she reached up to grasp the matches. She was about to strike one, to get the fire going again, when a loud knock came at the door.
Egad!
She rushed back and dived beneath the covers, foolishly clutching the matchbox in her hand. She didn’t care who found her with matches—it was the book she was worried about.
“Miss Oliver! Are you well?”
“Yes, yes.” Henrietta was relieved that it was only the maid.
Tapping lightly on the door, Molly’s voice quavered, “May I enter?”
“Yes.” Henrietta sighed reluctantly. There was no point in dismissing her—the abigail would only fret and likely tell her mother in the morning if Henrietta resisted.
Molly entered. With feigned cheer, Henrietta said, “You see? There is nothing of consequence happening in here.”
Molly tiptoed into the room She saw the fire had got out and was aghast that she permitted this to happen. Instantly, she rushed toward the hearth and added several logs to the fire. Henrietta held her breath hoping Molly wouldn’t seek the missing matches. To her relief, the last of the embers caught the dried wood without incident, and Henrietta sat back against the pillows.
See, Molly, nothing amiss here.
It was ridiculous, really, having to sneak about in her own home lest one of the servants betray her secrets to her father, but Henrietta could do little about it. It was Aaron Oliver’s home, he was the master, and he couldn’t have been clearer on that matter.
How could she explain to her father that that this house was not the infantry.General Oliver had very specific ideas of how not only his house should be run but also the place his daughter held in said house.
As though I am a child…
“Do you require anything else, Miss?” Molly turned her attention to Henrietta.
“That will be all, Molly.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Molly slipped toward the door, but through the shadowy light, Henrietta thought she saw the maid eye her peripherally. In her haste to return to bed, she had only half-covered the book with the coverlet. Molly had seen it.
I do not suppose I could be fortunate enough for her to have overlooked it.She knew the answer. The servants in the household were specially trained to keep an eye on Henrietta’s insubordinate acts. They would sooner tattletale on her than risk Aaron learning the truth on his own. The staff quickly learned her father was not one to have an easy demeanor. If they could find a way to circumvent his fury upon them, they had no issue nor regret handing Henrietta to him.
Henrietta did not fault them as much as she should. She wished it were not so, but she did understand why, and it made her feel very much a prisoner in her home.
“Good night, Miss.”
For a fleeting moment, Henrietta considered begging Molly not to disclose what she had seen, but she knew how such a conversation would conclude. Molly would agree to remain silent, tell Aaron anyway, thus causing Henrietta to resent her.
“Good night.” Henrietta knew she wouldn’t get much sleep tonight, and in the morning, she would be forced to deal with her father’s wrath. The door closed softly, and Henrietta turned her head toward the text which lay at her side. She considered hiding it, but seeing The Royal Society of Medicine journal, she just had to reached for it once more.
