by Alec, Joyce
Closing her eyes and dragging in air, Henrietta gathered her courage and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her. She had only been in Lord Chaucer’s townhouse on three previous occasions, but they had met once in the library and that was now where she sought refuge.
Refuge that might be short-lived, but refuge enough to help her build her strength for what was to come.
Her feet made no sound as she hurried along the hallway towards the library, feeling a chill wrap itself around her shoulders. This was not her home, of course, but it was now to be her prison. She could have no freedom now. There was nowhere else for her to go, nowhere else to turn. She could not run to her sister’s estate, could not beg for refuge there, for Lord Chaucer would soon discover her and demand her return, just as he had every right to do. Glad as she was that her mother was to be taken care of by her sister and Lord Preston, Henrietta could not help but feel broken-hearted over her own lack of hope. She would, no doubt, be forbidden from visiting her sister once the child was born, for Henrietta knew that Lord Chaucer would not be in any way sentimental. He cared nothing for others, so why would he permit her to visit her own flesh and blood?
Panic began to fill her lungs as she threw open the library door and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind her, but she did not heed the noise, tears beginning to pour down her face. Covering her face with her hands, she sank down to the floor just in front of the door, sobs shaking her whole frame. Everything she felt, everything she feared and dreaded, came out in that one moment. She could not stop her tears, could not prevent her agony from showing its face. It was just as well that she was alone.
Just how long she cried for, Henrietta did not know. Her pain did not decrease as she wept; it only grew in strength, tormenting her further. The walls of her prison seemed to press in upon her, mocking her, pricking at her skin until she felt as though she could take it no longer.
“What am I to do?” she whispered, resting her head back against the door, her hands falling limply to the ground. “There is no way out.”
“There is always something one can do.”
The sound of a friendly male voice answering her whispered question had her shrieking in fright. Barely able to make out who was present within the library, given that only a few candles were lit, and a small fire burned in the grate, Henrietta felt fear clutch at her throat. She tried to scramble to her feet. However, such was the weakness of her limbs that she could not do so, and ended up screaming yet again out of nothing more than utter terror.
“Please, please.” A gentleman came close to her, bending down so that she might look into his face. He had a candle in his hand, which he held out between them. Henrietta’s breathing came in ragged gasps, one hand still pressed against her heart as she tried to make out the face before her.
“You do not know me, I believe,” the gentleman said plainly. “But I promise you have nothing to fear from me.”
Henrietta swallowed hard, a fresh terror beginning to wind its way through her mind. “You are one of my husband’s guests.”
“Indeed.”
“You are going to tell him what I have done!” She pressed one hand to her mouth in horror, her eyes widening as she stared at the gentleman. This was more dreadful than she had thought. Lord Chaucer would bring no end of punishment for both her display of emotion and for revealing it to one of his guests.
The gentleman held out one hand, palm facing her in a non-threatening gesture. “No, Lady Chaucer. I shall do no such thing.” His face was set, his expression rather hard. “I believe I was only invited to this… wonderful… event due to the fact that I am something of an interesting character at this present time. I do not know your husband particularly well, but having my company at his wedding breakfast will be something he can boast about for some time—not that I think myself in any way important, you understand.”
Henrietta could barely think straight, looking into the gentleman’s face and trying to decide whether he was being truthful in what he said.
“But I do not think that we should continue this conversation from where you are currently sitting,” the gentleman continued with a quick smile. “Can you rise, Lady Chaucer? There is a seat by the fire and I shall stoke it further so you are not chilled. And there is some very fine brandy also. Perhaps that may help you to regain yourself a little.”
Thinking to herself that she had very little choice in the matter and that it would be quite foolish to remain seated on the floor, Henrietta attempted to rise as elegantly as possible, only to discover that her legs were more than a little weak and that she could not do as she wished.
“If you will permit me.”
Her face burned in shame as she looked up to see the gentleman extend his hand towards her, his handsome face gentle in its expression, as though he truly pitied her at this present moment. Drawing in a long breath, Henrietta reached out and accepted his hand, aware of just how badly she was trembling. The gentleman made no particular mention of this, however, and simply helped her to get to her feet with a strength that quite overwhelmed Henrietta. She wanted to shrink away from him, fearing that he might use that strength against her in some way, but found that she could not let him go, given just how tired and weak she was.
“This way, Lady Chaucer,” the gentleman murmured. “Lean on me, if you require it. I will not mind, I assure you.” A smile appeared on his face, one that reached his eyes, and much to her surprise, Henrietta found herself attempting to smile back. There was something about this fellow that told her he would not harm her, although where this notion had come from, she could not quite say. Within a few minutes, she found herself seated by the fire, feeling the warmth run over her skin, the blaze welcoming and encouraging in equal measure. The gentleman pressed a glass of brandy into her hands before seating himself opposite her, giving her the sense that she was utterly safe in his presence.
“Drink,” he said with a warm smile. “It will restore you even more, Lady Chaucer.”
“And I shall need my strength before this night is out,” she whispered to herself, before lifting the brandy glass to her lips. She did not think that he had heard her speak, but once she had taken a small sip of the brandy, she looked back at the gentleman and saw him giving her something of a strange look.
“Thank you,” she said, a trifle more loudly. “You are very kind, sir. Although I confess, I do not know your name.” She took him in again, seeing the warmth in his brown eyes and the way his dark hair flopped to one side. He looked the epitome of friendliness and it made Henrietta want to weep for what she did not have and had never truly experienced—friendship, support, and kindness that came with a mutual understanding and consideration. Her only true friend had been Mary, her sister, but with her sister’s marriage had come the end of their closeness.
Henrietta realized she was terribly lonely.
“My name is Mr. Francis Newton,” the man replied with a small shrug. “Not anyone of note by any means, you understand. My brother is Baron Hollard.”
The name meant nothing to her. “I see.”
“You do not know of the uproar I have created in town, I see,” Mr. Newton continued with a quick grin. “That is to be commended.” He laughed softly and smiled at her. “It is somewhat refreshing to meet another who has very little idea as to who I am or why my company is often sought after.”
“I do hope I have not insulted you, sir,” Henrietta said hastily, not quite sure whether she had offended him by her lack of insight. “I fear my father was not particularly keen on allowing me any such interest in societal matters.”
Mr. Newton laughed and shook his head, and for the first time in her terrible, difficult day, Henrietta found herself smiling back, feeling almost happy for just a brief moment.
“No, indeed not, my lady,” he replied, his smile broadening into a grin. “It was quite the thing at the time, I assure you, but I had thought it all forgotten when I dared return to London. However, it a
ppears that I am not at all to be allowed to forget it.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and settled back down. “I was convicted of a crime, you see. More than one, in fact, but it was all entirely false. By my own ways and means, and with the help of my dear friend and my sister, I was able to prove my innocence, was released and pardoned.” His smile became a little softer. “My sister married my dear friend and now all is quite as it ought to be—except for the fact that I receive a good many invitations to things such as this, where I do not know the groom nor the bride particularly well.” His smile slipped. “Although, if I may say, my lady, you do not look at all happy about today’s events.”
She shook her head and let her gaze fall to her lap. She knew that she was more than a little pale, that her eyes were dim and that she had been crying a good deal, so she was quite certain that she did not look at all well, but to have it pointed out by Mr. Newton was positively embarrassing.
“I did not mean to bring you any sort of shame, my lady.” Mr. Newton’s voice was soft. “If I can be of any comfort to you, then I would offer my services to you.”
Daring a glance up at him, Henrietta found herself almost desperate for any sort of release from the agony she felt, as though she were reaching out to him with the urgent desire to hold on to everything he offered. She wanted to tell him everything, to tell him of the life she had endured and the suffering that had come because of her grandmother’s supposedly brazen behavior. She wanted to cry about how unfair it had been, how she had tried her best to live as her father had asked her but still found herself failing him almost daily.
But no. She could say nothing of such things.
“If you would but sit with me until I have regained enough strength to retire, sir,” she requested, aware that her husband would, most likely, beat her should he discover her ensconced alone with another gentleman, “then I should be most grateful.” She threw aside her fear, trying to find courage in that moment. Courage for what she would need to face tonight—and for the rest of her life to come.
Mr. Newton smiled at her, although his eyes were filled with compassion and understanding. He must know of her husband, must know that he was not a gentleman that would treat his wife with any sort of kindness, and the sympathy in his gaze both comforted her and brought her shame.
“I would be more than glad to sit with you, my lady,” Mr. Newton said gently. “Now, what is it we should talk of?”
She smiled tremulously, feeling her heart settle a little more. “We may speak of anything you wish, sir,” she replied quietly. “Thank you for your comfort thus far. It is of more help than you could possibly know.”
Mr. Newton said nothing, but studied her quietly for a few moments, before a sigh escaped his lips. “You are more than welcome, Lady Chaucer,” he said, his words somber and heavy. “And if I may be so bold and speak plainly, then I do not think your husband deserves such a lady as you as his wife.”
His eyes burned with something unspoken as she stared at him, her heart suddenly thumping furiously in her chest. She did not know what to say, her mouth going dry whilst tears began to blur her vision.
“You are most generous,” she managed to say eventually, her voice a rasping whisper. “But there is nothing for it now. Nothing but to strive on and find a way to endure.”
“Endure?” he repeated, sounding a little angry. “Is that what you must do?”
Spreading her hands, Henrietta looked at him without a single thread of hope in her soul. “That is all I can do,” she replied, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Until I am released from my bond through death. What else is there to do but endure until then?”
3
Francis Newton did not like Viscount Chaucer in the least. He had no particular notion as to why he had chosen to attend the wedding breakfast, but now he felt even more disgusted with the fellow than he had before.
Last evening had been something of a revelation for him. Lady Chaucer had not been the type of creature he had expected to be marrying the viscount, for he had thought the lady who would have agreed to such a marriage would have been something of an old spinster, with very little choice. To see the young, timid Lady Chaucer emerging from the church by the side of the large, grotesque figure of Viscount Chaucer had been truly shocking. Chaucer had not so much as greeted those who had come to witness their marriage but had strode towards the carriage and left his wife to do that particular duty on his behalf.
Francis had been sickened at the sight, quite sure that Lady Chaucer was doing all she could to spare her husband’s reputation, and he felt angry on her behalf. The poor young lady had seemed almost at her wits’ end as she had eventually made her way to the carriage, her every step heavy and reluctant, as though she had wanted to turn and run but had found no safe haven to escape to.
He himself had not been able to endure Viscount Chaucer’s drunken revelry, particularly when the gentleman had forbidden any of his guests to even speak to Lady Chaucer as she sat there next to him. Francis had barely been able to take his eyes from her, seeing the paleness of her cheeks and the fear in her eyes. His heart had gone out to her and he had found himself suddenly desperate to remove her from this terrible situation—to the point where he had needed to excuse himself from the rest of the guests and quit the house.
Except he had not done so. He had gone to the library instead of towards the front door, choosing to remain at the house rather than return home. He could not explain why, other than the fact that Lady Chaucer’s plight still called out to him. Of course, he could not do anything for her now, not when her marriage vows had only just been said, but still he had found himself desperate to release her somehow.
To find her stumbling into the very library where he stood had seemed like fate’s guiding hand. How he had hated seeing the fear in her pale blue eyes as he had reached for her. How he had grown angry over the fact that she had shrunk away from him, as though he would strike her for simply being present. He had little doubt that Lady Chaucer was well used to such treatment, given the way her father and Viscount Chaucer seemed so alike, and something in him had broken for her. Instead of leaving her once he had seated her by the fire, Francis had found himself staying by her side, insisting that he try and bring her a little relief from her obvious distress.
He had known full well that Viscount Chaucer would have him thrown from the house, if not worse, should he discover the two of them sitting together without a chaperone or even the door ajar, but he had found himself entirely at his leisure regardless of that fact. He had wanted nothing but to be in Lady Chaucer’s company, and so that was what he had done. For at least two hours, they had conversed, and he had found himself becoming quite entwined with the lady. She had not spoken a good deal at first, but as the time had gone on, she had begun to speak with a little more frankness as she became emboldened. Perhaps she had begun to trust him, Francis reflected, finding that even that thought brought a joy to his heart that he had never known before.
When she had been forced to retire, he had felt her loss almost immediately. She had not gone through the door that she had entered, but through another, hidden away in the corner of the room. Evidently, she had not wished to risk Lord Chaucer seeing her.
Unable to help himself, he had pressed her hand to his lips before they parted, had kissed her skin with a fervor and a passion that had taken his own breath away. How could he feel something so strong for a lady he knew so little? It had been quite remarkable and yet, as he had let her go, Francis had felt so much pain within his heart that he had wanted to weep.
Lady Chaucer had looked up into his face then, her cheeks beginning to color just a little. In the fire’s glow, he had taken her in as though he wanted to commit her face and this moment to his memory always. Her blue eyes had sparkled like precious jewels, jewels that were just out of reach. The way her dark brown hair had begun to wisp about her forehead and temples, freeing itself from the pearls and pins that held it so elegantly, had sent a hard ki
ck to his stomach. Despite the pain in his heart, despite the knowledge that he could not do anything to aid her in what was a desperate situation, Francis allowed his heart to feel everything and anything it wished in that one moment. The flurry of emotion had flooded all through him, his fingers tightening on hers as he had kept his gaze trained on her. Lady Chaucer had not turned away from him, had not even removed her eyes from his, but had continued to allow him to hold her hand as nothing but air passed between them. No words were said, no promises were made, no declarations spoken, and yet Francis felt as though she knew what it was he was feeling, even if he was unable to put words to it himself.
And then, she had begun to cry.
His heart had ripped as she had pulled her hand from his, her tears dashed away as she opened the door. She had not looked at him again but had almost run from him, her slippered feet barely making a sound as she hurried through the house. Francis had stared after her, the shout of her name lodged in his throat as he held out one hand after her, although his feet had remained fixed to the floor.
No matter what he thought he felt, no matter his sympathy, his compassion, or his grief over her, he could not allow himself to go after her. She was not to be his. She could not be rescued from this. Lord Chaucer was her husband and he had no right to interfere.
At least, that was what he had to keep reminding himself.
“You look rather ill, old boy.”
Francis looked up, startled.
“The butler did want to insist that he introduce me, but I was having none of it,” the gentleman continued, coming into the dining room and planting himself in a seat opposite Francis. “You did not forget that I was to join you this morning?” He snorted, his blue eyes twinkling. “Although in a moment or two, it shall be morning no longer.”
