Blythe Court (Novella)

by Nora Covington

  I walked to his side and whispered in his ear. “Might I join you later?”

  He pulled away and glanced over at the footman, no doubt worried the man heard my question. “Not this evening,” he answered in a low tone. “Perhaps another night.”

  His spurn tore another piece of my already wounded heart.

  “As you wish,” I coolly responded. Not wanting to remain for further conversation, I turned and departed. When I made my way to my room, I decided not to ring for Melanie. I was not in the mood to be handled by another person or talk for that matter. Sulking and ruminating over my circumstances seemed far more appealing.

  After changing into a nightgown and climbing between the cold sheets, I covered myself up to my chin with a blanket. The clock chimed nine o’clock, much earlier than my regular time to retire. It was our first night back at Blythe Court as husband and wife, and he would not even share my bed with me. Emotionally drained, I slipped into a restless sleep.

  Hours later, my eyes opened. I glanced about in the dark and lonely room and ached to be in John’s presence. Why must he push me away? Determined to try once more, I slipped out of bed and wrapped a robe around my chilled body. Surely, he could give me a moment of comfort, even if it were but a simple hug and peck on the cheek. I could not bear his lack of attention.

  Though our rooms joined, I had never seen the inside of his quarters. It wasn’t about to stop me, so I softly tapped on the door a few times. To my disappointment, after multiple knocks, he did not answer. Undeterred, I grasped the handle and found it unlocked. I turned the knob and pushed open the door, revealing the interior. He was nowhere in sight, and his bed had not been turned down for the night. Where had he gone?

  Confused by his disappearance, I closed the door and decided to wander downstairs to look for him. His absence planted a seed of distrust in my heart. Thinking he might be in his study, I headed in its direction. Upon my arrival, I found it empty too.

  I stood in the doorway pondering his whereabouts. As I turned to search elsewhere, I saw him approach from down the hall, emerging like a ghost out of the darkness.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” he tersely asked.

  John halted in front of me. His clothes looked disheveled and wrinkled, and his hair wild and out of place. He raked his fingers through his unruly locks and smoothed back the stray strands.

  “I might ask the same of you,” I countered, eying him angrily.

  “I fell asleep in a chair,” he said.

  “I’m lonely, and I wanted to join you in your bed.” My admission caught him off guard.

  “It’s late, you should return to your room,” he replied, offering me no comfort or companionship.

  “I don’t understand why you agreed to marry me,” I snapped. “You want absolutely nothing to do with me as your wife. I feel abandoned, unwanted, and despised. Do you want me to leave and go back to my parents? Will that make you happy?”

  My voice rose to such a pitch, I was sure it carried to the servants’ quarters. Let them hear, I thought to myself. They will see his treatment of me soon enough and add up the sad state of affairs. John’s countenance softened undoubtedly from guilt about his behavior.

  “I am sorry,” he said with remorse. “Come with me and let’s go to bed.”

  He offered his hand, and I paused for a moment. My relationship with John Broadhurst evolved into a jumbled mixture of love, anger, and suspicion. If I could only come to the point of indifference and accept things as they were, I might be happy with him. However, I did not want to admit defeat in winning his heart.

  “All right,” I said, taking his hand. It was warm to the touch. He gently led me up the stairs. Rather than going to his room, he took me back to my own. I did not mind because at least we would be together.

  “You can hold me,” I said. “It’s all I need unless you need more.”

  “If I hold you through the night, will that suffice?”

  I shook my head yes. He undressed before me, and we slipped under the covers together. When his arm gathered me and pulled me close, I snuggled my head in the corner of his shoulder and relaxed. He gave me a sweet kiss on my forehead and stroked my hair.

  “Go to sleep now, Ann. I’m here.”

  A peaceful and satisfying rest washed over me as I lay in the arms of the man I loved. If only he would stay with me and not drift away.

  The Way of Things

  A soft knock on the door stirred me from my slumber. My eyelids fluttered, and finally I awakened to find John still next to me sound asleep. I glanced at the clock and answered “yes.” To my surprise, the door opened revealing Melanie with her usual tray of tea and bread she offered upon awakening. Amazed she entered without my final approval, I sat up in bed startled. My movement stirred John, and he rolled over. She saw the two of us in bed and gawked in shock.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she cried. “Forgive me for the intrusion.”

  She started to back out of the bedchamber as John bellowed at the top of his voice.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing in here? Get out!”

  His gruff response to her disturbance caused Melanie to burst into tears. It shocked me, and I shot him a disapproving glare.

  “Come back in a half hour, Melanie, when it is more convenient.” She backed out of the room sobbing and closed the door behind her.

  “Was that necessary?” I scowled at him. “You scared the daylights out of her.”

  “She shouldn’t barge in like that without being given entrance,” he grumbled, throwing the blanket off him and standing up. He snatched his pants from the floor, slipped them on, and grabbed his shirt. “Tell her to make sure she never does that again.” John grabbed his remaining clothes, flung open the adjoining door, and banged it shut rattling the picture on the wall.

  “Well, put volatile temper on your short list of his emerging personality traits,” I grumbled. In spite of everything, his actions were uncalled for, and I patiently waited for Melanie’s return. An apology was due, whether or not my husband would be man enough to make it. A half hour passed, and a knock came at the door again.

  “Come in,” I said. To my surprise, one of the chambermaids stood in the doorway.

  “Where is Melanie?” I inquired.

  “In the servants’ quarters, my lady. I am afraid she is crying and embarrassed about having walked in on you and his lordship.”

  “It was an understandable mistake,” I said. “You can put down the tray and leave. Go fetch her to come and attend to my morning needs. She should not fear me, and I am sorry for my husband’s outburst.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The young maid scurried from my room. As I finished my tea, and my lady’s maid returned. Her eyes and nose were red from tears.

  “I’m so very sorry,” she began. Her voice quavered, and she lowered her head peering at the floor rather than at me.

  “It is forgiven. Think nothing more of it, and I shall have my husband apologize to you for his rash anger.”

  “Oh, please don’t, my lady. I deserved it.”

  “Nonsense,” I countered. “Now we will talk no more of it. Help me with my morning toilette and dressing.”

  I fully intended to make sure John apologized. The home in which I grew up always showed respect to the staff, and I intended to do the same in my household.

  Melanie helped me prepare for a busy day. I planned to acclimate myself to the running of the estate by meeting with the butler and head housekeeper. After I dressed and dismissed Melanie to attend to other duties, I descended the stairs and arrived in the dining room. John was nowhere in sight.

  “Has my husband been down for breakfast?” I asked Mr. Rhodes upon finding John missing again.

  “Yes, my lady. He left to meet with Mr. Williams, the estate manager. They have gone to the hunting tower, I believe, to talk about doing some repairs on the building.”

  “Did they ride or walk?”

  “They usually ride, my lad
y.”

  I enjoyed horsemanship. It was apparent John would be away from Blythe Court often on some excuse, and I needed to seek my own recreation.

  “Mr. Rhodes, is it possible to have a groom saddle a horse for me as well? I would like to take in a bit of fresh air after breakfast.”

  “Yes, of course. I will see to it now.”

  After having a leisurely breakfast and returning to my suite, I changed into a riding habit and headed out-of-doors. The partly sunny day painted puffy white clouds that swiftly crossed the sky, pushed along by a gusty breeze. As I set out on the estate grounds, I headed for the hill where we enjoyed the picnic on the weekend of the house party. It afforded an exceptional view of the landscape and would be a superb place to spend a few moments in silence and contemplation.

  Upon my arrival, I dismounted and tethered the horse to a nearby bush. My hat did little to shade the bright sun from my eyes. I placed my hand above my brow and squinted in the direction of the hunting tower, hoping to see John and Mr. Williams. It would be nice to spend a private moment with him riding if I could convince him to do so.

  My eyes focused on the tower where I saw a horse tethered. To my surprise, John stood by his steed patting him on the neck apparently waiting for Mr. Williams. A moment later, I saw another person approach from the direction of the residence. Her exuberant step headed straight for John. When I recognized who it was, I brought my hand to my chest afraid my heart would stop from the shock. As I witnessed them embrace, I staggered backward nearly fainting. In my husband’s arms stood Melanie.

  After their brief but ardent greeting, John opened the door to the tower and they disappeared inside. The betrayal of my lady’s maid and husband played out before me in graphic detail. Their clandestine rendezvous, now behind closed doors, would no doubt turn intimate.

  Emotionally numb and fearful they might see me, I mounted my horse and sped back to Blythe Court. My astonishment and agony exploded in torrents of tears streaming down my face. The question about his lack of affection had been answered—he loved another woman. Not just any woman but my lady’s maid! How long had this affair been brewing? After thinking about his actions before our marriage and Melanie’s envy over our wedding, I concluded the romance had been in place for some time.

  “If he loved her so much, why didn’t he marry her?” I screamed aloud. My dowry, no doubt. Obedience to his family, afraid of being cut off from his father, the possibilities were endless. John Broadhurst was a coward, liar, and womanizer.

  As I approached Blythe Court, consumed by painful emotions, I halted the horse and tried to compose myself before entering the door. Two options stood before me. The most obvious would be to dismiss Melanie and have her driven from Blythe Court. Whether that would put distance between the two would be questionable. It would be easy for John to set her up somewhere else as his mistress and continue the tryst regardless of my demands. The second course of action would be to say nothing and bury my pain. Once I became pregnant, perhaps their affair would come to an end, and finally he would fall in love with me.

  While contemplating the sordid state of affairs, my head spun with dizziness. Tortuous imaginations of the two intimately intertwined filled my mind. No doubt, he satisfied her by making love and not grunting his way through the act as he did with me. The thought of having him visit my bed again made me nauseated. How could I let him touch me knowing he shared his body with her? For that matter, how could I keep her as my lady’s maid knowing the deceit she played before me each time we were together?

  “Oh, God, I don’t know what to do,” I cried. My arm clutched my waist from the horrid revelation. “I need Mother.” Whatever wisdom she would give me, I would accept. At that moment, my soul ached remembering the premonition I had beforehand that he would wound my heart. I had expertly prophesied over my marriage.

  Upon my return to the estate, I went directly to the stables and asked for a coach to be brought to me posthaste. I hastily returned to my bedchamber and changed. Afterward, I descended the stairs and told Mr. Rhodes something of importance had arisen. If the marquess needed to know my whereabouts, he should tell him I departed to visit my mother. As expected, I received an odd expression about my hasty exodus but felt no need to explain further.

  I climbed into the carriage and did not know if I would return or not. My emotions were a jumbled assortment of shock, hurt, and resentment. A thousand questions haunted me, demanding answers. I hoped that my mother’s counsel would give me guidance before I did something rash like killing both of them in their sleep.

  As I began the ninety-minute journey, I suddenly feared Mother would not be there. Upon arriving, I sprinted into the manor house where I grew up and ran through the hallways seeking her whereabouts. Thankfully, I found Mother in the parlor, alone, working on her needlepoint. Wishing for privacy, I grabbed the door and banged it shut. My mother jolted in her seat and looked at me startled.

  “Good gracious, Ann, what are you doing here?”

  My shortness of breath made it nearly impossible to speak. Mother rose to her feet, and I ran into her arms, clinging to her tightly.

  “Oh, Mother, the most dreadful thing has happened.” I started to cry, expelling my wounded heart.

  “What happened? Is John all right?” She stepped back and frowned.

  “All right?” I heaved out of breath. “He’s having an affair with my lady’s maid of all people!”

  “Oh, dear,” she replied, leaving her mouth gaping open. “So early in your marriage?” Mother took my hand and pulled me down next to her on the settee.

  So soon? I could not believe my ears. Did she insinuate my horrible marriage had been entirely my fault?

  “As far as I can tell, this happened before I married him. Did you know?”

  “No, of course not,” she swiftly denied. “However, dear,” she said in a patronizing voice, “it is not unusual for a husband to stray from the marriage bed.”

  Her words and nonchalant attitude stung. Apparently, she was of the opinion this situation was an ordinary course of married life. It made me wonder if she had turned a blind eye toward my father’s behavior.

  “Do you know this from first-hand knowledge, or are you giving me platitudes?” My inquiry had been cruelly articulated, but my mother did not hesitate in answering.

  “Yes, I have known for some time your father has engaged in various illicit affairs during our twenty-five-year marriage and keeps a mistress in London even now.”

  “Dear God, Mother, why do you put up with it?” I stifled a sob.

  “And what do you suggest I do?” she angrily countered. “You need to understand this is the way things are with men. We give them companionship and children, and they find their entertainment elsewhere. I would be destitute and in a workhouse if I left. Adultery is not grounds for a woman to divorce, and your father has never laid a hand upon me in a violent outburst to give me cause.”

  “It shouldn’t be the way things are,” I heatedly replied. “If this is marriage, then I despise it!” My hands trembled from anger, and I sensed the veins in my neck bulge from my raging discontent.

  “You are in shock, dear, but in time, you will come to accept it as other women.”

  “There is no reason why John cannot find love and passion in my bed alone rather than in another woman’s arms. The fact that my lady’s maid serves me daily with feigned loyalty infuriates me. As soon as my back is turned, she has the audacity to meet with him secretly for an illicit rendezvous.” Out of breath and trembling, I paused and inhaled before screaming my sentiments. “I should dismiss her immediately.”

  “Well, how do you know this is true? Did you see them together?”

  “Yes, this morning. They met at the hunting tower, and I saw them embrace and go inside.”

  “Well, I am sorry to hear of it, Ann. Dismiss her if you must, but if John loves her, he will no doubt put her up somewhere and continue the affair regardless of your actions. My advice is to find
other pursuits that will fill your days with things that interest you. To love a man only means heartache. As long as he does not beat you but treats you kindly while providing a home and title, you should be grateful for what you have.”

  While she lectured me on what I should do, I shut my eyelids and pushed away her revolting advice. Her entire thought process sounded ludicrous. Had I been so blind all the years I grew into womanhood, I didn’t know this was considered normal marital behavior? Apparently, the scriptures were being made a mockery of by men and women throughout England. How could a lifestyle of adultery be acceptable for husbands, while women must be bound at home, continually pregnant, and left penniless? If I had a prior inkling such dichotomy existed, I would have run off to a nunnery and given up men altogether. I found it intolerable on every level.

  “I will never give up on John Broadhurst,” I said, angrily standing to my feet. “I will fight for his affections and win his heart if it is the last thing I do!”

  “Now dear...”

  “Don’t dear me,” I snapped. “I came to you for wisdom, but if your advice means I accept his disloyal behavior without batting an eyelash, you do not know your daughter.”

  As quickly as I had run into the room, I ran out and climbed back into my waiting carriage. I barked at the poor driver to return me to Blythe Court. My heart beat thunderously in my chest in response to the rage swirling through my veins. I remembered Charlene’s comment about Lady Whittemore and Sir Riley, which confirmed to me such things occurred and no one cared.

  “Well, I care,” I said aloud, scowling as I stared out the window at the passing scenery. Somehow I would find the wisdom and means to handle the horrible knowledge of my husband’s infidelity. There must be a way to steal away and capture his affections.

  By the time the carriage returned mid-afternoon, I had successfully reigned in my wild emotions through sheer determination. I returned to my bedchamber and halted at the threshold, scrunching my hands together in a fist. Next to my bed stood Melanie, laying down my newly mended dresses. I wrestled to keep self-control when I wanted to strike her repeatedly. Unfortunately, my tongue did not find such restraint.