Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  * * *

  What is the meaning of these ghosts? Aaron thought to himself as they thundered along the Eastern path, heading for the exit. They passed Wright and Clutterbuck at the edge of the nearby forest and paused to explain where they were going. Clutterbuck was awake but dazed, a streak of blood swiped across his temple.

  “I did not see who hit me, General,” he apologized, dipping his head in shame.

  “Do not worry about that now. Get yourself into the warmth, and we will come and find you later. The man who struck you has taken my daughter, and we must find her before he can bring harm to her,” Aaron explained rapidly, before continuing on down the dimly-lit path.

  They pressed on through the gloom, the torchlight from the pathway dwindling into darkness. The moonlight gave them a glow to see by, but they had to be careful not to wander off the path and into the bordering woodland. Owls hooted in the branches, and creatures snuffled in the undergrowth, but Aaron barely paid the noises any attention. Those sounds did not belong to his beloved daughter.

  Why is this man doing this? Does he bear some vendetta against Lord Peterborough? Have they squabbled? It did not seem likely, but he could not fathom another reason. No matter how he strived, he could not conjure the face of a ghost in his mind.

  Ten minutes later, a bridge came into view. Aaron slowed to a walk, with Ewan, Ronscales, Seth, and Davids coming to a halt beside him. Two figures stood in the center of the bridge, though one seemed to be on the precipice of the masonry, beyond the protection of the balustrade.

  “It is Gerome,” Ewan whispered.

  “And Henrietta?” Aaron’s eyesight was not what it had once been.

  “I believe so, though it is hard to see.”

  Aaron nodded. “We must approach with caution. We do not know of his mental state, and he may push her if we are too bold.”

  It was too late. Ewan had already shouted. “Stop! Let her go!”

  Gerome whirled around, his eyes narrowing.

  “Approach steadily, as we have lost the element of surprise,” Aaron warned, Ewan appearing shamefaced. Aaron could tell that his son-in-law had not been able to help the words from tumbling out, and he did not blame him. It was hard to see a loved one in trouble and keep one’s wits intact.

  Slowly, they began to make their way towards the two figures. They had almost reached the entrance to the bridge, when a voice called out through the still night.

  “That is far enough,” Gerome shouted. “One more step, and I will push her. There is a rope around her neck, and she will hang if you disobey.”

  Henrietta stood on the edge of the outer balustrade, her body shaking unsteadily. Her wide gaze turned towards her father in desperation, a soft sob rasping from the back of her throat. Her mouth opened, as if she wished to say something, but Gerome tugged violently on the rope and silenced her in one swift movement. She choked, her hands scrabbling at the cord. A moment later, he loosened his hold, allowing her to breathe.

  Aaron froze, the others stopping beside him. “We will not move, Gerome,” he promised.

  “So, you have come to save her, have you?” Gerome spat, his glinting eyes turned towards Aaron. “You would rescue her. She is precious to you, is she not?”

  “Gerome, please. She is my daughter.”

  “You show concern for her, yet you showed none for me,” Gerome replied sharply. “You showed none to my mother, whose only mistake in life was to love you. She trusted you, and you abandoned us both.”

  “What?” Aaron murmured, frowning in confusion. “I do not understand. Release my daughter, and we may discuss this further.”

  “No, we will talk under my terms. I am finished with being subservient. I will follow no more orders,” he shot back. “If I do not like your answers, your daughter’s life will be forfeit.”

  Aaron’s mind felt foggy and disoriented. “I do not understand, Gerome. Who are you? Tell me, so we might talk more—so I might resolve this peacefully.”

  “You are not a creature of peace, General. You are a creature of war, who only understands violence and suffering,” Gerome seethed. “That is why it has to be this way. Otherwise, you will not be punished for your crimes. Otherwise, my mother will never have her vengeance.”

  Something clicked inside Aaron’s head. “You are French, are you not?”

  “Do you finally recognize me?” Gerome’s tone was bitter and mocking.

  “Your last name is Buffond?”

  “At last… he sees me. The ghost of his past.”

  A memory flitted back into Aaron’s mind, from long ago. He had been a younger man then, though he had not been as impulsive as some. In the midst of war, with chaos raging all around them and no end in sight, he had sought comfort in the arms of a beautiful young woman. She had lived in a nearby village that they had recently freed, and though their romance had been fleeting, he had cared for the girl deeply.

  Seraphine Buffond. I remember you now… I looked for you. I looked for the boy. Oh, what the years have done to you. Would you believe me now, if I sought to make amends?

  “Where is Seraphine?” Aaron asked, the memory causing his heart to twist with guilt and regret. He had truly searched for the boy and his mother, but they had been moved on so many times that he did not know where to find them. And when he had finally returned, nobody could tell him where they were.

  “Dead,” Gerome said bluntly. “She died of grief.”

  “I am sorry, Gerome.”

  “It is much too late for sorry, Father,” he cut coldly. “Now, you will suffer as I suffered.”

  “I cared about your mother, Gerome,” Aaron went on, buying some time. “You may not believe me, but I did. My battalion was moved on after the fighting ended near your village. I tried to find you in the years that followed, but nobody knew anything of you or your mother. It was as if you had vanished.”

  Gerome scowled, tugging tighter on the rope around Henrietta’s neck. “You lie.”

  “No, I do not. If you would release my daughter, I can show you the proof,” he explained. “I have documents that detail my search for you. They are dated. I truly scoured France for you.”

  “Well, I was not in France,” Gerome hissed. “I was transferred to Guernsey. I lived my entire childhood in an orphanage, alone and mistreated. I did not know what it meant to be clean until I was ten-and-five, and I ran from that place for good. I never knew affection. My mother was gone. My father did not return. I have lived enough, and this shall be my final act.”

  “I did not know, Gerome. I did not know. But I did attempt to find you, I swear it on my life.”

  He smirked. “Would you swear it on your daughter’s life?”

  “Gerome, you must stop this. If you let her go, then we may speak. I realize that I cannot repair the wounds of bygone years, but I can promise to start afresh. I will do what I can to make amends, but you must release Henrietta.”

  He tugged the rope again, to prove his intent. Henrietta spluttered. At Aaron’s side, Ewan bristled, his hands balling into fists.

  “Do not behave rashly, or he may kill her,” Aaron whispered.

  “He is already killing her,” Ewan muttered bitterly.

  “A few minutes more, that is all I ask,” Aaron replied. “Let me try and save her this way.”

  Ewan narrowed his eyes. “If he tugs on that rope again, wild horses will not prevent me from striking him down. I can make it to him before she falls, I am certain of it.”

  “Not yet,” Aaron warned.

  “What are you murmuring about over there?” Gerome asked sourly. “If you attempt anything, I will push her. I mean it. I did not come here with the intention of surviving. You see, General, today, you will lose both of your children. The one who did not deserve you, and the one who longed only to be loved by you.”

  Aaron shook his head. “Gerome, don’t!”

  “Give me one good reason why.”

  Aaron stared at the ghost of his past and could not find a
n answer. His youthful impulse had put his daughter in danger, but he knew that he was the one who ought to have the rope around his neck. He had not intended to abandon Gerome, but he knew how it looked. This boy, now a man, had suffered years of neglect, alone in an orphanage. And it was all Aaron’s doing.

  “I am sorry… that is all I can say,” Aaron said, at last.

  Gerome tutted. “That is not enough. This is the end for us both.”

  “Papa!” Henrietta’s scream pierced the air, splitting his heart in two.

  Chapter 36

  Gerome shoved Henrietta as hard as he could, everything moving in slow motion. Ewan stared in horror as the devil’s hand pushed squarely between Henrietta’s shoulder-blades, sending her over the edge of the bridge.

  Spurred on by adrenaline and abject panic for his wife’s life, Ewan tore across the bridge and dove towards the balustrade. His hands reached through the gaps, his fingers grasping desperately for Henrietta’s beautiful amethyst gown. The one that this wretch had brought for her to wear.

  Delivered by the hands of a traitor, as her final costume. Well, not if I can help it! He scrambled for purchase, his right hand gripping a fold of satin.

  With an almighty roar, he yanked back on the fabric, pulling Henrietta back towards safety. She screamed as she teetered, Gerome’s hands still on the end of the rope. Undeterred, Ewan jumped to his feet and wrapped his arms around his wife, hauling her back over the balustrade to solid ground.

  “Ewan!” she cried in a strangled voice, holding tight to him.

  “You are safe, my love. You are safe,” he replied, refusing to let go.

  “Not quite,” Gerome muttered darkly, as he pulled hard on the rope around her neck. Glancing down, Henrietta’s eyes began to bulge, her face turning scarlet as her air supply was cut off. She tried to tug at the rope, but it was too tight. Ewan reached for it, panicking, but he could not free her, either.

  “Release her!” Ewan roared, getting to his feet.

  Gerome narrowed his eyes. “Never.”

  Terrified of losing his wife, he lunged for Gerome and knocked him to the ground, the two of them grappling for the rope. He dug into Gerome’s hand with his nails, trying to pry the coil from the villain’s grip, but he held fast like a man possessed. Make no mistake, the devil was in him.

  A split second later, Gerome looked up in alarm. His hands released the rope, and he slithered away from Ewan. The General and his men, with Seth trailing behind, were headed towards him. Leaping to his feet, Gerome took off across the bridge, heading for the distant horizon. Henrietta writhed on the ground, clawing breath back into her lungs, her eyes red and bloodshot. Torn, Ewan looked between his wife and the retreating enemy. If he let Gerome escape, then a threat would loom over them for the rest of their lives.

  “I will come back, my love,” he murmured, kissing Henrietta’s forehead. “General, have your men see to my wife. We must go after Gerome!”

  “I am right behind you,” Aaron shouted, as the pair of them sprinted after the escaping shadow.

  You will not evade us, Ewan promised, thinking of his wife on the bridge. She would forgive him, he was certain. Indeed, it spurred on his ire towards Gerome. Not only had he attempted to murder Henrietta, but he had prevented Ewan from being there to aid her in her greatest hour of need. Gerome’s past did not justify this.

  They chased him through the darkness, his figure visible in the gracious light of the silvery moon. Had it not been full, they would not have been able to trace him. It seemed as if providence was smiling down upon Ewan and Aaron, allowing them to seek out the man who had threatened their peace.

  At the Eastern gate, Gerome tore out onto the road beyond, before bounding over a fence and sprinting on into the opposite fields. Ewan followed at speed, though Aaron had fallen behind. He was older now, and not so sprightly as he might have been during his war days. Still, Ewan did not give up. He could not give up.

  Fifteen minutes later, and the gap was beginning to close. Gerome was tiring. Like a predator sensing the end of its prey’s life, Ewan picked up the pace, hurtling after his aggressor. Thoughts of Henrietta drove him on, though his lungs burned, and his muscles ached. It had been a long time since he had exerted himself like this, if ever.

  A forest lay up ahead, looming ominously. If Gerome manages to slip into the woodland, I will lose him. Unwilling to let that happen, he pushed himself harder, until he could not physically run any faster. Even then, the gap was not small enough.

  “Stop!” Ewan bellowed fruitlessly.

  Gerome glanced back over his shoulder, flashing a cold smile. He knew he would be victorious; it was written all over his twisted features. Ewan could not catch him before he reached the forest, and both of them knew it.

  “I said stop!” Ewan cried again, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, Gerome disappeared into the dense, dark forest, taking Ewan’s hope with him.

  Think of her… think of your future together. There will not be one if Gerome is allowed to wander free, he told himself, barreling into the trees. He scraped to a halt in the undergrowth, regaining his breath as he peered into the shadows. Closing his eyes, he let his hearing take over, listening out for the slightest discrepancy in the sounds of the woodland.

  When he could hear nothing of note, he began to edge forward into the gloom. An owl screeched in the distance, and he could hear the cries of warring foxes, but he could not pick out the sound of his true enemy. All he could hear close by was the sound of his own breath.

  With the roots of the trees snatching at his boots, he kept on moving, his ears pricked for the slightest sound. Every shadow bore Gerome’s face, and every shadow proved to be nothing more than his imagination playing tricks on him.

  “Show yourself!” Ewan barked.

  Silence followed.

  You fooled me, you coward. You came into my home and you threatened my wife. I will punish you for these acts. I will not allow you to get close to her again, you may count on that.

  He realized how oblivious he had been, mentioning the plan to the General in Gerome’s company. All his life, he had been taught that staff were to be seen and not heard, and that false education had brought him to this. Gerome had stolen Henrietta’s letters, and he had been the one to deliver those notes—there had been no express rider. He had been the express rider.

  Not only that, but Gerome had been the one to purchase the tickets for the Autumn Ball. He had known of their exact whereabouts, and what the plan of action was set to be. He had overheard Aaron and his men discussing their positions, and how they would protect the exits. Gerome had known everything, and none of them had realized. Like a snake in the grass, he had crept up on them unawares.

  Indeed, Ewan wanted to be angry at Aaron, for it was the General’s fault that this had come to pass. However, he could not find it in his heart. Deep down, he felt a faint flicker of pity for Gerome’s history, but his sorrow did not mean he could cause another’s. Mistakes had been made by all, and he could not see what the outcome would be.

  A twig snapped a short distance away. Ewan’s head snapped up, his eyes squinting to get a better look. As he took a small step towards the sound, something hit him hard in the back of the head. He staggered forwards, shaking away the dizziness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur heading his way.

  Waiting until the very last moment, he whirled around and grabbed at Gerome, the two of them sprawling in the dirt and mulch. Gerome was far stronger than he looked, his rage intensifying his power as he wrestled with his former employer. A blow landed on Ewan’s jaw, sending a jolt of pain through his skull. Retaliating, Ewan sent a punch into Gerome’s solar plexus, winding him. The wretch sagged, a groan hissing from his lips.

  “You threatened my wife,” Ewan spat, struggling against Gerome as the man knelt on his arms, keeping them down.

  “I needed to punish the General for what he did to me,” Gerome shot back, reaching for Ewan’s throat. “As you have tak
en that opportunity from me, you will have to do. This way, Henrietta will suffer, and she will not forgive her father for the loss of you. It is not quite what I wanted, but it will be good enough.” He squeezed hard, attempting to crush Ewan’s windpipe.

  “Henrietta is innocent,” Ewan strained to speak. “You had no right.”

  “I had every right. She took my place. She gained his affection, and she did not deserve it. And you—how could you allow her to send such preposterous letters to those establishments? She will only bring shame on your name, as she would have done the Oliver name.”

  “You do not know her,” Ewan rasped. His hands scraped along the undergrowth, looking for something he might use to fight back.