by Amy Field
She jumped from her seat, her heart unable to soak in the wonder of what was transpiring. “I must go!” she cried.
“Captain Wyndmere! Chadwick!” she called as she reached the hall. She had to find him, and she didn’t care who knew.
“He’s with the gentleman in the billiard room, my lady,” a footman told her. She hurried to the other end of Lyndhurst Hall toward the jovial sound of gentleman cheering and taunting and the scent of pipe smoke and spilled brandy.
Just outside the arched doors to the room, she employed a servant to fetch Chadwick. She surely didn’t need another scandalous entrance to sully her tarnished reputation.
“What is it, Lady Eleanor?” Chadwick asked as he rushed from the room. He took her arm and guided her down the corridor. “Is there somewhere we can go for a private word?”
“Yes, in here,” she said, pulling him into the small drawing room, rarely used due to its distance from the grander staterooms and halls.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, taking both of her hands in his.
“Dearest Chadwick, the Commander is no longer with us, I’m sure you will hear shortly. I spoke with his steward. Your orders have been canceled, and you are to be promoted to Lieutenant General!” she squealed.
He pulled her into his arms and twirled her around before kissing her soundly. “You shall be my wife. With my rise in status, there will be no objections to our union, and I will speak to your father as soon as the arrangements are settled,” he said, smiling broadly.
She nodded, too excited to speak, lifting her lips to receive his kiss once more.
“I owe much to the Commander. He has given me the opportunity to live the happiest of lives. I regret not being able to express fully my gratitude for his kindness,” Ellie mused.
“Tis a strange circumstance. Had he not fallen ill, you would despise his vileness and vain manner, but instead, we praise his kindness and charity now that he is no longer with us,” Chadwick added.
“Fate has a confounding sense of humor. I do believe.”
“No matter what path led us to this place, I will never cease to consider Fate a dear friend as I now have you, dear Ellie.”
“And I, you, my dearest Chadwick," Eleanor responded, as she squeezed his hand.
THE END
Book II
The Secretive Duchess
Chapter One
May, 1825
Eastleigh
Hampshire, England
Mrs. Jane Parker immensely enjoyed her afternoon walks along the border of Heatherly, the grand estate house a short distance from her own humble cottage. The particular path she chose to tread daily was most picturesque, with bowers of blossoming cherry trees, wisteria-covered fences and wild daffodils springing from the ground.
She closed her eyes and inhaled, breathing in the sweet scent of spring in the air, and for a moment, she was at peace and happy. But then, she would open her eyes, and though her feet stepped along the most beautiful of paths, her heart ached and her mind was troubled. Truly, she should not be seen out of her house. She had slipped out, unnoticed by her only housemaid, Clara, as she was supposed to be resting. Perhaps, Clara knew that she was using her daily rest time to slip out and take walks in the fresh air, but if she did, she had chosen not to speak of it. As her home was situated a good stretch away from the village, she could slip out and walk the paths near Heatherly without prying eyes being none the wiser.
She sighed sadly as the breeze picked up, causing her black bombazine gown and crepe shawl to flutter bleakly. Though she’d fretted when her Charles had marched away with his company, looking far too dashing in his crimson coat, she’d never truly believed she’d have ended up a widow after being married barely two months. She was only nineteen, and now she wore the staid, unflattering dress of a widow. Charles would have frowned in distaste if he had seen her in such dreadful garb. A tear slipped from her eye as she remembered all over again that Charles would never see her again.
Nearly three months had passed since his death, one month longer than their marriage, and she had yet to grow accustomed to her new role in life. The days slid along painstakingly, since she had little to occupy her time. As a widow, she was expected to be in deep mourning for a year and a day, dressing in black and keeping to herself, which was why her elicit walks had quickly become her only lifeline to the outside world and her sanity, as well.
Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the approaching beat of horse hooves. She stopped to pick a small bouquet of daffodils, thinking their bright yellow petals might bring a bit of cheer to her solemn, lonely cottage. A horse’s whinny broke the stillness as she knelt and her hand froze in place as it clutched the daffodil’s stem. Glancing up, she watched as a handsome stranger dismounted from his dappled horse and tied the reins to the fence.
She slowly rose, taking in his presence. He was clearly of distinguished nobility, as he was dressed in a fine coat with brass buttons and buckskin breeches, his Hessians polished to a high sheen. Beneath his hat, his dark hair curled about his neck, and the strong line of his jaw was offset by his full lips, which, as he smiled, revealed a perfect set of straight, white teeth.
Jane curtseyed, casting her eyes to the ground.
“Madam,” he said, his deep voice smooth as he bowed.
“I am known as Mrs. Parker, sir,” she replied politely.
“Henry Pendleton, at your service,” he said in turn. She swallowed.
“As in the Pendletons of Heatherly?” She squeaked.
“One and the same,” he said with a smile.
“I apologize if I have caused you any inconvenience with my presence. I was only out for a short walk to enjoy the fresh air, but I am returning now to my cottage,” she said hurriedly.
“No, no not all, Mrs. Parker. Please, enjoy your walk. I saw you in the distance, quite alone, and only wanted to inquire if you were in need of assistance,” he explained.
“That is quite kind of you, sir. I ask only that you say nothing of my presence here,” she told him.
“As you wish. However, one must ask . . . why are you out here so far from the roads all alone?”
She sighed and figured it would hurt no less to be perfectly honest. “I am in deep mourning. I should not be out at all, but I cannot stand the confines of my cottage for days and days upon end.”
“I am sorry for your loss, but I do understand needing to get out a bit. I suppose you have little in the way of conversation and social stimulation.”
“My maid, Clara, is my only companion. Seeing as I was only married for two, brief months, and though I cared greatly for Charles, we hardly knew each other, and this widowhood has become most trying for me,” she confided.
“Might I walk with you a bit? I shall keep you company and it will be our little secret,” he said with a friendly smile. She smiled at him in return.
“That would be quite lovely,” she admitted, taking his offered arm as they strolled along.
“Your husband, God rest his soul, what happened, if I might ask?”
“Charles left with his infantry regime barely a month after our wedding day. It was the last time I saw him. He caught a case of influenza in his encampment and passed away within a week of taking to his bed,” she recounted sadly.
“How terrible. I offer my deepest condolences.”
“I have been widowed now three months—a month longer than the entirety of my marriage.” She abruptly changed the subject, tiring of her lament when nothing could truly be done. “You know, it is quite inappropriate for me to be talking, much less walking, with you right now.”
“Ahh, but I’ve never been one to care much for societal rules,” he said, leaning in close to confide to her.
“Truly? Neither have I,” she admitted with the same conspiratorial tone. “Hence, my daily walks whilst my faint heart should be resting indoors. I do believe Clara knows what I am about, but keeps the knowledge to herself as she knows I might very well go stir crazy
being confined. I do respect the memory of my Charles, but he would hate to see me like this, I know.”
“I like how freely you speak, Mrs. Parker.”
“And I you, Lord Pendleton.”
“Perhaps I might accompany you again tomorrow?” He ventured.
Jane paused, and turned to look up at him, nodding resolutely. “Yes, I think that should be lovely,” she told him, “though no one must know of our keeping company. I should not like my reputation in tatters, despite my lack of care for nonsensical rules, I still must appear to follow them.”
Henry chuckled. “As you wish.”
“I must return home now before I am missed,” she said reluctantly as she let go of his arm. She offered up a curtsey before turning to head back toward her cottage. “Thank you, Mr. Pendleton. I quite enjoyed our conversation this afternoon,” she stopped and said, before continuing on once more.
“You are most welcome, Mrs. Parker,” he called out and bowed gallantly when she turned to acknowledge him.
Jane hurried home, not looking back again for fear she would return to her new handsome friend and spend the rest of the day walking by his side. That simply wouldn’t do. What she’d done so far was scandalous enough.
When she arrived at the small stone house with its bright red door, surrounded by a well-tended garden patch and flowering rose bushes, she slipped around to the back and through the window she’d left open in her locked bedroom. Everything was just as she left it.
Quickly shedding her pelisse and bonnet, she loosened the ribbon tie at her waist and sank into the armchair by the now cooled grate of the fireplace. Picking up the book of poems she’d been reading earlier, she settled in to unwind from her brisk walk before venturing from the privacy of her room to make her presence known to Clara.
Despite numerous attempts to read the flowery words that tended to stir her heart with a wealth of emotion, her betraying thoughts continued to sneak back to the country lane she’d left and the distinguished gentleman she’d met there by happenstance.
Sitting the book back on the table by her side, she rose and unlocked the bedchamber’s door. She crept softly down the hall to the parlor and took a seat on the settee, ringing the bell for Clara.
“Yes, Mrs. Parker?” Clara asked, appearing in the parlor’s door almost instantly.
“I am ready for afternoon tea,” Jane told her. The young woman nodded and curtseyed before hurrying away to prepare the tea.
Jane stared listlessly out the window as she waited. Her life had become stalled, frozen in time. Other than her elicit walks, she spent her time reading, embroidering and moving from room to room just to break up the monotony of her day. No one visited her, out of respect for her mourning, and she hardly knew anyone in the village as it was. She and Charles had moved to the cottage two days journey from Manchester, where she’d been raised, as it was closer to his regiment’s outpost, and the Pendleton family were known to be generous, kind landlords, especially suited for officers in the army.
But now, she was here in their lovely little cottage all alone. His pension and income left to her were enough to cover the expenses of the cottage, but little else. She would need to find some sort of work once her period of mourning was over.
“Here you are, madam. A small pitcher of cream and two sugar cubes for your tea, just like you like, and a plate of lemon cakes for you, as well,” Clara announced as she bustled in with the tea, placing it on the table.
“Thank you, Clara, but my gown is growing tighter by the day. I believe I have been enjoying your cakes a wee bit too much as of late,” Jane told Clara as she prepared her tea.
“Will you be needing me for anything else, madam?” Clara asked as she stood by the wall.
“No, thank you. Take your leisure until supper time,” Jane replied, sipping at the steaming cup of tea, thoughts of tomorrow’s walk the only matter occupying her mind.
Chapter Two
Jane rose from her bed, the sky outside her window still dark gray, and scrambled to the chamber pot, retching violently. After depositing all of the contents in her stomach. She slumped to the ground, weak and nauseous. She’d never been so ill in all of her life.
Groaning, she slunk back into bed, her head heavy against the pillow. She worried that she would vomit again, but the sickening feeling slowly dissipated and she fell back asleep, waking at last when the sun was shining brightly outdoors.
“Clara?” She called out when she finally rose.
“Yes, madam?” Clara inquired, appearing in the doorway of her room.
“I cannot believe I slept so late—why, it has to nearly be noon!” Jane cried, peering out the window.
“Not quite. Would you like me to help you dress, and then see about getting you some breakfast?” Clara asked.
“Yes, please,” Jane replied, still puzzled by her short, strange bout of sickness and the overwhelming fatigue still coursing through her. “I believe I shall take it easy today. I am not feeling all that well.” She prayed silently that she would feel well enough to still slip away for a clandestine stroll soon after lunch.
Clara helped her dress in a black crepe gown and styled her hair, though for all intents and purpose, she had nowhere to go or visit, nor would anyone come to call upon her. After dressing, she went to sit at the dining table alone, and Clara brought her a plate of poached eggs and slices of melon along with a cup of strong tea. Famished, the food disappeared from her plate much faster than usual. She usually tended to draw out her mealtimes, as they were part of the few distractions she could amuse herself with daily.
After eating, she rose and settled in the small parlor, picking up a piece of embroidery she’d been working on for quite some time. Looking out the window, she sighed wistfully. It was hard to believe she had at least another nine months of this staid, lonely life. At least, she had her afternoon strolls to brighten her day—especially now that she had company planning to attend her on her walk.
When the clock at last struck three, she bolted from her seat. “I shall retire to my room now for my afternoon respite,” she announced, her voice clear and loud, so that Clara heard her from wherever she was in the small cottage.
Heading to her room, she slipped inside and locked the door behind her. Glancing about the neat and tidy room, she moved her novel to the small table, stoked the fire in the grate. She shrugged into her pelisse, buttoning up the black silk before donning her bonnet and tying the black satin ribbons beneath her chin. Easing up the window sash, she none too gracefully lifted a leg and climbed out, landing gingerly against the back wall of the cottage. Glancing around to make sure Clara wasn’t about, she dashed into the cluster of woods behind the house, praying, as she did every day, that no one saw her escape.
When she burst through the grove and into the picturesque lane, to her surprise, Lord Pendleton was already there, waiting for her to arrive.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Parker,” he greeted, bowing low as he walked toward her from where he stood by his horse, which he had tied to the fence and the animal was happily grazing at the tall, sweet grasses poking through the wooden posts.
“Likewise, Lord Pendleton,” she curtseyed, suddenly turning shy. Unlike their chance meeting the day before, today’s exercise had been planned, and she found herself unsure of what to say or do.
“Shall we?” He grinned at her and offered her his arm.
“Yes, please,” she smiled back at him as she hooked her arm lightly through his.
“I trust your day has been pleasant?” He asked.
“As pleasant as can be managed for someone in my position.”
“Your position?” He asked, his eyebrow raised.
“As a widow, I am allowed to do little. But once my time of deep mourning is over, I suppose I shall find work in the village, or perhaps as a governess,” she mused.
“That simply won’t do,” he replied.
She glanced up at him in confusion.
“Such a lovely beauty
as yourself should not have to work her fingers to the bone to survive.”
“Thankfully, I have sufficient income to afford my home, but after my year of imposed isolation, I will have to earn something of a living and make myself useful,” she explained.
“Have you considered marrying again?”
Her cheeks flushed at his forthright question. “I have considered it, but the market for acceptable husbands for impoverished widows is rather marginal.”
Laughter rumbled in his chest.
“I cannot imagine what you could possibly find humorous regarding my circumstances,” she remarked.
“Mrs. Parker, you are young yet, and quite fetching. I think it preposterous that you should lump yourself into the category of typical widows.”
“Most eligible bachelors do not wish for previously married brides or those with little to line their pockets. That is most common knowledge, and fortunately, I do not have to remarry, given my circumstances, though it would certainly ease my worries.”
“Perhaps, you shall find love, Mrs. Parker. At the tender age of . . . I can’t imagine more than nineteen or twenty, you are young yet and the possibility is there.”
She gazed at her gloved hand resting on his sleeve. “Yes, I suppose it is. I shall simply have to hope for such a wondrous thing.”
“Yes, you shall.”
“And what of you? Are you not of the Pendletons of Pelham House? Surely, bevies of girls adorned with ribbons and roses throw themselves into your path, vying for your attentions and the ultimate prize of becoming your bride?”
He sighed. “Unfortunately, you speak the truth, though I wish it weren’t so. I feel as though the balls and parties are excuses for mothers and fathers to parade their wares before me, hoping I’ll select one and purchase. The whole business is rather cold and I despise it. Were I to take a turn about the gardens with any number of them, surely they would rattle on about their merits as a potential wife or on and on nonsensically about my esteemed relations.”
