by Matilda Hart
Hiding her dressing gown under the high-backed dresser in the room, Emilia slid out, closed the creaky door and locked it, putting the key away again and heading to the pantry, where she took a hank of bread and cheese and two apples before moving towards the door leading to the yard. Turning the key in the lock, she swung it open, praying it would be silent, especially since she could not lock it after her. The heavy door swung wide, and she stepped through, pulling it up behind her, and waiting for the snick of the lock to sound before moving in the shadows cast by the house towards the stable. At the very last moment, when she could no longer avoid it, she stepped into the faint light of the waning moon and hurried to the stable.
Slipping inside, she waited, watching the house to see if she had been followed. This time, the wait was excruciatingly long, but she endured it as best she could, and then turned to find rope for her waist and a bag for the food she had stolen and her now dirty shoes. The rope she tied quickly around her, but when no bag could be found, she stuffed the food into the shirt. There was room enough for all of it. Her shoes she was forced to leave. She buried them in the hay next to the stall where her father’s prize horse stood eyeing her balefully. Thankfully, he made no sound. Taking a muddy pair of boots that she had seen by the door, she crept quietly back to the entrance and looked around.
No one was about; nothing stirred. The night was still. Emilia stole quietly out and down the side of the structure, hurrying when she got into the open, crouching until she was far enough away that she could stand erect. Then she ran. She knew the pathways through the woods that she soon came upon, and she took the one leading north, and furthest away from the house. There were wild creatures in the woods, and perhaps hunters and vagrants, but she would fight her way through them all for the chance to be her own woman, unmarried and free. She could defend herself if need be, and nothing would stop her from escaping.
Emilia had no way of telling the time, and she had long ago stopped her headlong rush through the woods. Now she walked as quickly as she could, picking her way painfully along and moving from shadow to shadow, constantly on the alert. The boots she wore were too big for her feet, which is why she had stopped running, after they had pitched her forward over the spreading roots of an ancient and enormous tree. She knew she had sustained some injuries from the fall, but she had no time to address or even catalog them. She knew the jig would be up as soon as it was discovered that she was not in her bedchamber. And when the stable boy’s clothes were found to have disappeared along with food, and the kitchen door unlocked, no doubt her father would send the hounds after her. She had to put as much space between herself and her home as she could before dawn.
The thought of being caught energized her, and she plodded on, feeling the callouses and blisters forming on her feet, finding her breath more difficult to catch. When she stumbled and fell forward, a cry escaped her lips. The ground was hard where she fell, and her aching and wounded body cried out at this new indignity. Tears spring unbidden to her eyes, and she could not stanch them before they overflowed and blinded her. She was exhausted and sore and afraid. And angry that she had succumbed to a female weakness. Tears were useless in this situation. She needed to get up and get moving again. But she could not drag her heavy limbs up. She scrambled back from the path, trying to hide herself behind the trunk of the tree over which she had stumbled. Mayhap it would be wise to rest for a spell before continuing.
Emilia closed her eyes.
Chapter 2
“My lady, you must come with us.”
Emilia woke to the sound of a pleading voice, and the feel of strong hands on her arms. She struggled to sit up, and when she discovered the enormity of her error, she fought to free herself from the man who was helping her to her feet. But he had her at a disadvantage, and she could see, in the bright light of morning, that he was embarrassed to be doing what he was nonetheless required to do. Her father’s groom was a burly man, father of two daughters himself, so he would no doubt commiserate with her parent in this matter.
She looked around, needing to see who else had come and found herself looking into the stable boy’s condemning eyes. A wave of shame washed over her. She was wearing his clothes, and the hat that she had swiped from the hook by the stable door on the way out. She could feel the boy’s anger beating at her, and she knew there was nothing she could say to make it go away. These were probably the only clothes he had, aside from what he was wearing, and she had stolen it from him….the girl with more clothes than she knew what to do with. Still, she felt the need to say something...anything.
“I...I’m sorry,” she said, directing her comment to the boy, who stood off to one side watching as she stood to her feet. “I had to get away. I promise you I would have returned them.”
She received no reply, only averted eyes and a back turned to her. She knew she should be affronted that he had dared to ignore her, a lady of quality, but she couldn’t find it with her to do so. His anger was justified. She had only thought of herself in her mad dash to escape the fate worse than death that was marriage. Trying her best to gather the remains of her dignity about her like a tattered cloak, she allowed the groom to steady her on her feet, hiding her frustration at having been caught, and her humiliation at being taken back to her father’s house like a common thief caught in the act of absconding with the Marquess’s goods.
Thankfully, though she would never openly admit it, the groom had brought a horse for her, though he was careful to keep control of the mare on which she sat so as to discourage her from trying to escape again. She rode between her two guards, her body aching, her feet sore, her lips blistered. She could only imagine what a dreadful sight she must present to the world, and was grateful that they passed no one on her ignominious ride back to her father’s house. It took two hours to get there, she surmised, going at a fair clip, and by the time they pulled up in the stable yard, she was as exhausted as though she had walked back. The groom helped her down from the horse, and her father stood waiting for her by the stable door.
Emilia straightened her spine, and prepared herself to be even more publicly humiliated by her father’s reprimands. She walked towards him, chin up, resolve in her gaze. She may have failed this time, but nothing he did would stop her from trying to escape a marriage she did not want. She would bide her time, and swallow her anger and frustration, and bear the weight of her father’s displeasure. It would not be the first time she had disobeyed him, nor would it be the last.
To her shock, he said nothing, merely threw a cloak he had on his arm around her shoulders and shepherded her back inside and up the stairs, pausing only long enough to order that breakfast be taken up to her bedchamber, and a bath prepared for her immediately. Once in her room, he stood quietly at the door while she entered, and when she turned to him, a question, and unspeakable hope in her eyes, he said,
“I had an inkling that you would not let this go without making some desperate attempt, Emilia. But this was more than even I would expect of you.”
He sighed as he looked her over, and she cringed unwillingly beneath his assessing gaze. “It pains me to say this, but you may have ruined your chances of finding a man interested in taking you on, not only because of this...this hellion-like behavior, but also because you have defiled the beauty of your person. Wearing men’s clothing, butchering your beautiful hair? What were you thinking?”
Emilia could hear the impatience, the anger, the despair in his tone, and though it hurt her to know she was causing her father grief, she could not allow his pain to weaken her resolve. She knew that her father loved her, in his own way, and that even though he sought good marriages for his own advancement, he also knew the value of such marriages for his daughters. He was being as good a father as he knew to be, but she did not intend to let his desire to provide for her future dictate how she spent it, or with whom. Still, she said nothing in response, aside from a whispered,
“I am sorry, Papa.”
Which mea
nt nothing, as she was not sorry for having tried to run away. She was merely sorry for having been caught and brought back home like a naughty child. And she was sorry, too, that they would never agree on the matter. His next words assured her that her decision to keep trying to escape was the right one.
“I’m afraid that as I cannot trust you to be a dutiful daughter, I will have to take more drastic measures. While you were being fetched home, I sent missives to Lord Hanson informing him that you will be leaving for his home on the morrow. You will be escorted by me and my solicitor, and the groom, to ensure your safe arrival.”
Her gasp of dismay did not even slow his speech. “Mistress Thompson will accompany your lady’s maid to bring your meals for the rest of the day, and Alice will see to making your appearance as pleasant as possible for the Duke. Alice will be traveling with us as well, so there will be three in the carriage at all times. I will speak to you again at breakfast, before we go in the morning.”
He stopped, watching the expression of horror she knew must be plain on her face, and sighed heavily again, clasping his hands behind his back. It was a stance she knew well, and it was abundantly clear to her that she had pushed her father beyond his limits. No amount of pleading, or angry refusals, would make a difference to his decision. She would be a virtual prisoner in her own home until she was carted off to Manchester, surrounded by men who would be watching her every move. Her whole body trembled at the prospect of such indignities laid at her door, but she hid the level of her distress from her father. No matter how much she loved him, she would not easily forgive him this decision.
She remained silent, and he turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. Emilia collapsed on the floor, boneless with grief, and wept bitterly. She heard her door open, and knew that Alice and Mistress Thompson had arrived, but she did not rise from where she sat. She listened as water was brought in for her bath, and finally, when the door closed for the last time, she looked up at her maid’s quiet call.
“My lady, your bath is ready.”
Emilia sighed. It was not Alice’s fault that she found herself in the situation she was in, and she would not vent her frustrations on the poor girl’s head, though she desperately wanted to do so. Instead, she rose from the floor, and allowed Alice to help her out of the filthy stable boy’s clothing. She stepped into the bath, and sank blissfully into its warm depths, letting the water soothe her body, her poor tired feet with their new callouses, and once she began to wash herself, she felt somewhat more revived. Alice helped her once she stepped out of the tub, and as she was not going to be going anywhere, Emilia decided to put on her nightgown and go to bed, after she ate everything they brought up for breakfast. She would need her strength for the next time.
Before she went to bed, Alice applied the shears to her badly cropped mane and by the time she was done, Emilia quite liked the new look. Her hair feathered around her face, short but no longer boyish.
“You handle the shears very well, Alice,” she complimented the woman. “I quite like how you have rescued my hair from disaster.”
The young woman smiled and bowed her head. “Thank you, my lady,” she said. “I was always the one to manage my siblings’ wild hair when they were younger.”
Emilia felt a pang of remorse as she thought of how, because of her behavior, Alice would be forced to leave her home and family to accompany her to Manchester. She wished she could do something to make her troubles go away, something that would not involve hurting others or disrupting their lives. Alice lay her dressing gown at the foot of the bed and Emilia lay back against the lush pillows, watching as the maid cleaned up the hair, and then tidied the tray before taking herself off. No doubt someone would come to remove the tub. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the pain in her heart.
When Emilia woke again, it was dark except for the lone candle that sputtered in a draft atop the mantle over her fireplace. She needed to relieve herself, and once that had been accomplished, she found her peignoir lying at the foot of the bed and slid it over her shoulders, tying the band round her waist securely. She needed to see how much of what her father had told her was true. Stepping to the door, she opened it and stepped out. Mistress Thompson sat quietly knitting on a chair just across from her door. The woman looked up with a disapproving stare, and Emilia sighed inwardly.
She knew it was too much to expect those of her father’s generation to understand her need to be free. Retreating, she closed the door and went to stare into the skies outside her window. The stars twinkled faintly above, illuminated by the still-waning moon. She opened the sash and peered down into the grounds below her window. Sure enough, there was a shadow by the garden wall, unmoving but clearly stationed there to watch for any attempt she might make to escape by this means. Her shoulders slumped as she contemplated her options. Escape from home would be impossible, and as the journey to England would begin on the morrow, unless she could find a way to slip free of Alice and the solicitor, she would have to wait until she arrived at her destination to try again. She went back to sleep
Next morning, Alice arrived early to help Emilia dress. The gown she had chosen to wear was a pale blue muslin, with petticoats to bolster the material. She could now manage to dress her own hair without the aid of her maid, and once she was dressed, she applied the brush to her foreshortened locks. Her valises had all been packed the evening before, and a footman came to remove them to the front hall where they would be retrieved by the coachman when it was time to depart. Mistress Thompson escorted her down to breakfast, where she found her father waiting for her to arrive.
“Good morning, Emilia,” he said. “How did you sleep?”
“As well as can be expected, under the circumstances, Papa,” she replied, forcing herself not to respond in anger.
“You look refreshed,” he told her, as he helped himself to food from the sideboard. “The carriage will be ready in half an hour. You should eat.”
He sat down at the head of the table, and Emilia went to help herself to what she wanted. Feeling curiously numb, she took only a little porridge and some toast and weak tea. Spreading marmalade on the toast, she bit into it silently, watching her father devour the hearty breakfast of kippers, rolls, jam, and two strong cups of tea, laced with the whisky he kept there for that purpose. He was not a sloppy eater, but she found she could not watch his hearty consumption of his meal, made without so much as a glance in her direction, while she could barely manage to swallow the porridge and toast.
Finally, the meal ended, and her father escorted her out to the waiting carriage, in which his solicitor already sat. Greeting him with a demure “Good morning”, she sat on the wide seat across from his own, and waited until her father was seated before asking,
“Why does Mr. Johnson need to go with us to Manchester, Papa?”
“There are legal documents to be signed by both the duke and I,” he told her. “This seemed as good a time as any to secure his signature.”
Emilia felt a tide of heat sweep through her, and could not be certain that it was not as much shame as anger. No matter what her father said, she was being sold to the Duke of Roxburgh. She wondered bitterly, as the carriage drove along the road to take them to the major thoroughfare, what her father was getting out of the arrangement. Would money exchange hands? Was she to be bartered in exchange for more political clout for her father? She could not keep an angry frown from marring her features, and she knew her father was watching her closely, but she refused to pretend that she was content to be taken away from her home against her will.
The first day’s journey seemed over long, and when they stopped for the night at an inn, Emilia was happy to retreat to her room with Alice, who brought her food and helped her change for bed. She did not eat much -- she had little appetite -- and Alice kept the food covered, in the hopes that Emilia would eat more if she awoke during the night. Emilia, however, had other ideas. Alice was a heavy sleeper, and she hoped that her father would no
t have anyone immediately outside her door, as he had the night before. She would wait until she was reasonably sure that all the travelers were asleep, and she would try again. She pretended to be asleep, and when Alice finally settled herself into the wide armchair, and her soft snores echoed around the bedchamber, Emilia slid out of bed, dressed hurriedly and tiptoed out, her shoes in one hand and a linen napkin with the bread and cold cuts from her meal in the other.
Chapter 3
