by Joyce Alec
"Have you seen Mrs. Edwards?" Amos asked the cook, who shook her head. Further inquiries were met with no positive answers, and Bernard, Amos, and Agnes made their way outside, now becoming highly concerned over her disappearance.
“Pardon me, Your Grace," came a quiet voice, and Amos spun around to see a scared looking chambermaid at his elbow.
“Yes?”
“Tis only that there’s been talk that Mrs. Edwards is, in fact, Lord Bertram's lost daughter."
Amos's face lost all its color.
"When did you hear this?" he asked, trying not to sound too severe.
"Within the last couple of days," she replied, her eyes staring at his boots.
“Thank you,” Amos replied, watching her scuttle away. Dread rose in his heart. “If the servants know, I must assume that her father also knows,” he said, seeing Lady Heber’s face whiten.
“What shall we do?” she cried, grasping Bernard’s arm. “If he has her, she will not easily escape him!”
Amos thought quickly, his mind running through various possibilities. “He will want her to marry Lord Thompson as soon as possible,” he said aloud, seeing the comprehension on Bernard’s face.
"So, he will have taken her to Lord Thompson's townhouse," Bernard continued. "That way he can claim she has been staying with him, make it look like some lovers’ tryst. She will have no choice but to marry the man."
Amos did not wait to hear another word, taking off towards the stable, shouting for his horse. Bernard followed quickly, telling his mother to wait behind. She kissed his cheek and bade him hurry, watching them thunder away a few moments later.
Esther’s eyes fluttered as she became aware of a strong pounding in her head. Lifting her hand, she found her hair wet and sticky, struggling to open her eyes through a haze of pain.
“If you had not struggled, then I wouldn’t have had to hit you so hard.”
Blinking hard to focus her vision, Esther saw her father’s face come into view.
“What have you done?” she asked groggily, struggling to sit up.
Her father studied her with distaste in his expression. “Nothing a father wouldn’t do for his daughter,” he sneered. “Hiding yourself as a housekeeper and thinking the servants wouldn’t talk. Foolish girl!” He sat back, the carriage rocking her from side to side as she tried to remain upright. “Luckily for you, Lord Thompson is most eager to make you his bride. Your foolish ways have not dissuaded him in the slightest.”
“I will not marry him,” Esther replied, resolutely. “You cannot force me.”
“I can, and you will,” her father said, his face becoming red and spittle flying from his mouth. “Should you not, you and I will find ourselves in the gutter.”
Esther closed her eyes, blocking out the light and the sight of his fury. “What do you mean?” she asked, wearily.
Her father let out a wicked laugh that shook Esther to her very core. “Lord Thompson is willing to pay a great deal for you, my girl. He has been watching you for a long time, and we were able to strike quite a deal.”
Esther shuddered. “I am not for sale, father.”
“Oh, yes you are,” he replied, leaning forward. “You are for sale as much as anything else in my possession. You are the most valuable, it has to be said. The price I will get for you will cover my debts and set me up for the rest of my days.”
Esther shook her head, in spite of the pain that shot through it. “I will not marry him, Father.”
He sat back, seemingly unruffled by her words of refusal. “You will have no choice. When you are found at Lord Thompson’s house, you will have to marry him or have such a stain on your reputation that even I will not be able to have you in my house.”
“I shall go to my sister’s house,” Esther replied, panic rising up her throat.
“And mar her reputation also?” her father asked, mocking her. “I should have thought you cared more for your sister than that.”
Esther closed her eyes, not able to find a way out. She knew that her sister would welcome her with open arms, but Esther would not allow her to be besmirched by what would then be her own tattered reputation.
“You have become a monster,” she whispered, keeping her eyes shut. “When did you stop being my father and instead become my captor?”
He said nothing, the turn of the carriage wheels on the cobbled streets the only sound. Esther wanted to cry but refused to allow a single drop of moisture to fall. She would not show any weakness to her father, would not allow another word to pass her lips.
“Almost there,” her father jeered. “I am sure Lord Thompson will be expecting us.”
A sudden sound of hooves met her ears as the carriage began to slow, and the sounds of shouting caused Esther’s spirits to lift. Had the Duke come for her?
14
Thundering down the street and pushing his stallion to its limit, Amos finally caught sight of the Bertram carriage, making its way towards Lord Thompson’s townhouse. Relieved, yet filled with rage, he spurred his horse on, hearing Bernard close behind him.
"Esther? Esther!" he roared, riding alongside it and managing to catch a glimpse of her face before her father pulled the curtain closed. "Stop the carriage!" he shouted to the coach driver. "Stop it now!" Moving his horse directly into the path of the carriage, the driver had no choice but to rein the horses in, and slowly, the carriage stopped moving.
Leaping from his horse, he threw open the carriage door, only to be thrown back as Lord Bertram punched him directly in the face. The force of the blow threw him backward, and, as he scrambled to his feet, he saw Lord Bertram was already dragging Esther from the carriage. Ignoring the blood pouring from his nose, he staggered to his feet and ran to them. Knocking himself bodily into Lord Bertram, he managed to loosen Lord Bertram's hold on Esther's arm and, pushing her behind himself, stood, ready to fight.
“Get out of my way,” Lord Bertram snarled, waving his cane menacingly. “She’s my daughter; you have no right!”
“She is betrothed to me,” Amos growled, his temper close to snapping. It was only by sheer force of will that he stopped himself from attacking the man. Glancing to his left, he saw Bernard stand next to Esther, putting an arm around her to help her stand without swaying.
Lord Bertram's eyes shot from his daughter to Amos and then to Bernard. He knew there was no way he would be able to take on both men and get his unwilling daughter back. The game was up.
"She belongs to me!" he screeched, his desperation beginning to show. "I need her!"
“I am not a possession, Father!” Esther cried, tears streaming down her face. “You do not get to choose my husband. It is a choice I will make for myself! I do not belong to anyone, most of all, you.” She took a few steps forward, her hands closing around Amos’s strong one. Her touch took the edge of his rage as he placed his free hand on top of hers.
“You are despicable,” Amos thundered, never taking his eyes from the Lord Bertram. "A man who would sell his daughter for his own selfish reasons. You disgust me."
He turned away, gently pulling Esther with him. He had nothing more to say, and Lord Bertram could do nothing to stop them.
"Can you ride?" he whispered, feeling Esther tremble. She nodded, allowing him to lift her into the saddle before he pulled himself up in front of her. "Let's go home," he said, turning his horse in the direction of his townhouse, feeling her wrap her arms around him as she leaned her throbbing head against his strong back.
"Esther, my dear!" Agnes rushed towards her, her face pale and drawn with anxiety.
Agnes grasped Esther’s hands as Amos helped her into a chair, his own face lined with concern.
“Good heavens,” Agnes gasped, seeing Esther’s bloodied head and Amos’s nose. “Whatever’s happened?”
“All in good time, Mother,” Bernard said, putting a gentle arm around her shoulders. “Let’s make sure they’re all cleaned up first; there will be time for questions later.”
Agnes no
dded, pulling out a tissue as she dabbed her goddaughter’s cheek. “Of course. Bernard, fetch some hot water.”
“I’ll go with you,” Amos said, standing up.
“No,” Esther cried, reaching for him. “Please, Your Grace, stay with me.”
Amos sat next to her and held her hand. “Of course, I will stay with you. I just need to wipe the blood from my face. I must look quite a sight, and I’m afraid I will scare the servants!” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I promise I will be right back.”
Esther nodded, her wide eyes showing the extent of her fear. “What if my father returns?”
“He won’t,” Agnes replied, shooing Amos away. “Amos has all the doors locked, and I am quite sure he will not try anything, given the circumstances. For heaven’s sake, the man assaulted his own daughter!” She tried to smile, managing only to cry a little. “I should have kept a better watch over you.”
Esther held her godmother’s hands tightly. “He came out of nowhere,” she whispered. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”
“You are safe now,” Agnes replied, finally managing a tremulous smile. “I am sure Amos will never let you go again.”
An hour had passed, and both Esther and Amos looked much more like their usual selves. Although, Esther was going to have a sizeable lump on her head for a few days. Esther felt herself growing tired and couldn’t hold back a yawn.
Agnes rose to her feet, also showing signs of weariness. “You are quite sure you are well?”
Esther smiled. “I am, Godmother. I will see you tomorrow.”
Bernard took his mother’s hand. “Come, Mother, it is late. A lot has happened today, and you need to rest. The Duke has had a room prepared for you.” He lifted his hand in farewell as he led his mother from the room.
There was a long silence, but this time, there was peace in Esther's soul. Amos sat next to her, and she had her hand in his, feeling the strength of his grip as he squeezed her hand.
"Thank you, Your Grace," she said eventually, turning her body so she could look into his face. "I cannot imagine what would have happened if you had not rescued me."
He smiled, moving closer and putting a gentle kiss on her forehead, his eyes taking in the beautiful expanse of her long blonde hair, now let down in its entirety, so as not to pain her head further. “Do not think of it, my love. Nothing can come between us now. And if you are to be my wife, we can do away with formalities. Please, call me Amos.”
Esther let out a long, luxurious sigh, reveling in the tranquility she felt as he held her close.
“You will marry me, won’t you, Esther?”
She pulled back a little out of his embrace to look up at him as she gave her response, “Amos, I think my answer is quite obvious.”
A smile spread across his lips. He lowered his head and kissed her softly, running his fingers through her loose curls at her temples. Esther's heart swelled at his tenderness, feeling him hold his passion firmly in check.
“Tomorrow?” he whispered against her mouth.
“Tomorrow,” she replied, taking possession of his lips once more.
Epilogue
Amos held his breath as he saw Esther walk down the aisle towards him, stunned at her beauty. She looked like a floating angel, practically glowing as she walked towards him, a gentle smile on her lips. Letting it out in a rush, he gazed into her eyes as she took his hand, marveling at how his wife-to-be had managed to fill the empty place in his heart.
For so long, he had searched for love, refusing to take a mistress even though his search had lasted for years and his patience had often worn thin. It had been worth it, he thought to himself, turning towards the vicar. She had been worth it.
The bishop had, of course, granted him a Special License as soon as he heard the details both from Amos and Bernard. Amos was now ready to make his vows before God and his witnesses—Bernard and Agnes.
Esther felt a lightness of heart as she held onto Amos's warm hand. It was a joyful ending to what had been a terrible time in her life. The man she had admired from afar had now become her protector, savior, and husband, and she thanked God for His blessing.
Amos smiled into her eyes as he made his vows. “I, Amos Graybury, Duke of Hawdon, take thee, Lady Esther Mary Bertram, to be my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto, I pledge thee my troth.”
In a soft voice, Esther repeated the same words to Amos, her breath hitching as he placed a ring on the third finger of her left hand. She could hardly believe it, seeing it catch the light as it sparkled on her finger. She was now the Duchess of Hawdon.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the vicar intoned. “You may kiss the bride.”
Instead of the customary kiss on the cheek, Amos wrapped his arms around his new wife and kissed her thoroughly, speaking to her of passion, of desire, and of love. A little abashed, she smiled at him as both Bernard and Agnes clapped and cheered, giving their congratulations to them both.
“I love you, Esther,” Amos whispered in her ear.
She turned to him, lifting her hand to his cheek. “I love you, Amos,” she replied, a beautiful sheen of tears in her eyes. “And I promise to love you forever.”
“I will love you forever and a day,” he replied, holding her close and kissing her once more.
THE END
Part IV
Christmas Masquerade Ball
By Eleanor Swan
1
It was the most wonderful time of the year. Yuletide treats, family, and gifts. Days were cold, and nights were spent beside the fire and reading books and sleeping beneath as many quilts as could be found. Warm tea in chilled fingers. Powdery snow on dark green pine branches.
Christmas time had come at last.
My other absolute favorite thing about this time of year was the number of elaborate balls to attend. Almost everyone celebrated with large banquets, dinners, and dancing, with tall and handsomely decorated trees in every corner, and candles glistening on every surface. Everything was warm and comforting.
The Walford estate hosted a magnificent ball, and I was quite honored to receive an invite. Of course, Lord Walford and my father had been friends for many years.
Golden ribbons glittered in every window, and only the finest crystal was used as serving bowls and goblets for wine. The Christmas trees were decorated with fruits, berries, and glass ornaments. The air smelled of pine, cranberries, and cinnamon.
More red ribbons and berries decorated the ballroom, and it seemed that green was the popular color for ladies’ dresses. I myself had chosen a red dress with golden ribbons and ivory lace. It had cost my parents more than they had expected, but it was so handsomely made that my mother said she would have paid four times the amount.
Mother and Father had long lost the desire to dance at these sorts of social outings. Mother was shy, and Father’s feet often hurt him if he stood too long. Age, he had told me, waited for no one, not even busy men. They found much more enjoyment speaking with their friends and other social acquaintances.
And that was what they did this night. As I made my way between circles of my own friends, I watched as they spoke with some very influential people. At least, I assumed they were. It was hard to tell, given that everyone wore a mask. Mother’s dress was white, hanging beautifully over her still youthful frame. Her blonde hair, much like my sister’s, was pinned up behind her head, a few loose curls hanging around her face. Father, dark-haired with bright blue eyes behind his bird-shaped green mask, was nodding to a man who stood beside them.
Yes, one of the most exciting reasons I loved this particular ball at the Walford estate was the fact that it was a masquerade. Everyone came with a mask, and most of the fun was that it was hard to tell who was who. Of course, my friends and I had shared our plans and our masks with one an
other beforehand, so we knew each other when we met at the ball. But it was still exhilarating to not recognize most people just by standing in front of them.
I had made my very own mask, with papier-mâché and dye made from cranberries. I had cut out some pretty filigree and roses. It had taken me nearly a week, but when it was all finished, the mask matched my dress perfectly.
I had been asked to dance by a few men I did not recognize. One of the men revealed himself, and I laughed heartily when I realized it was my dear friend, Lord Gregory. He said that he had recognized me by my golden hair pin, a gift that his sister had given me for my birthday one year. Another man had hardly spoken to me, and while I found him to be quite an admirable dancer, I did not accept when he asked if I wished to dance again.
The third man that asked me to dance was tall, dark-haired, and had brilliantly blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes behind his simple black mask. His smile was wide and easy, and he bowed before me with a handsome flourish.
My sister Sarah and our friends had all shoved me a few steps toward him, giggling furiously behind me. He held out his hand and I gracefully took it.
And what a magnificent dancer he was. He was confident and knowledgeable. I had yet to meet a man who such an agreeable dance partner. Not only was he a fabulous dancer, but he was a wonderful conversationalist. He was anything but shy, asking me how I was enjoying the ball, what I thought of the decorations, and if I enjoyed the tempo of the music. It was a whirlwind, emotionally and physically.
We danced for two songs, and I had forgotten everyone else in the room. It seemed he had forgotten the others as well. And all the while, I did not know his name.
