Except that was unlikely because, as soon as Cecilia and Millicent had discovered he was a distant relative of Lord and Lady Aylesbury, they had nagged Father to send them all an invitation to the tourney! Henrietta dearly hoped he wouldn’t come. It would serve only as a reminder of her foolish hopes and expectations.
Setting her basket down on the fallen tree, Henrietta looked around. Instinctively, she knew the ogre was nearby. She had felt his presence as soon as she’d entered the forest.
“I brought you some more food,” she called, though she didn’t really expect a reply.
Taking out a linen cloth she had brought with her, Henrietta spread it upon the leaf-covered ground. She took her time as she removed the food from her basket and placed it neatly on the cloth. Once she had finished her small task, she looked to where she sensed the ogre had hidden himself. She could make out the barest change in the shadows that marked his spot. Was he waiting for her to leave so he could eat the food?
“I can go if you would prefer?” she said aloud.
A moment of silence followed - and then: “No. Stay.”
At his rumbled reply, Henrietta bit her lip to stop a little smile of pleasure from forming. She plopped herself down on the cloth. “Fine,” she said, selecting a shiny, red apple and biting into it. “Then I shall. Don’t worry: there are plenty more of these. In fact, I have never seen the kitchens so heavily stocked.” She took another bite and waited to see if the ogre would speak. Nothing. She finished the apple in silence and shrugged to herself. Her mind was already made up. If she had to do all the talking in this fledgling friendship, then so be it. It might even make a pleasant change to be permitted to have her say: she so rarely was with her sisters.
Henrietta hoped that - eventually - the ogre would accept their friendship and be at ease in her company. She wondered briefly if she should tell him they were to be friends - then thought better of it. She would let him find out in due course. After all, males could be strange creatures - whatever their kind.
Determined not to feel self-conscious, Henrietta asked, “Have you heard all the noise coming from the fields?” She didn’t bother waiting for a reply. “Probably not. The trees provide a wonderful bulwark against the rest of the world.” She made herself comfortable. “Count yourself lucky to be spared the racket.”
The ogre sat with his back against a massive oak tree. His head rested on the trunk as he listened to Henrietta happily chattering away. She told him about her father and her sisters and the tournament preparations that had taken over Riverly. He smiled at her description of her sisters: Prudence, as a tyrant captain bellowing orders at the crew; the mutiny of her younger siblings as they attempted to get their own way.
“It all seems like a terrible fuss just to find me a husband - but there you are.”
He sat up. “You will marry?”
Henrietta hadn’t expected a response. It felt good to hear his deep voice and know he was listening.
“Not at the moment. My father and sisters still need me.” She chuckled. “Anyway, I doubt there will be too many men lining up to fight for my hand at the tournament.”
“Then - that is the purpose of this tournament?” he asked, his voice gruff. “Men will compete for your hand?”
“Sort of.” Henrietta cringed. It sounded quite awful when put like that. “It won’t just be me; there will be my sisters too but - yes - I suppose, essentially, it is me they are trying to marry off.”
“Why?”
The abruptness of the question gave Henrietta pause. The truth made her feel silly and she didn’t want to sound that way to him.
“I suppose … because Prudence knows me well enough to understand it would take someone extraordinary to make me leave my family,” she replied, needing to be honest with him. Hurriedly, she added, “It’s not as if I will have to marry someone just because they have won a silly tournament though.”
There was a long pause.
“Choose extraordinary, Henrietta.”
The sound of her name, spoken in the ogre’s rough tones, made Henrietta blush. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She paused, not knowing what to call him: “And your name?”
“Ogre,” he said bitterly. “That is what I am.”
“But what did your mother call you?” she pressed.
“I am just an ogre.” He stood up. Henrietta heard him move and was afraid he would leave and not come back.
“Then Ogre it is,” she said brightly. “It grows dark. I had best leave before a search party is sent out for me.” She stood and, without realising it, looked straight at the ogre. “Please come back and talk to me again,” she said and hurried away before he could refuse her.
Chapter Eight
The morning of the tournament was merry chaos. The four sisters rushed around, looking for ribbons and shoes that matched their medieval style gowns and headdresses. Each had chosen - from a splendid palette of colours - the hue which they would wear throughout the tournament. Henrietta had chosen an emerald green.
The house was teeming with people she had never seen before who had been drafted in to help with the preparations. Some were working in the house; others were working in the tournament grounds and, on top of that, there were the comings and goings of tradespeople and those hoping to hawk their wares at the tourney itself. Riverly felt to Henrietta like a foreign land - and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
Thank goodness for Aunt Penelope. She had arrived with her entourage the day before and quickly made herself a buffer between Henrietta and the harridans her sisters had become. No sooner had the poor women stepped foot out of their carriage than Prudence was barking orders - in her politest roar of course. Henrietta had stepped in and offered to show the ladies around, giving Lady Sanders and Mrs Hyde-Thornton a chance to catch their breath and find out where everything was before they were set to work.
Henrietta made a mental note to herself never to involve Prudence in any of the sisters’ future wedding preparations. This last week had brought back far too many - best forgotten - memories of Prue organising her own wedding to Miles. The whole family had let out a collective sigh of relief the day the carriage had driven off with the newly wed Prudence safely inside. “Lord almighty!” Lord Pemberly had exclaimed afterwards, dabbing a handkerchief to his head. “I think your sister might have taken ten perfectly good years off my life with this wedding!”
She could hear Prudence now, somewhere in the house, giving some poor soul what for.
“Ah, you are ready I see, Henrietta! You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Aunt Penelope,” Henrietta said, kissing her aunt’s perfumed cheek. “Have you had the chance to breakfast this morning?”
“I had some tea in my room,” her aunt replied. She looked up and down the hallway. “Have you seen Prudence anywhere?”
Henrietta smiled. “No - but I have certainly heard her! Come!” she said, as she took Aunt Penelope’s hand. “Apparently, we are to convene in the drawing room for last minute instructions.”
At that moment, Millicent came running along the corridor, squealing with excitement. “Have you seen all the horses and carriages, Hetty?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued, “There are hundreds of them! All brightly decked!” She giggled. “And the men are wearing armour - actual armour - for us! Can you believe it?” With that, she raced off, calling, “Cecilia! Cecilia! Look outside!”
Henrietta laughed at her younger sister’s enthusiasm. “Remember, Prudence is expecting us downstairs!” she called out after her.
“Those two might have grown up a bit since I last saw them but they are still very much girls,” Aunt Penelope said. She held up the long train she wore as part of her costume. “I cannot think what your father is doing allowing those two a part in all this.”
“There’s no point asking me,” Henrietta said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I have been told nothing.” She leaned in to confide. “Prudence tol
d me, in no uncertain terms, that my role in the tourney from here on is to be a prize.”
At her Aunt’s gasp of outrage, Henrietta nodded her head. “I know! I was prepared to be thoroughly insulted - then realised it just wasn’t worth the effort.”
The three sisters were being presented to a large crowd of invited dignitaries, townspeople, Lord Pemberly’s tenants and various merchants who were there to sell their wares.
“The fair maidens of Riverly!” Lord Pemberly announced majestically - and gave the signal for their coach to make its grand entrance into the arena.
Cecilia and Millicent played to the crowd, waving regally as they passed by the cheering throng. Henrietta smiled and waved, as she had been instructed: “Keep smiling! Keep smiling!” she muttered. To distract herself from her embarrassment, she concentrated on picking out familiar faces in the sea of gaily dressed visitors.
Once they had reached the viewing platform, the two youngest maidens of Riverly made a huge production of ascending the steps and performing a deep curtsy as their father presented them, each in turn.
For her part, Henrietta’s face flamed red as her father described her to the watching crowds as Riverly’s hidden treasure. Was it possible, she wondered, for this day to become any more mortifying? Oblivious to his daughter’s torment, Lord Pemberly, who was enjoying himself immensely, announced the arrival of the competitors. The crowd roared as the men trotted in on horseback. They paraded around the outer ring of the lists, showing off their horsemanship for the delighted throng.
The noise quietened as, one by one, the armour-suited competitors rode past the fair maidens of Riverly, holding their banners high as they called out their names. Henrietta was soon dizzy from all the nodding and smiling. She dearly hoped she wasn’t expected to remember who everyone was.
“Sir Roderick Hardwick!”
Startled, Henrietta gazed at the handsome face now smiling up at her. ‘Ye gods but he’s handsome!’ was her first thought. Her second was, ‘Buggeration!’ because it seemed her day had - indeed - managed to get worse. She sighed longingly, unable to stop herself staring after Sir Roderick’s retreating back as he ,oved down the line.
Both Cecilia and Millicent were also staring after him, with identical looks of adoration. Good grief! Was that how she had looked to him, wondered Henrietta. She dearly hoped not. She made an effort to smile at Sir Finchley as he passed by - but he had eyes only for Cecilia, who barely spared him a glance. Lord Pemberly leaned towards her. “Not a bad turn out for my girls, eh?” he said as he beamed with pride.
“No, Papa. It looks like it will be quite a show,” Henrietta replied. Silently, she added, ‘And God help us all.’
There was only so much of this Henrietta could take: the clang and ring of swords; the bellows of charging men. As far as Henrietta could tell, the melee was just a chance for the men to show off to each other. It wasn’t like anyone was actually going to die. Their swords were blunted and, anyway, they seemed to spend most of their time walloping each other with their shields.
Even Millicent looked bored and sleepy - and she had begun the combat bouncing in her seat and screaming, “Whack him! Whack him!” Though how she could tell who was who in that scrum, Henrietta had no idea. She looked around for her sister, Prudence, who was nowhere to be seen. She was probably busy organising the evening’s entertainment. ‘Lucky mare,’ Henrietta thought as she rested her chin in her hand.
The jousting had been tedious enough but at least there had been the pomp and ceremony of the men circling the ring and collecting tokens from the ladies. She had thoroughly enjoyed festooning the knights with her emerald green ribbons. When Sir Hardwick had presented her with his lance, Henrietta had been careful to look especially blasé, lest he run away with the idea he was somehow special: as she feared he might.
Henrietta hoped no one had noticed the pleasure she had taken in watching Sir Hardwick compete in those first few rounds. Despite her best intentions, she had been captivated by the sight of him. His long, blonde hair flew around his face as he roared, raised his joust and charged down the lists. She’d thrilled to the thwack of his lance as it slammed into each challenger’s armour and unseated him; and thrilled again to the roar of the crowd as each opponent fell to the hard ground with a ringing clang. Round after round, Sir Hardwick had fought and won and, with each new victory, Henrietta felt herself falling more and more under the blonde giant’s spell. She was careful, though, not to let others see her enthralment. It would make it so much harder when he chose one of her sisters in her stead.
Once Sir Hardwick had secured his place in the final competition, Henrietta’s enjoyment of the tournament had waned. For her, the tourney was now just a motley assortment of men ramming each other with big sticks and charging around in cumbersome suits. There was only so much of that a lady could take before the romance of it all became as tarnished as the armour. Thank goodness there was only to be one more day of it. After the ball that night, Lord Pemberly would announce the names of those who were to go through to the final round of the tournament, though no one had yet been told what that would entail. Neither Prudence nor her father would give Henrietta any information at all.
It was all very vexing.
For the evening festivities, the tourney field had been transformed. From every tree hung hundreds of coloured jars, lit from within by fat candle stubs which cast a magical glow over the scene. A wooden floor had been laid for the country dancing that was to take place and a stage had been erected, where an orchestra sat ready to play. The banners and bunting from the tournament fluttered in a light breeze, adding to the festive air.
Lord Pemberly stood on the stage, waiting for his guests to gather round.
“This is the moment we have all been waiting for,” he called as the excitable throng quieted. “Especially,“ he added, “my three beautiful daughters.”
Henrietta, for one, had not been waiting for this particular moment at all because she had no idea what on earth was about to happen. Lord Pemberly was gesturing at her and Prudence gave her a nudge. “You are supposed to go up too,” she whispered. It was only then that Henrietta realised Cecilia and Millicent were being led up to the stage by two of of the knights from the tournament.
“My Lady!” Sir Hardwick stood before Henrietta. He held out his hand in a courtly manner. “Permit me the honour of escorting you.”
“Oh! Thank you.“ Flustered by the unexpected development, Henrietta placed her hand in Sir Hardwick’s and allowed him to escort her to her father. She glared over her shoulder at her sister, Prudence, who smiled and gave her a finger wave in reply.
Henrietta was too busy enjoying the feel of her hand tucked into the much larger one of Sir Hardwick to stay cross with either her father or her sister for long. People parted to let the couple pass. Sir Hardwick looked down at her and a roguish smile played across his handsome face.
“I hope you will save me a dance this evening, Lady Henrietta?” he asked. Henrietta nodded, a blush creeping across her cheeks. This felt like a moment from one of her fantasies. She was in danger of suffering a good old-fashioned swoon.
‘Pull yourself together!’ she admonished herself. There was no point raising false hopes when it came to Sir Hardwick. When he cast her aside, it would just make her feel a fool once more.
“Ah - and here she is!” announced her father dramatically. “The eldest of my three beautiful daughters - Henrietta!”
How silly to feel bereft when Sir Hardwick released her hand: but that was exactly how she felt. Henrietta couldn’t take her eyes off him as he took his place below the stage. Even standing next to the other knights, he stood out, with his broad, muscular back and his long blonde hair. He reminded her of a depiction she had once seen of the Nordic god, Thor; he only needed Mjollnir, the thunder god’s mighty hammer, to complete the picture.
“My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,” her father began, tearing Henrietta from her musings, �
�I trust you have enjoyed the Riverly Tourney thus far?” His audience erupted in cheering and applause and Lord Pemberly appeared very pleased with himself. Henrietta saw her father look off to the right of the stage and share a long, meaningful look with Mrs Hyde-Thornton. She noted with interest the soft smile that stole across the widow’s face before she turned away. Could it be there was an attachment forming between Papa and Caroline Hyde-Thornton?
“Then allow me to tell you what is to happen next,” her father continued. “Of the many able, young knights who tourneyed here for the chance to win the hand of one of the three Maidens of Riverly, only three will compete in the final stage.” Lord Pemberly gave the signal and Mr Briggs stepped forward and solemnly handed his Lordship a sealed scroll.
Millicent’s delighted squeal was the only sound to punctuate the silence. Henrietta could tell her father was enjoying himself; he purposefully prolonged the suspense as he slowly broke the seal and unfurled the scroll. He looked up to address himself to the crowd as he called out the names of the winners.
“Sir Benedict Finchley!” A round of applause. Sir Finchley took a bow.
“Sir Henry Royston!” More applause - and a few catcalls from Sir Royston’s friends.
“And the name, I am sure you have all been waiting to hear … Sir Roderick Hardwick!”
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