by Joyce Alec
"My lord, I was going to step outside for a breath of fresh air, when— "
The duke interrupted, "Don't listen to a word that man says. I see the way he looks at Lucy, and everything that will come out of his mouth is a lie!"
"You do not intimidate me, Your Grace," said Lord Harrogate. He once again faced the marquess, "I found the duke with one of your maids in a very compromising position."
Lucy heard gasps from the houseguests and servants who had all come out of their rooms.
The marquess looked around at the eavesdroppers, and said, "Lord Harrogate, Your Grace, I suggest we take this conversation to the study."
Lucy had to know what was happening. She started to sneak down the stairs when her mother grabbed her arm.
"Lucy, darling. I am so sorry you had to hear that. Now, let's go back to your room while your father handles the situation at hand."
Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Lucy said in a loud whisper, "Go back to my room? Mother, I must know what is happening. Please, release your hold on my arm."
"I will not argue with you. Go to your room immediately. Please, darling, let your father handle this.”
Lucy had no choice. She retreated to her bedroom and waited for her father to come and speak to her, but he never came. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.
When Lucy woke the following morning, she rushed to get dressed and descended the stairs. Her parents were waiting for Lucy at the breakfast table, along with Margaret and Lord Pearson. There were no signs of the duke, Lord Harrogate, or any of the other houseguests.
"Where is everyone else?" asked Lucy, as she took her seat at the table.
"After last night's situation, I asked everyone to leave as early as possible."
"I see," said Lucy.
Lord Pearson said, "Lady Lucy, may I be the first to apologize for my father's behavior. Your mother has informed me that you heard Lord Harrogate's accusations, and I am afraid to say that they are true." He looked down as if embarrassed about what he would say next, "His behavior caused my mother much sadness while she was alive. I had hoped that after my mother's death, he would choose to treat his next wife differently. I am sorry to say that he is the same man."
"Thank you for your honesty, Lord Pearson," said Lucy. "Please do not apologize. Your father's actions have no bearing on your character."
"Please do not think that his behavior is reflective of my own. I will treat your sister with the utmost respect. I will always be loyal to her. I do love her so," said Lord Pearson, as he smiled at Margaret.
"I do believe you will treat her well, my lord. I can see she is quite happy."
"Thank you, Lady Lucy. I will take my leave now, along with Margaret so that you can have a word in private with your parents."
The marchioness stood, took a seat next to Lucy, and took Lucy's hand in her own.
"Darling, please forgive me. You begged us to allow you to refuse the duke, and we did not allow it. We should have listened to you. Will you forgive us?”
Lucy, excited by her mother's words, asked, "You mean I don't have to marry him?"
"Of course not! Lucy, we love you and would never put you in a situation with a man who would treat you poorly. We thought the duke was an honorable man," said Lucy's father.
"So, that means I am free to marry whomever I want?" asked Lucy.
"If you are asking about Lord Harrogate, then the answer is no," said the marquess.
Lucy raised her eyebrows in question.
"Don't believe for one minute that your mother and I don't realize you have feelings for each other. If Lord Harrogate were to come to me in private with last night's situation, things would have been different. But too many ears heard his accusations. If you were to pursue a relationship with Lord Harrogate, everyone would assume that you hid a romance with the earl behind the duke's back."
Unable to hold back her feelings, Lucy screamed, "Enough already. I am so tired of you making every choice about my happiness. I never wanted to marry the duke, yet I said yes after you forced me into the engagement. Now that I am no longer engaged, I want to marry a man who makes me happy. Lord Harrogate loves me, Papa. Please, let me by happy."
The marchioness fanned herself, acting shocked from Lucy's revelation.
"What do you mean he loves you? Have you been communicating with him while you were engaged to the duke?"
Lucy realized her blunder and was at a loss for words.
Her father's next words stung.
"Lucy, please go to your room. I do not wish to see you right now."
Lucy avoided her family for the next few days and ate her meals in her room. Agnes had helped her unpack her trunks as she was no longer moving to the duke's home.
It was Christmas Eve, and Lucy knew it was finally time to face her parents. She finished wrapping the gifts that she had purchased for her family and asked Agnes to bring the gifts downstairs.
It was the first time in days that Lucy had seen her parents. They ate breakfast in silence, except for the attempted conversations about the weather or a story the marquess had read in the paper.
The marchioness was the first to excuse herself, and said, "Lucy, we are having a special guest at dinner tonight. I do hope we can put the past few days behind us, so please join us at dinner. We cannot continue to ignore each other while living under the same roof."
"Of course, Mama. I would also like to put the events behind us. It is Christmas, after all. I would love to enjoy the holiday as we always do."
Lucy's mother kissed her on the cheek before she headed upstairs.
At dinnertime, Lucy entered the drawing room to meet the special guest before dinner. To her surprise, it was Lord Harrogate. He was alone in the room, which was unexpected.
"I asked your father for permission to be alone with you, and he agreed," explained Lord Harrogate, as he saw Lucy's confused state. "I came to see your father yesterday, and I told him everything. I told him how we met, which he already knew. I told him about the letters, to which he was shocked. But most importantly, I told him how much I love you, and that I would do anything in this world to make you happy."
Lucy started crying, "Lord Harrogate—"
"Lucy, please call me, John," said the earl as he rushed to her side. "Your father has agreed to allow us to marry. That is, if you'll have me."
"Oh, John, nothing would bring me more joy." Lucy paused, "I don't understand why my father agreed. It seemed he was adamant that we shouldn't be together. Is there something that you are not telling me?"
John sighed and then told her the other part of the story, "Your brother seems to enjoy cards and gambling, but he does not appear to want to pay his debts, which are considerable. Your parents hoped that your marriage to the Duke of Selby would provide them with means to pay your brother's debts."
"Do you mean that the duke was going to give them money?"
"Yes. The duke agreed to pay off your brother's debts. However, your brother happened to owe money to a man I knew well from my time serving in the Navy. I have made arrangements to have the debt forgiven."
Lucy sat in stunned silence. It all made sense why her mother and father wanted her to marry the duke. She had no idea that they were so desperate for money that they were willing to sacrifice her happiness. She felt anger at first, then pity.
"John, I will never regret taking the carriage out alone on the day we met. You saved me that day, and you just saved me again. What would I have ever done without you?"
"You will never have to answer that question, my dear. From this day forward, I will always be by your side. You have made me the happiest man in England. Your mother has informed me that you already have a dress. Your cousin, the Vicar, is already here because he was going to perform the wedding ceremony for your marriage to the duke. It seems like we have everything we need to have a wedding."
"What? You mean now?" asked Lucy.
"Well, if you would like to marry now, we must, but my sister, Emmaline, will ar
rive in the morning. I would like to wait for her arrival. She is very eager to meet you."
Lucy laughed. She had been addressing letters to Emmaline for months, when she was actually writing to John, but she had never met Emmaline. "I am eager to meet her as well. A wedding on Christmas Day would be delightful."
John smiled and embraced Lucy. He held her hand and kissed the top of it. "My darling, this is the best Christmas present I have ever received."
Lucy leaned closer to him and looked deep into his eyes, "Now that I am to be your wife, I wonder if you might give me a small present?"
"What is that, my darling?"
"Kiss me," she said softly, as she wrapped her arms around him. He embraced her, and from the moment his lips touched hers, it was as if all was right in the world.
THE END
Part X
Rescuing a Lady
By Caroline Johnson
1
England, 1839
“It’s gone? What do you mean, it’s gone?”
Martha stared in confusion at her stepbrother, whose sickly smile made her stomach churn.
“Simply that, dear sister. It’s gone. Your dowry is gone. I have taken it and used it to further my business. You really aren’t the brightest young lady, are you?”
His mocking smile told her that he was enjoying her distress.
“What am I supposed to do?” Martha cried, struggling to keep her composure. “Gerald, you promised father –”
Gerald snapped, “He was your father—not mine. I may have promised that I would look after you, but how I choose to do so is entirely my prerogative.”
His sneer was back. This did not bode well.
Martha was completely at his mercy. She was a single woman who depended entirely on her stepbrother. She lived in his home, ate his food, and used his money. It was difficult to get anything from him, even something as simple as a pair of new gloves to replace her worn ones. Even then, she’d had to prove that her current pair were beyond repair. It was humiliating, but she’d become used to his tight-fisted ways.
Knowing that her father left her a substantial dowry had been her saving grace, safe in the knowledge that she could one day be free of Gerald in a home of her own. She was not the most beautiful, nor the most eligible lady, but a substantial dowry had made her believe that she would, one day, find the gentleman for her. It had been her father’s dearest wish.
Martha’s heart clenched as she thought of her beloved Papa, so recently departed. If only he were still alive, then she wouldn’t be in this terrible situation. How had Gerald managed to get his greedy hands on her money? It had been her only way out, and now, it seemed, it was gone in a flash.
“I don’t understand…”
Gerald moved forward, his steely gray eyes calculating and shrewd, and his slow steps putting Martha immediately on her guard.
“There is an easy way to solve this, Martha. You know what I want.”
Martha tried to calm her trembling, knowing what was coming. This had gone on for too long.
“No, Gerald. I’ve told you time and time again, I will not sign over that parcel of land to you. It’s the only thing left I have from my father. I know it isn’t worth much, so I don’t understand why it’s so important to you.”
A flash of anger crossed Gerald’s face, his hands clenching into fists.
“You will have to do what I say soon enough, Martha, dear,” he spat. “You should know by now that I always get what I want. A few days without food might have you willing and to do as I say. What do you say to that?”
“You can’t starve me,” Martha cried, the very thought filling her with terror. “I am meant to be like a sister to you, Gerald. Why are you so cruel? You’ve inherited your father’s title and money. My father left you most of his fortune to make it easy to care for me. Why must you take the one thing left in my name?”
“That small parcel of land connects my other properties, and I want it.” Gerald screamed. “Just sign it over, and I will see if I can scrounge together a suitable dowry for you.”
Martha replied, her voice cold, “Your actions thus far have proven that I cannot trust you.”
“So you keep saying…” Gerald replied insolently.
He paused for a moment, staring at her. Martha’s breath came quick and fast as she longed for this conversation to be over.
“You do know that when you turn twenty-five years old, that land becomes mine,” said Gerald.
“Gerald, I still have six months until I am twenty-five years old. I do believe that I am still young enough to find a suitable match. You cannot write me off as a spinster quite yet.”
“Very well,” Gerald said, seemingly unperturbed by her refusal. “I will continue to make it very difficult for you to marry, Martha. And don’t think for one moment that I will approve the marriage to a poor farmer. After all, I did promise your father that I would only approve of a good match.”
“And just what do you plan on doing with me after I turn twenty-five?”
“I will throw you out of my house, and you will have to fend for yourself,” said her stepbrother. “If you sign over the land now, maybe I can take pity on you.”
“My father left you everything,” screamed Martha. Martha lifted her chin, regaining control of her emotions. “You promised to take care of me, and you have done nothing but make my life miserable. You raise your hand to me and treat me like rubbish. I don’t deserve this.”
“I don’t see why you are putting up such a fuss. The land earns no income. I don’t see what it is so important to you.”
Martha stared at him, not knowing what to do. Should she sign over the land to improve her current life? Or, should she hold onto the land? It was the last gift she ever received from her father. Martha knew that it would be difficult to find a man who wanted to marry her, but she must try to fling herself into society once more and attempt to find an eligible gentleman. But, who would want to marry a young woman only recently out of mourning and with no dowry? Would she really be able to find an eligible gentleman, with wealth and family connections? How could she make such a man fall in love with her?
“Well?”
Martha uttered the words, “No. I will not let you have my land and lose the only thing my father left me.”
"I see," Gerald said, the smirk back on his face. "I should so hate for any rumors to circulate about you, Martha. That would put off many a gentleman, I am sure.” His parting words hit home as he left the room, leaving Martha trembling from head to toe.
She was doomed.
2
“I can do this,” Charles said to himself, gritting his teeth. “I can do this.”
Stepping as confidently as he could onto the dance floor, he bowed to his partner and began to follow the steps, trying to remember each one correctly. A couple of small mistakes, of course, but that was bound to happen.
“Ouch!” his partner, the lovely Lady Augusta, cried, hopping up and down on one foot.
“Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry!” Charles exclaimed, unsure what it was he should do. “I do have such big feet!”
He bent down as if to examine the lady’s ankle, but was stopped by her shocked gasp.
“Of course, of course,” he mumbled, remembering how inappropriate it would be for any man to see a genteel lady's legs. "I do apologize."
He bowed low, only to be knocked completely off balance by a dancing couple and ended up firmly on his behind, right in the middle of the dance floor.
Lady Augusta went crimson from sheer embarrassment and, with as much dignity as she could muster, left the dance floor unattended, hobbling to a nearby chair. She was immediately surrounded by many ladies, who threw a great number of dark glances his way. However, Charles was not immune to the laughter he heard ricocheting around the room, directed solely at him and his ridiculous attempt at a dance. Hearing the first strains of a waltz begin, Charles hastily got to his feet, quickly dusted himself off, and attempted to make hi
s way off the dance floor through all the waltzing couples. The laughter had now turned to jeers as he struggled to find a way through. Eventually, he reached the safety of the French doors and exited the ballroom immediately, his cheeks hot with shame.
“Lady Augusta is quite all right, old boy, no need to worry about that.”
Charles sighed, looking over his shoulders to see his best friend, Matthew, stride towards him.
“Here,” said Matthew, as he handed Charles a drink.
Grateful to his friend for his consideration, Charles grasped the glass of whiskey and threw it back in one large gulp. Shaking his head, he groaned, putting his head in his hands as he sat on the cold bench in the dark.
“At least out here, no one can see me,” Charles mumbled, pushing his hands even further into his hair. “That was truly awful.”
“It really was,” Matthew chuckled, slapping his friend on the back. “What on earth got into you, man? It was only a quadrille; you’ve been practicing that dance since you were in short coats!”
"I know, I know," Charles replied, finally raising his head. "It's just that I was dancing with Lady Augusta. She is quite pretty, and I became quite anxious in her presence," he trailed off as he realized how ridiculous he sounded.
“Ah, the curse of being in a beautiful woman’s company,” Matthew mocked, throwing back his own glass of whiskey. “You are lucky that you’re an earl with considerable wealth, or nobody would dance with you. What you need to do, my friend, is practice.”
“Practice?” Charles echoed. “Practice what?”
“You know,” Matthew began, getting to his feet. “Talking to a lady, walking with her, simply handing her a glass of refreshment—all of the things you seem entirely incapable of doing. Surely you do not want to remain persona non grata to all the ladies of the ton?”
Charles opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again firmly. Matthew was right. Whenever he tried to talk to a beautiful young lady, his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth, his voice becoming a rasping cough whenever he tried to speak. He had lost count of the number of ladies who had walked away from him mid-conversation. Thinking of walking, whenever Charles tried to tuck a lady’s hand under his arm, her closeness gave him such anxiety that he often tripped over his own feet. Charles closed his eyes tightly, trying to push away the memories. He was a lost cause.
