by Joyce Alec
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
The Earl’s Agreement
The Earl’s Agreement
Text Copyright © 2018 by Joyce Alec
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2018
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311
1
London 1836
Miss Lucy Donoghue sighed happily to herself and settled back a little more against the cushions of the window seat in the library. Looking out of the window at the beautiful gardens below for a brief moment, she let her mind drift to thoughts about life and love, picturing herself as the heroine in the book she held in her hands.
Her parents would be horrified if they knew she was reading such a book, considering these novels to be both unorthodox and entirely unhelpful to a young woman of quality.
Lucy could not agree.
The books opened up a world far beyond the trappings of society, where one could find someone of worth who sought love over expectation. They told her that matrimony could happen between two individuals who held a deep and long-lasting love for each other.
It was certainly not what she saw in her own parents’ marriage. There might be affection of sorts, but nothing akin to love existed between them. Her father, the Earl of Withington, held a great deal of power within society. For whatever reason, he had a shrewd mind and could accomplish wonders within his business dealings, which garnered him a great deal of respect from the gentlemen within his acquaintance. His wife—Lucy’s mother—had the ability to look down her nose at a
lmost anyone, even those above her own title, to the point that a great many ladies sought her favor. Lucy had heard it said on more than one occasion that to have Lady Withington’s favor meant that you were accepted within society.
Lucy, for herself, had very little interest in the subject. She attended balls and other events with her parents with good grace, but much preferred to spend her time in quiet pursuits, such as reading or discussing what she had read with anyone willing to engage with her. She had heard her mother exclaim that she had never wished for a bluestocking for a daughter, yet Lucy had not found herself caring one whit.
She was the second child, with the first, her brother Jonathan, already married and settled. Of course, he was the apple of her parents’ eyes, especially because he had done as he was expected and married well. Their father had sent him to the country with his wife, giving them one of his many holdings as a wedding present. In due course, Jonathan would inherit the earl’s title and take on all of his responsibilities.
Lucy had never been close to him. He had always been willing to do what he was asked, whereas she wished for more. She still remembered the day their mother had pressed a certain young lady’s suit onto Jonathan. On that day, she had known in her heart that her brother would marry within the year—and so it had come to pass. Jonathan had married Lady Victoria Bentson within a few months, and now, after a year, had already produced the heir to the earl’s title.
Jonathan was everything she was not: proper, compliant, and entirely respectable. She was not particularly good at the pianoforte, she shunned needlework, and she attempted to further her own knowledge through reading and discussion.
No one wants a bluestocking for a wife, she thought to herself, recalling her mother’s words and ignoring the sharp twist in her heart at the memory.
Sighing to herself, Lucy picked up her book from her lap and snuggled back against the cushions, propping the novel up on her knees. Here, hidden away in the window seat, she was able to enjoy her love of prose without anyone interrupting her. Her parents had, on many occasions, sought her out, though they had never been able to find her hidden amongst the curtains in the library. Thankfully the housekeeper had something of a soft spot for Lucy, and so never once told her parents where she might be, even if she was fully aware of it.
“This cannot go on much longer, Charles!”
Her mother’s shrill voice reached Lucy’s ears, making her jump with surprise. Slowly closing the book, she wondered whether to pull open the curtains and announce her presence, but then her parents would know one of her favorite hiding places and all would be undone.
Instead, Lucy remained entirely still, thinking that she might stop up her ears with her fingers. She did not want to eavesdrop, did not want to hear her parents’ private business, which was not hers to know.
“Whatever shall we do with her, Charles? Did you see her at the ball last evening?”
Lucy swallowed, nerves beginning to flurry through her stomach. They were discussing her. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of the last ball she had attended with her parents. Her mother had caught her deep in discussion with two other gentlemen, talking about the merits of the Scottish Poor Law in relation to the English law. What had made it worse was that both gentlemen, while titled, had been of a lower standing than her father, and Lucy knew she was expected to marry either within a similar rank or, preferably, higher.
“She is becoming wild!” her mother screeched as Lucy heard her father slam the door with his usual lack of consideration. “Discussing the Poor Law, discussing poverty, and the workhouse! That is not the kind of subject a young lady needs to talk about. She should be fluttering her fan and seeking to ensure her dance card is full.”
“Did she not dance at all?” her father asked, his voice grave. “I can scarcely believe that. Lucy is one of the most beautiful and most eligible young women at such events.”
“She did dance some,” her mother replied slowly. “But her beauty and eligibility mean nothing, Charles, not when she is so lacking in other ways.”
Lucy’s grip tightened on her book, her fingers growing white as she forced her anger back under control. She had no need to simper and smile, since none of the young men her parents favored was of any interest to her. In fact, she considered them all quite dull! They looked at her as though she were simply some kind of adornment, one they could wear on their arm, but care very little about.
No, she did not want that kind of man for a husband. Instead, she sought someone who actually had some semblance of character, someone who appreciated her desire for knowledge and wish to better herself. She needed a husband with whom she could talk, a husband who enjoyed spending time in her company instead of simply expecting her to turn up to societal events with him.
Love? She smiled softly, her parents’ voices fading into the background. Perhaps love, and if not love, then certainly affection, for she was sure that affection could, and would, grow to love.
Lucy was determined not to ever allow herself to marry someone who had utterly no regard for her, nor she for him. That kind of marriage would only turn out to be similar to the bond her parents had, a bond that was brittle and liable to snap at any moment. Her lip curled with distaste.
She was more than aware that her father had a few mistresses throughout their marriage, for he often shouted it at her mother when he drank too much whiskey. No, her parent’s marriage was a decidedly unhappy one, and certainly not one Lucy sought for herself.
“I do have a friend that would be a fine match for Lucy,” her father said slowly, his voice suddenly capturing her attention again. “I know he is keen to wed once more, but no one has caught his eye as yet.”
Her mother snorted. “And you really think Lucy might be the one to do so?”
“As it happens, the gentleman is interested in some kind of partnership with me.”
Lucy gripped her book tighter and tighter as the seconds ticked on. Surely he was not about to suggest that she be pushed into another man’s arms as some kind of business agreement.
“Then you think Lucy might wed him, and secure your partnership?” her mother asked quietly. “Who is this man? That does not make sense, Charles.”
“Of course it does,” her father blustered, sounding both irritated and angry that his wife had questioned him. “Have you not just finished telling me that Lucy is struggling to find a suitor? Lord Hutton is quite desperate to be in partnership with me, I believe, and will do exactly as I ask, I am sure of it. He will take Lucy off our hands, make her more than respectable, and my holdings will be more than secure with his additional funding. What issues can you foresee, my dear?”
There was silence as Lucy held back her shriek of refusal and despair. She clenched her fists and pressed one to her mouth; tears began to roll unchecked down her cheeks.
“And if she does not agree?” her mother asked, a worried ring to her voice. “What then?”
Her father chuckled. “She will have no choice but to agree. Our stubborn, rebellious daughter is about to realize that she will do as she is told, or she will be out in the cold. She will lose all respectability and, without funds, what exactly is she to do?”
Clapping her hands together, her mother let out a squeal of glee. “Wonderful! It is about time that girl learns her place.”
“I shall speak to Hutton as soon as possible,” her father finished, his footsteps carrying him across the floor. “Shall we, my dear?”
Lucy kept silent until the sounds of their footsteps died away, leaving her entirely alone once more. Putting her head in her hands, she allowed the pain and hurt she felt bubble to the surface as fresh tears began to fall. Her parents had, unwittingly, alerted her to their intentions, but she had never expected them to be so cruel. Was she really so much of a burden that they would push her onto Lord Hutton, a man almost the same age as her father?
No.
Lucy dried her eyes and lifted her chin, staring out of the window. She would not allow t
his to happen. She could not. Now that she knew exactly what her parents intended, she would have time to try and find a way out.
Unfortunately, her mind was so cluttered and her emotions so fraught that she could do nothing more than stare out into the gardens, the book slowly falling from her fingers and landing with a bump on the floor.
2
Lucy hugged the wall, keeping as much to the shadows as possible. She had not wanted to attend the ball, given what she had heard only this very afternoon, but she could not allow her parents to guess that she was privy to their conversation.
Pretending that all was well had been difficult, but not entirely unmanageable, although she had hated the sudden gleam in her mother’s eye as she discussed the upcoming ball and the various gentlemen that Lucy might meet.
She had managed to escape her parents’ attention almost immediately and had rushed to where she would be least likely spotted. It was not her usual behavior, of course, but she had to discover whether or not Lord Hutton was there—and if her parents were intending to speak to him that very night.
Her stomach rolled with distaste as the man himself came into her line of view, mopping his red, sweating face with a large, yellow handkerchief. His balding head gleamed in the candlelight, his rotund figure adorned in swathes of bright yellow and green fabric. It was an almost comically grotesque sight. Lord Hutton, of course, was known to be wealthy, and it was only because of his status that he was given so much leeway by society. However, Lucy found him utterly detestable. Shivering, she imagined his pudgy hand taking hers, his large fingers sealing her to him. Shaking her head, she diverted her gaze. She could not allow this to happen. She would not allow her parents to even introduce him to her.
