Page 59 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
Ewan shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot. Indeed, I was wondering if I might have a word with him myself to try and clarify the situation.”
“Why, certainly.”
“I am sorry, Averson, you must think me terribly rude. Are you well? Are you suffering any continuing ailments?” Ewan said, realizing he had not mentioned the poor fellow’s prior trauma. Had it not been for Averson’s quick thinking, Henrietta could well have been crushed by the falling masonry. He owed him a great debt of gratitude.
Lord Averson flashed a boyish grin. “I may not be as spry as I once was, but I do have a certain resilience. I am as you see me—a little fatigued, but no less worse-for-wear. It was something of a shock to the system, but I am recovering. And your wife?”
“The incident outside the theater does not continue to trouble her, which is one small consolation in all of this bedlam,” he said. “Tell me something, Averson—where was your man around noon today?”
Lord Averson frowned deeply. “Do you know… I cannot tell you. I would have to speak with the rest of the household, though I do not know if he was here, not for certain. Might I fetch him in, so you may ask him yourself?”
“Yes, if you would be so kind,” Ewan replied. “In the meantime, might you do that for me, and ask your household about his whereabouts today?”
“Of course, my good man. Do you fear foul play?”
“I cannot be certain.”
A dark thought had occurred to Ewan as he had helped his wife back to the Old Bell. The gunshots going off when they had, and so close, had been rather coincidental.Almost too coincidental. Indeed, the worry had set in more insistently on the journey over to Averson’s house. He did not like to admit it, but the entire incident with the horse smarted of a plot. A well-schemed one, made to look like an accident.
But who was the target?
The note suggested Henrietta, but Ewan was starting to wonder if he was part of the bigger picture, another target with which to make Henrietta suffer. After all, very few people knew that he and Henrietta were now living in a curious sort of harmony. One of those, someone close to insider knowledge, was Mr. Booth. If he now knew that Henrietta stood to lose something if anything happened to Ewan, then he would utilize that.
It makes perfect sense. Mr. Booth will have heard the news of our unexpected contentment from Averson, thus putting my name on the proverbial strike-list. Against all odds, it would appear I have become something that Henrietta would find painful to lose. The evil cretin must have known. Either that, or he intended to wound Henrietta, and ended up spooking the horse instead.Whichever truth turned out to be the real one, neither avenue made Ewan feel particularly good. Each one put Henrietta in harm’s way and he would not permit that.
* * *
Henrietta paced her chambers in exasperation. Her side ached but that was not what troubled her. Instead, she thought about Ewan and the way he had dismissed her in such a cold manner. He had demanded she stay behind whilst he went to visit Lord Averson, and she had decided to bear a grudge against him until a suitable apology was made.
I may be waiting an extraordinarily long time.
What irked her the most was the superior way in which he had chastised her for her actions, making her feel small and foolish. Had she not gained the right to utilize his name after they had made their marriage vows? Was that not a small price to pay for being forced into a union she had not asked for?
Yes, I may like him well enough now in my own way, but it may not have turned out this way. What if he and I had detested one another? What then?
With stubborn determination, she crossed the room to the desk on the far side and sat down. Fresh vellum and ink had been laid out by the chambermaids. Picking up one of the newly-carved quills, she dipped the nib into the inkwell and laid it to the thick, cream paper.
“You will not instruct me upon what I can and cannot do,” she muttered bitterly as she began to write. Ewan had thrown the remaining letters into the fire, to ensure she did not simply attempt to post them again.Not that such an action will do anything to stop me.
In her impeccable hand, she repeated the sentiments she had previously included in the letters that had been cast into the flames. The words flowed smoothly onto the page, like well-remembered acquaintances. However, as she reached the end of the first piece of correspondence, she paused. A small dot of ink began to spread out beneath the nib.
H. Oliver Clark, that is all you need to write. They will not know if you are a gentleman or a lady. It is exceedingly simple. Come on, Henrietta, you must write it.
And yet, she could not. Deep down, a part of her knew that Ewan was right. If she wanted to become a physician, then she was going to have to do it under her own steam. It would not be easy, and she understood that she would continue to face rejection, but ithadto be on her terms. Otherwise, it would seem a hollow victory in the future.If you succeed at all in your endeavors, that is.
Slowly, she finished the letter:Lady Henrietta Oliver, Marchioness of Peterborough.
“Is this what you would have me do, Lord Marquess?” she said aloud, though he was not there to hear her. “Will this cause less damage to your reputation, once these letters are read?”
Somehow, she doubted it.
Once the letters were complete, she picked them up and carried them downstairs to Mr. Chambers. He stood by the postbox, sifting through several stacks of mail that were both incoming and outgoing.Good, I have not missed the afternoon’s post.
“Ah, Lady Peterborough, what a pleasant surprise,” he said in his kindly manner. “Lord Peterborough said you would remain abed for the rest of the afternoon, and that I was to send your supper to you if he had not returned by then. Are you feeling much better?”
She smiled. “A great deal better, thank you.”
“Apologies once again for the mishap with the post. I trust Lord Peterborough delivered them to you?”
