by Regina Darcy
After holding her breath for what seemed like an eternity she realised that in his stupor, the Duke had fallen asleep. Possessed of a need to learn more, Honora crept into the study. The Duke did not stir. He was truly out of it.
She bent down in front of the fire where the dress continued to disappear as it was devoured by the flames. Honora saw that on the floor in front of the fire, there were pages upon which she could see writing. She scooped up the pages of writing.
I am afraid, Honora read. I fear for my life at my husband’s hands. His anger is unquenchable and I cannot tell what he will do next. Only last night ─
The next passage had been burned by the flames and was unreadable. The other passages, likewise, contained parts of the writer’s private disclosures. There was not enough information provided to tell what, precisely, she feared would happen or what occasioned the rage, but there was sufficient dread imparted by the words to alert Honora that Lady Amelia’s marriage had been a nightmare because of her husband.
Honora had read enough. Turning, she fled the room and raced up the staircase as if she were in flight. She had not brought much with her, expecting the invitation to be no more than lunch, but she had worn the engagement brooch which her parents had gifted to her when the announcement was made, as well as her necklace and bracelets. She scooped the jewellery into the pocket of her cloak, put on her bonnet, and silently, ever so silently so that she would not awaken Jane, went back down the staircase and out of the house, tears streaming down her cheeks.
FOUR
Two weeks later
When Durston Blake, the Marquess of Dennington’s butler brought in Constable Lurch, Michael’s first thought was that, once again, his brother James had gotten himself into a scrape.
“Well, Constable?” he asked. “What brings you here? I hope that my brother is not the occasion for your early visit.”
“No, sir. That is, I’ve not seen Lord James for several months, sir, not since you, er-”
“Not since I sent him off and told him that he needed to find a livelihood if he intended to make his way in the world, yes. Very well, then, what is it?’
As a landowner, Michael was one of the magistrates for Dennington, but it could not be said that the town was rife with crime. He was inclined to be lenient when poachers hunted deer and grouse to feed their families. It had been a hard winter and Michael did not begrudge the locals food. Still, the law was to be obeyed and if Constable Lurch had seen fit to show up in the early morning hours, Michael did not doubt that he had a reason to do so.
“It’s very strange, my lord. There’s a lady . . . “
Michael’s eyebrows rose. A lady?
“You mean a lady,” he said with emphasis, “or are you referring to a woman who is plying her trade?”
“Oh, no sir, nothing like that. No—” the Constable began to add to his answer, then decided not to elaborate about the only woman in town who was plying her trade.
What the Widow Leicester chose to do to entertain herself and earn a few shillings on her own was not a matter to trouble the Marquess with, he felt. The Constable was a pragmatic man with a soft heart. He firmly believed that private matters need not be brought to the attention of the law.
“No . . . that is, there’s a lady who’s arrived, walking through the night and on such a night, and she needs protection.”
“Protection? From what?”
“I’m not sure, my lord. She’s quite worn out from walking and a bit bedraggled, but you’ll see she’s a lady of quality. I thought that, perhaps, you could come, you being a gentleman, and she might feel more at ease speaking to someone of her own class.”
“I cannot imagine that anyone would find me a more suitable audience than yourself, Constable,” Michael said. He was too well aware of the officer’s compassionate nature.
“But I shall be glad to help if I can.”
Relief was apparent on the broad, weathered planes of the Constable’s face. “I’m that grateful to you, sir, and I thought that perhaps if Your Lordship saw it fit, you could maybe have a word with the nuns.”
“The nuns? Is this lady a member of an order?”
“I can’t say that, my lord. But if she is in dire straits, as claimed, she’d be safe at Cannington Court.”
That was likely to be true. An order of Benedictine nuns who had fled France in the tumult of that country’s bloody revolution had founded the Barrow Gurney Nunnery at Cannington Court in the early years of the century, where they observed their faith in quiet solitude.
Although England was suspicious of foreigners in general, the French in particular, and Roman Catholics especially, the nuns had won the townspeople over with their charity and their kindness to those in need.
The order had originally been in England until Henry VIII, seeking his divorce from an obdurate pope, declared himself the head of the Church and dissolved the religious houses, forcing many clergy to flee to lands where they could safely practice the rites of their faith. While Michael was not sure that the charity of the nuns would extend itself to offering lengthy shelter to a non-Catholic, he was on good terms with the abbess and was not opposed to seeking the help that Constable Lurch was hoping to obtain for this mysterious charge.
“Where is the young lady now?’
“I left her with Mrs Lurch, sir, not wanting her to be outside in the elements any longer than she had to be. She’s liable to take a chill from that storm. It was a wild one.”
“It was indeed.” Michael had intended to spend the morning looking over his lands to see what damage had resulted from the fury of the storm, but that would have to wait.
The village of Dennington was a walk of several miles from Michael’s home, so he proposed that he and the Constable ride back; after her ordeal, the young woman would not be up to much more walking, so after the stable lad hitched up the gig, Michael and Constable Lurch drove to the Constable’s house.
The Lurches lived in a simple fashion in a small cottage at the edge of the village. The front of the cottage was blooming with flowers; in the back, Mrs Lurch tended her vegetable garden and her chickens.
Michael followed Lurch into the house where Mrs Lurch, her newborn baby in her arms, was seated at the table. Across from her was a vision of distress.
The woman of whom Lurch had spoken was weary and bedraggled. Her hair streamed to her shoulders in a tangled cascade of damp, raven tendrils. When she raised her head at their arrival, he beheld a petite face whose delicate loveliness no amount of dirt could hide. It was however, dominated by her large aqua-blue eyes that highlighted a haunting beauty. Her features reflected an exhaustion that extended beyond mere physical depletion.
“Ma’am,” Michael said gently, “I understand from Constable Lurch that you are seeking protection. Might you be able to tell me your circumstances so that I can best determine how to help you?”
Mrs Lurch, a buxom redhead with a lively interest in her community and all its enterprises, spoke up.
“She’s run from him she don’t want to marry,” she said, pinning Michael with her indignant blue eyes. “Fancy being forced into a marriage. Parliament ought to be doing something about such as this.”
“Ma’am,” Michael said, respectful of the fact that he was in Mrs Lurch’s home. He turned his eyes to the woman and asked, “Are you being forced into marriage?” If she was underage, there was very little that Michael could do to help her. Parents, at least fathers, held sway over the lives of their minor children.
“I do not wish to marry him,” she said faintly.
“To whom are you to be wed?”
She shook her head, not wishing to share that knowledge with him.
Michael frowned. He guessed that she did not want the identity of the spurned groom to be spread about the village.
He could not blame her for being reticent. Running away from a marriage engagement was a serious matter. Marriages among the aristocracy were arranged for the purpose of aligning bloodline
s, joining acreage, producing heirs to inherit. They were not contracts to be lightly cast aside.
There was, in addition, the matter of scandal. One of epic proportions no less. A bride who had absconded was apt to find herself a pariah when she returned to society, as she surely must. A young woman could hardly manage her own way in the world. She had no income, no means of protection, nothing, in short, which would provide the necessary resources required for daily life. The physician would have to be brought in to examine if she was still a virgin. Any answer besides yes, would have her thrown out on the street by her family.
The scandal that would follow her for the rest of her life when she returned to her family would cause an uproar. It was unlikely that the spurned groom would want her even if she did return. Speculation would be rampant that she had broken the conventions of her upbringing and brought dishonour upon herself. No man would want a wife who was thus tarnished.
As he thought these things, he surveyed the young woman. The thought of the state of her virginity had him loosening his collar somewhat. Prior to this encounter, he would have sworn up and down the countryside that he was unlikely to even gaze at a debutant, but this was becoming more of an untruth the longer he was in the presence of this damsel in distress.
He raked his hand through his hair. It was clear that the young lady was unwilling or unable to provide him with details about her situation. Nor was she willing to give her name, although it was plain to see that without their assistance she would be in dire straits indeed.
“I see. As Constable Lurch has perhaps informed you, there is a nunnery in the village. We can go there and seek shelter for you. The Abbess is a kind woman and she may be willing to assist you while you decide what you will do next.”
“Mrs Lurch,” he said, turning to the woman, “I am confident that you will tell no one that you have had a visitor this morning. If her safety is threatened, it would not do for anyone to know that she has been here. I trust that I may rely upon your discretion?’
Mary Alice Lurch would have loved to be able to speculate with her neighbours upon the mystery in their midst, but she had been the Constable’s wife for five years and, as such, she had kept more than a few secrets during that time.
“Of course,” she said with dignity. “I wouldn’t think of blabbing it about.”
Michael smiled and the constable’s wife’s countenance softened. He was, as she had said more than once when the village women wondered when he would take a wife, so handsome that he could take his time about making it legal, with so many willing to offer him his pleasures without involving the vicar.
How he had managed not to get any of his mistresses pregnant was anybody’s guess. Whilst current rumours were benevolent, any more years of that and the pleasantries would turn into nasty speculations on the Marquess’ ability to put a babe in a woman’s womb.
***
Mrs Lurch insisted on making up a basket of food for her guest. What should have taken 10 minutes took a good half hour to 40 minutes as Constable’s wife was keep to showcase her cooking skills. “No telling when she’s eaten last,” she muttered to Michael, “and no telling what she’ll get where she goes next.”
Mrs Lurch was an avid churchgoer who was convinced that the Roman faith required its disciples to eat bread, drink water, and fast frequently. Therefore, her basket was overflowing with plump meat pies, cheeses, and berry tarts.
“That’ll perk her up,” she said with satisfaction as she handed the basket to Michael.
“I should think so,” Michael replied. “I’m tempted to partake of the contents.”
“Oh, you come ‘round any time, my lord, and I’ll see that you’re fed properly.”
“I shall take you up on your kind offer,” he said, bowing as if, she told her husband later, she was quality just the same as him.
The horse was accustomed to his master’s hand and once they were inside, he trotted off with a smart air. After they had left the boundary of the village, Michael pulled the gig to the side of the path.
“I’ll need to know a bit more about you,” he said, struggling to maintain an air of aloofness in her presence.
His gaze caressed her delicate features and his eyes lingered on her cherry plump lips. He had never in his life been stricken so viscerally by a woman. Even in her state of obvious disarray, she presented an inner grace that was alluring. He could not imagine Lady Penelope, in such a plight, holding herself with such dignity. But then, Lady Penelope was hardly an innocent woman in peril from the attentions of a man. There could be no doubt that this woman was innocent. Her very innocence would act like an aphrodisiac to certain men and put her virtue in peril.
“My name is Honora Westing,” she said in a low voice, her accent clearly that of someone who came from the best of families. “My father is the Earl of Winterhaven. He arranged for my marriage to the Duke of Ivanhoe.”
She was watching him intently as she spoke and at his obvious reaction, she asked, “You know, then, my dilemma?”
Michael decided honesty was the best approach.
“I know nothing for certain, my lady,” he said. “I am not an acquaintance of his and I am not familiar with the circumstances of his marriage or his wife’s unfortunate death. I only know what was said at the time.”
“That he had murdered his wife,” Lady Honora whispered.
Michael hesitated.
“That is what I heard. I am not acquainted with the Duke, although I know his cousin, Summersby. What has your family said?”
“I do not know if my father knows of the rumours, but if he did, he would likely discount them,” she whispered and locked her eyes on him. “My father does not listen to what he calls idle gossip. The Duke was not charged with a crime and . . . my father is a matter-of-fact sort of gentleman. If there is no charge, then there must not be a crime.”
“I see.”
And he did see, although he wondered how a parent could be so oblivious to such a danger to his own child.
He would need to find out more. It was, he reminded himself as they continued on their way, possible that the young lady was fabricating the entire scenario, that she was merely a rebellious daughter on the outs with her family.
As he raked his gaze over her he thought “Even an angel might have a halo that failed to fit”. He doubted it, in Lady Honora’s case, but it was better to leave his emotions out of the matter and seek the facts.
However enticing she appeared, she was not to be dallied with and he was not seeking a wife. Particularly if her parents aimed so high as to have their daughter become a duchess. A mere marquess would hardly do. No, he would do his duty as a gentleman and find her a place at the nunnery. That was all.
The Abbess, a motherly woman whose cheerful smile and apple cheeks disguised a shrewd ability to assess character, listened as Michael explained his reason for being there.
“I will take on the expense of her stay,” he assured the Abbess. He could speak openly; Lady Honora had been escorted to the common room in the entry, where visitors to the nunnery came and were allowed to meet with the sisters.
“She does not look as if she will cause much expense,” the Abbess said. “But we always appreciate the generosity of those who support our charity. She may stay here, as one of us, at least in garb and isolation. I do not suppose she is a woman inclined to take the cloth?”
“I cannot say, but I doubt it.”
The Abbess sighed. “I did not think so. She does not, then, have a vocation. But she may stay here. She will likely find us dull after a life spent in society.”
“She may appreciate the solitude and quiet,” Michael said, explaining that she had journeyed through the night in the terrible storm and Constable Lurch feared that she might have been exposed to illness of some sort as a result.
“We shall tend to her as if she were one of our own,” the Abbess said.
“I shall return to see how she is doing.”
The perceptive ey
es of the Abbess rested upon him.
“Yes,” she said, “I expect you will.”
Michael felt his face flush. The Abbess saw entirely too much. “It is my duty,” he said.
“I commend your dutiful zeal,” she said with a smile.
“May I speak to her?” he asked awkwardly.
“Of course. She is in the outer room where members of the public are welcome. You will not, you understand, be able to visit her in the cloister where the sisters’ cells are. But we shall make arrangements so that you may see her in privacy after she has settled in.”
“Thank you.”
When he left the Abbess’ office and returned to the common room, he found Lady Honora fast asleep on the chair. It was not a chair which was disposed to inviting slumber; in fact, it looked to Michael to be deliberately uncomfortable. But Lady Honora must have been so drained of strength and spirit that she had taken advantage of the peaceful atmosphere and fallen asleep.
Gently, he touched her shoulder, reluctant to awaken her when she was so tired. Her eyes opened in alarm. For a moment, it was clear that she did not recognise him. Then she straightened in her chair.
“I apologise,” she said. “I did not intend to fall asleep.”
“The Abbess understands your situation and she is willing to house you while you recover from your ordeal,” he said, trying to sound business-like. As his gaze locked with her azure pools, he suddenly longed to gather her up in his arms and promise her that he would keep her safe. What folly, he thought as he shook his head to clear the cobwebs of his mind.
“You will be safe here, and out of view of prying eyes. No one who is searching for you is likely to suspect that you have taken refuge in a Roman Catholic convent. I shall visit you to make sure that all is well.”
