by Joyce Alec
Amelia was thankful for her strong nerves. She would need them. With the fireplace poker outstretched to guide her, she hit it off what she presumed was the wall on either side. She had come a little farther than previously, but she hoped it wasn't a dead-end. With no light, she couldn't tell how far the passage went, but she kept swaying the fireplace poker from side to side in front of her. It clattered off the walls.
She was finding it difficult to move at any pace as it was harder to breathe, and it was so hot. She had to stop and take a breath, as she wiped her brow, which glistened with sweat. She called out, it made her feel like she was doing something, but the sound just reverberated around the tunnel.
"How will we ever escape?" Amelia spoke out loud, as she slid to the ground in frustration. She let out one, loud scream.
6
Bartley had to do something. Seeing how the inspector had gone out the front door, Bartley decided to do his search out the back of the house. After all, the bedroom overlooked the carriage house. Although he was glad to have his lamp, the walk to the carriage house was quite lit up. Bartley walked backwards looking up towards the window, willing it to tell him its secrets.
"Anything strike you as strange, My Lord?" It was the old man again. He was standing beside Bartley looking up at the house.
"What did you say your name was?" Bartley asked.
"Jedediah Larkin, My Lord, I am the caretaker here. Does it not strike you as strange the position of the window? I always found it strange, the lack of symmetry."
Bartley looked at the house plans and then looked up. Certainly, there seemed to be more wall than was allowed for on the schematics, but was this just a trick of the eye, perhaps.
"It does look odd, and if there's a secret passageway, then it must lead somewhere. Perhaps out here, what do you think?" Bartley looked at the old man who just nodded.
Now, if I could figure out where this could go, Bartley thought. As his eyes followed the possible layout of a secret chamber, his eyes fell upon the snow underfoot.
As he tried to process where a chamber could possibly lead, the horses became uneasy in the stables. He could hear a mix of roars and snorts and ran to the stables. He and Jedediah went into the stables to see what had caused the horses' distress. They were sensitive and would hear sounds that humans couldn't.
"Calm down, there's a girl," Bartley went into one stall where the mare was extremely agitated.
"What is that sound?" he asked. Was that what startled the horses? But the sound stopped. He cocked his ear, straining to hear the sound again but nothing. Then he heard a wail, or maybe a scream, that set the horses off again.
"Help, I need some help," Bartley called out. The snow was dampening any sounds. He walked the mare out of her stall, and Jedediah took her outside. Some of the stable boys were coming to his aid, and he sent one to find the inspector. Could the secret chamber run this length of the garden from the house and into the stables?
He went back inside the stall, and with his foot, began to shove the straw around. There was no sign of a trap door or hatch, but it had to be near here. It dawned on him that the horses wouldn't be put in stalls with trap doors. It had to be outside.
He called for more light as he made his helpers sweep and clear the floor. The Inspector arrived as Bartley told him of what he heard. It was the best clue they had so far, and even the skeptical Inspector wouldn't deny it.
"Lady Amelia, I'm coming for you," he called out. "If you can scream again, please do, my love. We need to hear you," he called out frantically. The inspector called for everyone to stop as they listened out. As they were about to resume clearing, a faint bang was heard.
"She heard me. Work faster. We have to get to her." Bartley worked harder than anyone else, and his efforts were rewarded when he found the trap door.
He opened it up and looked inside.
"Lady Amelia, I've found you," although he could not yet see her, he jumped into the passageway. Lifting his lamp and turning it to full, he saw the cramped tunnel, and there ahead of him was Lady Amelia in a heap on the floor. He ran to her, while he called for help.
"Bartley, have I died?" she asked.
"Oh, my love, you are not getting away from me that easily," he smiled at her.
"Lady Amelia, where are the others?" Inspector Grimshaw was eager to find the others.
His question seemed to give Lady Amelia the rush of adrenaline that was needed.
"Henrietta, Lucille. It's too far to go back this way. Take me to the room and I'll show you," she screamed out.
With him supporting her, Lady Amelia rushed back to the room. John just watched as Lady Amelia sat in the chair and showed them how to open the passage. With the wall secure, John and the inspector ran down the stairs, and soon the women were safe.
7
All the guests agreed that Lady Henrietta, now Duchess of Kentonville, looked radiant on her wedding day. Mary had styled her mistress's hair to disguise the gash on her forehead from her fall.
Stories circulated that Henrietta had gone missing, but many believed the story was just a rumor when they saw Lady Henrietta and the duke in such good spirits.
The carriage ride to St. George's Church on Christmas morning was breathtaking. Snow lightly dusted the trees and ground, and with the sunlight shining just right, it looked as if the city was covered in sparkling jewels.
John looked like a new man. He could look forward to being a husband to the most wonderful woman he had ever met. Carrying Lady Henrietta out of the hiding place to safety provided an intense mix of emotions. His heart was glad at her safe return, but the state of her health had him very worried.
The doctor arrived immediately. Although she was mildly dehydrated, Henrietta was in good health and recovered quickly.
At their wedding breakfast, the duke and duchess celebrated the start of their new life together.
"You look beautiful this morning, Lady Amelia. I trust you are feeling much better." Bartley admired her as they waited to be called for the wedding breakfast.
"Thank you, My Lord. It is very gracious of you to say such a thing. Indeed, I am feeling well.”
If her ordeal had taught her anything, it was never to take anything or anyone for granted. Just days earlier, Amelia had questioned Henrietta about being so hasty in love. Now, Amelia’s heart had been stolen in a whirlwind romance.
Amelia had also had to recover from dehydration, so she was unable to see Bartley these last couple of days. The doctor had strict instructions that she must stay in bed.
Bartley found a way to communicate with her through letters, which he seemed to be writing hourly. Each letter brought Amelia a little bit of joy. In one of his first letters, Bartley explained his newfound discovery. When searching for the architectural plans for the house, he came across some old letters from the previous duchess. The letters explained the details of the passageway. It turned out that there had been rumors of an uprising against the ton. The previous duchess was in such a fright that she had a secret passageway built, but didn’t want many people to know about it. She remodeled the room as a guise, so not very few individuals knew that the real reason for the remodel was to build a secret room, where she could hide with her husband in case they needed help. While in the midst of the remodel, the architect discovered the strange light reflection from the two mirrors and built that into his plan as the way to access the secret room.
Bartley’s letters were filled with stories and anecdotes that made Amelia laugh and sometimes cry. Amelia found that she could be much more expressive in her letters than she could with her words. Bartley’s letters expressed his love from the beginning, but Amelia’s letters soon followed suit.
In Bartley’s final letter before the wedding, he offered a marriage proposal. Amelia had yet to answer.
“Well,” said Bartley. “Is there anything else you would like to say to me?”
Amelia smiled as she looked down, suddenly nervous about making eye contact. She
couldn’t believe that she was considering marriage to a man she had barely known a week.
“You do know you would have to ask my father,” said Amelia.
“I have already bought my ticket to Stannington,” beamed Bartley. “I was going to call on you soon after you returned home.” Bartley then realized what her words meant. “Are you saying you will marry me?”
“If my father approves, yes, Bartley, I will marry you.”
Amelia’s eyes met his, as they were both filled with joy.
Lady Henrietta couldn't be happier to think that her wedding had produced such a wonderful match between her closest friend and her husband’s cousin.
When the women were in private, Henrietta cupped Amelia’s hands and asked, “You do love him, don't you?"
"I do. I never thought I would fall in love, but now that I have, well, it is rather wonderful," she smiled through her tears of joy.
The End
Part IX
Christmas Wedding
By Eleanor Swan
1
“What about Lady Lucy Deeringly? She comes from a fine family.”
Lord James Linfield looked up from the paper in disgust. “Truly, Father? The woman cannot string together two words whenever I am around. She might as well be mute.”
The Duke of Hoverton glared at his son over his steaming cup of coffee. “You should not be so negative about a woman, son. You are not getting any younger.”
James snorted and laid down the paper. “I am not even thirty years of age yet. Surely I have a few years before I am forced to choose a woman that meets the ton’s expectations of a duchess.”
His father chuckled as he set down his coffee gently. “Marriage is necessary in order to secure our name, James. Do not forget it is your duty to do so.”
Though it was early in the morning, both men had been up well before the sun rose, something that James had garnered from his father at an early age. The duke believed in getting an early rise to the day, instilling in his son that the early bird truly does catch the the worm. Breakfast had become a tradition between them, though James was starting to think about not rising so early if he was going to be forced to listen to another lecture about his life.
“I am well aware of my duty, Father,” James said dully. “It is the women that are not being compliant.” He had yet to find a woman who was as beautiful and lively on the outside as well as on the inside. This season’s crop was beautiful, that was a given, but lacking any ability to carry on a conversation outside of the weather or the color of someone’s dress.
His father banged his fist on the table, causing James to arch a brow in his direction. “That is it,” his father said, pushing back from the table. “I am growing tired of your excuses, James!”
“What I am saying is the truth,” James grumbled, picking up the paper. “They are all horridly boring and barely out of the nursery. I find myself in the position of a nanny amongst our delectable diamonds this season.”
He wanted someone that would challenge him, not bat their lashes and simper in his direction. He wanted someone who knew how to carry on a conversation in his presence and make him pant with need when she walked away.
All these women did was make him wish for a drink after a few moments in their presence.
“If your mother could hear you now.”
James swallowed, hearing the emotion in his father’s voice, even after all these years.
His mother had been killed in a riding accident on their country estate when James was away at Eaton. He had only been twelve, but he would never forget the way his father had cried in his study the months after her death. She had truly been the woman that every man wished to have: beautiful and lively, her smile warming any cold heart. James liked to remember the way she had danced with him in their parlor or the warm kisses she had pressed on his cheek when he would head up to his room. No other woman could compare to her, and while his father was still a virile man, he had chosen not to remarry.
Women like his mother did not exist—not in this lifetime.
“Mother would agree,” James finally said, turning the page. “She would not want me to settle.”
“Your mother would want grandchildren,” argued the duke with a gentle smile.
“She would want me to be happy.”
His father sighed. “That she would, but you are not even entertaining the idea of having children. You have forced my hand, James, where I hoped I never would have to step in.”
James lowered the paper once more. “What are you talking about?”
The duke frowned. “I am giving you an ultimatum. Find a bride by Christmas Day or I will choose one for you.”
James was stunned. His father had always indulged his every whim before. “Pardon me, Father, what did you just say?”
“You heard me. Find a bride or the choice will be mine. I will not give you any stipulations. As long as she can bear an heir, I will allow you to marry her.”
James threw the paper on the table, rattling the delicate dishes. “You cannot do this!”
“I can, and I have,” his father stated, turning his eyes to the discarded paper. “Are you finished with that? I have yet to read it.”
James felt the anger rise in his throat as he stared at his father. He knew that the duke would act upon his word without hesitation. James had no choice if he wished to remain the heir to his father’s title. Taking the paper, he threw it into the large fireplace and stormed out, his blood boiling as he heard his father’s chuckle behind him.
The duke did not understand. The women of the ton…they were not like his mother and could not hold James’ attention for longer than a few minutes. The thought of being married to one of them, though they were lovely to look at, did not sit well with James. He wished to find a wife that was different from the rest—not one that would cater to him only because of his wealth and title. Was that too much to ask?
James was not interested in a woman’s wealth, as his father was one of the richest men in England. However, if the duke were to choose his wife, James knew that he would choose one that came with a large dowry. Or, at least that was what James thought his father would do. The woman his father chose would likely be too young and therefore unable to hold a conversation, or a woman who was haughty and nagging, putting James in a grave well before his time.
His heart beating wildly with anger, James stalked to his suite. It was time to find a wife, before his father did it for him.
2
“And your eyes, they shine like the stars in the sky.”
Lady Edith Gillett fought the need to roll her shiny eyes as she waited patiently for the young gentleman to go on. So far, he had described her hair to be the color of the sun’s rays in the morning gloom and her skin as fine as porcelain.
He was starting to run out of things to compare her to.
The morning was already impossibly long, and Edith was starting to grow numb from sitting in the wingback chair in her family’s formal parlor. Nearby, her sisters, Margaret and Lillian, sat on the settee, rolling their eyes and snickering behind their fans as they listened to yet another declaration of Edith’s beauty, so much so that their mother had given them disapproving looks more than once.
“And I wish for your hand to be mine for all eternity.”
Edith forced her gaze back to the young gentleman, not even remembering his name from the earlier announcement. He looked so hopeful.
“Thank you for that lovely poem. I am very touched by your tender words,” Edith said with a warm smile.
He beamed, and she sighed inwardly. Did he not recognize her absence of interest in him? That was the problem with the ton. No one had a lick of sense, automatically thinking that women were to fall at their feet with such praise. Did he not realize that she had heard similar words from so many other men?
Edith continued, “But I will have to decline your offer of marriage.”
His face fell, and Edith winced. Was this the fourt
h, or maybe fifth proposal she had turned down? It did not matter—it never got easier.
She watched him squirm as his smile became pursed lips and his face flushed, likely from embarrassment.
She tried to lessen his obvious discomfort from her words. “You see, my lord, I do not think we will be compatible.”
He started to protest, but Edith complained of a headache coming and the urgent need to lie down for some rest.
The suitor said his polite farewells and took his leave in haste.
“Well now,” Margaret said, a bemused smile on her face. “How many does that make, dear sister? I am beginning to think you see this as a game.”
Edith allowed her body to relax, slumping in the chair. “When will any of them realize that I am not swayed by pretty words?”
“They know no different,” her mother chided, carefully picking up her tea cup. “You cannot fault them for trying.”
“We can when they are hurting our ears,” Lillian stated.
Edith gave her a grateful smile. She and her sisters were very close in both age and nature. At nineteen, Edith was the oldest, fresh off a successful season and beginning yet another that was to be, as her mother had stated, her defining moment in society. Margaret was next, at sixteen, and Lillian at fourteen. Together they were a formidable trio to their parents.
“Well, you only have this season to choose,” her mother reminded her, looking about the room filled with gifts of chocolates and flowers of every sort. “Your father has already stated that he will not support another season, Edith.”
“I am well aware of that,” Edith replied.
