Page 1 of Miss Harvey's Horribly Lovable Fiancé
Chapter 1
April 30, 1816
Courtland Hall
At dawn two mornings before her wedding, Miss Esme Harvey vowed she would make her marriage a union of which she would be proud. She would bury her eccentricities of childhood, first among them, her competitive behavior with her old friends.
But she would do more. Two things well-born ladies never did…or if they had, they never breathed a word to others about it. With care that no one in the house know of her musings before thirty-two house guests arrived this afternoon, she screwed up her courage for her plan.
First, she took one look at her new gown upon the seamstress’s form—a concoction of pale rose silk, ivory sarsnet roses and a dash of Chantilly lace—and declared it too delicate, too anemic, too inappropriate to her wish to project strength. “I will not wear that to the church.” (She’d not wear her breeches, of course. A lady—one soon to be a marchioness and later, a duchess—could not be caught alive or dead wearing them.)
Secondly and promptly after her first declaration, she tied up her long brown hair into the best knot possible in light of her haste, pulled on her snug doeskin breeches, man’s shirt, (no stays), old wool vest and hunting jacket. Those last three had been Papa’s, but he’d discarded them last Fall—or so he thought. Esme hadacquiredthem from the bag destined to go to Vicar Charles Compton’s donations for the poor. (Charlie had never known what his parishioners missed.)
“Whereas I would cry my eyes out should anyone take them from me.” (And besides, Esme had atoned for her theft by giving three months of her allowance to Charlie to use to pay the wages of the new parish teacher.)
She sniffed. Who else had done that, eh?
Few.
Right.
She pulled on her cotton stockings, didn’t bother with garters and then slid on her own riding boots and tied the laces.
She scribbled a note for her maid, Jane. Best not to frighten the girl to death. After all, Jane had been with her only a month. She had no idea who Esme really was.
Papa did know her. Perhaps. Other than that? Not her fiancé. Not well at any rate. And aside from that?
Hmmm. Not a matter to ponder at the moment.
No indeed. Time to go!
She ever-so-carefully opened her bedroom door. (Nonetheless, it squeaked.) She peered up the hall…and down. No one strode the corridor yet. But soon, they would to light fires and such.
Now’s the time, Ezzie!
And so she dashed for the far end of the hall and scampered down the servants’ stairs to the garden door.
She paused outside on the stoop. The sun crept through a haze over the horizon. When a sharp breeze swept a few curls from her ribbons, she shivered at the unseasonably cold weather and turned up the collar of her father’s old jacket. “Fie on anyone or anything who tries to deter me.”
Few did. Ever. Not here at home. And none in her father’s stables either.
Why would they?
* * *
“Now,Miss? I’ll saddle ‘im up. He finished his nighttime hay so he’s ready to go with you!”
“He’s swishing his tail.” She grinned at her father’s fine stallion. Loving the dawn rides as much as she, the horse always showed his eagerness to go with her this way.
“Will ye want me with you, Miss?” Samuel was her father’s man, always had been since before she was born. He, as well as all the Courtland stable hands, had seen to it she was an expert rider. As a result, she’d never had an accident. Nonetheless, Samuel always asked if she wished company.
“I ride alone today, Samuel.”
“Much to think of, eh?” he teased. Though old as Papa, Samuel had more grey hair and wizened lines than his master. He also understood her as well, often better than her father. The groom had excellent knowledge of horse flesh and her father often took Samuel with him to every race and every auction. Much thanks to Samuel, Papa’s line of thoroughbreds was well known and much sought-after. Her father’s purse was fat from those who had purchased the good stock he was known to breed.
Would that Papa had bred as many human children—and as many male offspring—as he had horses.
She shook her head. “If he had, I would not be in this quandary.”
