Weddings and Scandals: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  “I shall be quite all right, Mama,” she promised quietly, seeing her father stride away. Reaching for her mother’s hand, she held it tightly, taking in her mother’s lined face, the weariness in her eyes, and the paleness of her skin. Her mother had never really been able to do much in her life other than obey the demands of her husband. Sometimes, Henrietta had wondered what her mother had been like before she had married, whether or not she had ever had spirit, or even allowed herself to speak her own opinions aloud. She could hardly imagine it. Part of her feared dreadfully what her mother’s future would be like, now that both she and her elder sister, Mary, were married. No longer would her mother have her there by her side, ready to bear the weight of Baron Reapson’s displeasure.

  “Go, Henrietta,” her mother whispered urgently, her eyes rounding all the more. “Lord Chaucer will be most displeased with you if you do not go to the carriage at this very moment.”

  Henrietta tried to smile, ignoring the weeping in her soul. This was the very first time she was to be alone with her husband and she was truly distressed at the thought. But there was no opportunity for her to delay any further, for she had said the briefest of thanks to as many guests as she could, and now it was time to return to her husband.

  “I will see you again within the hour, Mama,” Henrietta promised, squeezing her mother’s hand again before letting it go. “You will sit with me at the wedding breakfast, I think.”

  Her mother’s eyes dimmed. “I do not think that is your decision to make, Henrietta. Now, go. Please. Before you come to harm.”

  Henrietta felt tears spring into her eyes at this remark and, in order to hide them from her mother, leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Then, knowing that she had nothing else to do and nowhere she could hide, Henrietta turned back towards the carriage, seeing Viscount Chaucer’s face glaring at her from the open carriage door.

  Her stomach knotted as she made her way through the small crowd of guests, who were all talking cheerfully together. She knew very few of them by sight and certainly even less by name. There were more than a few whispers and Henrietta felt her stomach tighten as she slowly approached the carriage. Were they talking of her standing alone, unaccompanied by her husband? Would there be gossip spread throughout all of London with regard to their particular nuptials? It was not at all common for a husband to march straight to his carriage and wait there for his new bride to make her farewells, and Henrietta was well aware that it gave the impression that her husband was both selfish and unfeeling. That brought shame upon them both.

  She was decidedly anxious as she was helped up into the carriage, thoughts of what was to come beginning to assail her. Lord Chaucer was now quite red in the face, sweat trickling down from his temples as he glared at her.

  “You were tardy.”

  Inclining her head, Henrietta tried to quieten her thudding heart, folding her hands together gently in her lap so that Lord Chaucer would not see her shake so. “Do forgive me, Lord Chaucer,” she said, her voice a touch tremulous. “My mother wished to give me some advice before I took my leave.” Without even lifting her head, she continued to speak. “And two of the guests wished to give me their very particular congratulations. I thought it rude not to accept them.”

  The carriage jerked and Henrietta let out a quiet yelp of surprise, reaching for the strap to steady herself as the carriage began to make its way back through London.

  “You were tardy,” Lord Chaucer said again, his voice considerably lower than before. “I was specific with my time, was I not?”

  Fear crawled over her skin. “You were indeed, my lord,” she replied, dropping her head and feeling a deep depression flood her soul. Lord Chaucer was precisely like her father in almost every way, it seemed. He would demand and expect her absolute obedience. She was not to have even an ounce of freedom. Her life’s imprisonment was to continue.

  A hard slap caught her unaware and she was thrown back in her seat, a gasp ripped from her mouth.

  “We will begin this marriage with the understanding that you are to do as I ask without question,” Lord Chaucer said mildly, as though he had not just struck her across the face. “If you do not do as you are told, or if there are excuses, delays, or the like, then there shall be consequences for you.” A smug smile settled over his face, making him all the more repulsive to Henrietta. “Your father informed me that he has been able to train you very well in such matters, which is one of the main reasons I chose to take you as my bride.” He sniffed and looked out of the window, his small, blue eyes cold and hard, as though he found fault with everything he saw. “Although he did mention that you appear to have a desire to live as you please, which has not yet been quenched. I have every hope that I shall be able to rid you of it. I shall not have a wife who is headstrong, who believes herself to be my equal.” Looking back at her, he pinned her to her seat with the sharpness of his gaze, sending fear straight into her heart. “Do you understand me, Henrietta?”

  “Yes, yes, I do.” Her words were whispered and faint, but immediate. She had nothing else to do, no other recourse to take, than to agree with her husband wholeheartedly. Her cheek stung from where he had struck her, but she blinked her tears away with the practiced art of someone who had endured such things before. Her father and Lord Chaucer could be the same man, given that they both behaved in such a similar manner. Her husband, however, could punish her in a good many more physical ways than her father, and such a thought struck fear into her heart. Her life stretched out before her as a dark and lonely path, where she walked, manacled, chained to Lord Chaucer, who walked freely before her, demanding she follow in his every step. Despair filled her, covering her like a cloud that enveloped her in its darkness.

  “Very good,” Lord Chaucer murmured with a self-satisfied tone to his words. “You will learn quickly, Henrietta, I am quite sure, for your life with me shall simply be an extension of what your life has been under your father’s guidance. You have nothing to fear so long as you continue to behave as you ought.”

  “I understand,” Henrietta said brokenly, looking at her husband and seeing only darkness there. His round face was smug, his small eyes half hidden by his lowered lids. Thick, bushy eyebrows hung low over his eyes, bringing attention to both them and his somewhat bulbous nose. His mouth was wide, long, and stretched in a sneer that revealed his broken and missing teeth, his second chin hanging over his cravat as though he had attempted to stuff it into his collar and had not quite succeeded in doing so.

  Henrietta wanted to weep right there in the carriage, regardless of whatever consequences her husband thought fit to lay on her head for such a display of her emotions. This was not the life nor the future she had always allowed herself to dream about. Perhaps such dreams had been foolish, but they had been her only escape from her life of pain and struggle. She had thought that, mayhap, with her first visit to London and her first Season, she might be allowed to dance and to converse with the gentlemen of the ton. She had dreamed of courtship, of walks in the park, of afternoon tea together, of notes and gifts declaring fond affection for her.

  Instead, she had not been allowed any such thing. Her debut had come at the age of twenty, which was the year her father had decided that she should go to London. She had begged to go each year previously, much to her father’s frustration, and why she had not been permitted to go before had been something of a mystery, especially since her elder sister, Mary, had already been married for two years. However, once she had arrived in London, everything had made sense.

  Her father had been searching for the man he deemed to be the most suitable husband for her. And Viscount Chaucer had been the gentleman her father had settled on. Of course, Baron Reapson had spoken at length about the struggles he had endured in his attempts to find her a husband, given how quiet, how plain, and how unappealing she was. But Henrietta was quite certain that, whilst she might be plain, her father’s choice was more to do with the gentleman himself rather than anything else. Her
father cared nothing for compassion, for affection, or even kindness, so he would not even have considered a gentleman who displayed such qualities. Little wonder, then, that he had found it quite trying to find her such a gentleman.

  “Now, you are to speak when you are spoken to and not at any other time,” her husband began, interrupting her thoughts. “You are to sit by me and look as pleased as you can be. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, her throat working painfully as she tried to garner the courage she needed to ask a simple question. “My lord, might my mother sit on my other side?” She looked over at her husband, fearing that he might strike her again. “It is the last opportunity she shall have to do so.” Where she had found the strength to even say such a thing, Henrietta was not quite sure. Perhaps it had been the look in her mother’s eyes that she could not forget. Perhaps it was that she truly longed for a little comfort before the night came and she would have to permit Lord Chaucer into her bed.

  Lord Chaucer leaned forward, looking at her straight in the eye. “And yet again appears this stubbornness, the one your father could never quite stamp out,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes until they were nothing more than tiny slits in his large, red face. “Have no doubt, I shall be the one to remove it from you, my dear girl. You shall have no strength left within you by the time I am finished with you.”

  Henrietta shuddered violently, which only brought delight to her husband’s face. He laughed raucously as the carriage began to slow, eventually coming to a stop directly outside his townhouse. The viscount continued to laugh as he dragged Henrietta out of the carriage, not even waiting for the footmen to escort her down the small steps that had been placed there. Henrietta’s hand lay cold in her husband’s grasp, her trembling taking a hold of her with an even greater intensity. She had no doubt that the viscount would do everything he had said, which left her fearing for her very life. The door swung open and she was half pulled, half dragged across the threshold, barely able to keep her balance as she stumbled after her husband.

  This was the start of her torment. This was the start of her anguish—and there was nothing whatsoever that she could do about it.

  2

  “Henrietta!”

  Henrietta jumped violently but did not move an inch.

  “Henrietta?”

  Her sister sat down in the vacant seat to her left, which had remained entirely unoccupied these last few hours. Viscount Chaucer had insisted that a seat be left beside his wife, laughingly telling the rest of her family and his guests that he wanted to have his new bride’s conversation and attention solely on him. This had brought a few chortles from the guests, although Henrietta had not missed the nod of approval her father had sent in Lord Chaucer’s direction.

  She had been too afraid to say a single word to anyone for the entirety of the meal. Nor had she eaten much, her stomach rebelling at even a single morsel of food. The viscount’s presence had been much too great, too intimidating to allow her to calm herself even a little, and now she was too afraid to merely look in her sister’s direction.

  “He is not sitting by your side any longer, Henrietta,” Mary said gently, reaching to pat Henrietta’s hand. “And I fear he is too much in his cups to even notice whether or not you are conversing with me.”

  Henrietta let out a shuddering breath, sending a long glance in her husband’s direction. He had removed himself from her side over an hour ago, after having spent most of their wedding breakfast with his hand on her thigh, sending waves of fright and repulsion running through her. When he had left her side to go and sit with three of his guests, none of whom she knew, it had brought her such a sense of relief that she had been afraid she might faint right where she sat.

  “He is not a kind gentleman, I fear.”

  Such was the sympathy in Mary’s voice that Henrietta worried she might burst into tears at that very moment. “No,” she whispered, reaching to clasp Mary’s comforting hand. “I am so very afraid, Mary.”

  Mary’s expression was gentle, although there was pain in her eyes that told Henrietta she truly understood what she feared. Mary, for whatever reason, had been given a husband whom her father believed to be strong and determined in his character. Lord Reapson had told Mary over and over again that Viscount Preston would not stand for any of her foolishness, having been utterly frustrated with Mary’s strength, which had her so often standing up against her father’s demands. It had turned out, in the end, that Viscount Preston, whilst appearing to be strong and unbending, had fallen quite in love with Mary, to the point that his character had changed entirely. Henrietta reflected quietly that this was, perhaps, why her father had taken so very long to choose a husband for her, fearing that he might make the same mistake again. She was, of course, glad that her sister was free of such a terrible life as they had endured with their father, but knew for certain that Lord Chaucer would never follow in Lord Preston’s footsteps. He was not about to fall hopelessly in love with Henrietta, nor would he be gentle and kind instead of harsh and cruel. There was very little hope for her.

  “I wish that there was something I could do for you,” Mary replied, shaking her head, her blue eyes so similar to Henrietta’s. “I would take you from here at this very moment if I could.”

  Henrietta tried to smile, her hand holding tightly onto Mary’s as though she would never let her go. “I must endure,” she stated hopelessly. “Although I fear for Mama.” Her eyes darted towards their mother, who was sitting quietly in a corner, her hands clasped in her lap. She had not attempted to come near Henrietta, had not dared remove herself from the seat her husband had directed her to. “What will she be left to endure alone, Mary?”

  Much to Henrietta’s surprise, a stubborn look came over Mary’s expression. “You need remove your concern for Mama from your mind, Henrietta,” she said firmly. “I have spoken to Preston at length about her and you must know that he has been quite horrified with what I have told him. Whilst you still remained at home, I felt a little better about matters, but now that you are to go, we have decided that we must remove Mama from our father’s house.”

  Henrietta stared at her sister, feeling the color drain from her face as she immediately began to think of what their father would say or do when he heard of such a thing. “He will never divorce her.”

  “Oh, no, of course not,” Mary replied practically. “But you see, my dear sister, I am with child.” A small, gentle smile came over her face, unable to hide her happiness from Henrietta despite the circumstances. “I shall require Mama’s help, shall I not, when the time comes?”

  Henrietta closed her eyes, fighting tears. “You are blessed indeed, Mary. I am so very happy for you.” Opening her eyes, she gave her sister a tremulous smile, feeling profound joy for what would be a wonderful event. “Do you truly think Father will permit her to go?”

  “I have some months to convince him, and of course, Preston will do the same. I am quite sure he will relent in the end.” She smiled and patted Henrietta’s hand. “When Mama comes to stay with us, I shall remove us all to another, smaller estate that Preston owns. It will take some time, I know, but I believe that I can convince Mama to remain with us for a prolonged length of time. I am praying that I will be able to show her just how different her life can be when she is free from Father.” She shrugged lightly and gave Henrietta a sad smile. “It may come to naught, but I can but try. So you see, you need not concern yourself over Mama any longer. She will be well cared for in the coming months. You will, I think, have enough to endure.” Her expression grew grim as she looked over at Lord Chaucer, who was now draining the last of his port, almost falling off his seat as he threw his head back. “I wish I could give you some advice, my dear sister, but I fear that nothing I say will be of any comfort to you.”

  Henrietta drew in a long breath, feeling herself shake all over again. “What of tonight, Mary? How am I to endure such a thing?”

  Mary closed her eyes. “Because you must,” she stated quietly
. Her eyes opened and she looked steadily into Henrietta’s eyes. “It was so with Preston at first, although things are markedly changed now, but I recall just how afraid I was on that first night. It is best if you go to your bedchamber, prepare yourself, and simply await his arrival. Have some wine sent to your bedchamber, for it may help your nerves.”

  Henrietta felt as though she could bear no more. Her sister was doing all she could to help, but it was only making her thoughts all the more terrifying. Rising swiftly from her chair, she moved away from the table.

  “I—I need a few minutes alone,” she stammered, seeing Mary’s anxious look. “I shall be in the library, I think. If my husband were to…” She could not continue her sentence, seeing the understanding in Mary’s eyes.

  “There is one more matter that I must speak to you about,” Mary replied, grasping Henrietta’s hand. “But mayhap now is not the time for such things.”

  Henrietta nodded jerkily. “I must try and calm myself before my husband seeks me out.”

  “I shall tell him that you are gone to ready yourself,” Mary said calmly. “Although, take leave of Mama, Henrietta. She will wish to speak to you, even if she cannot allow herself to come near to you herself.”

  Henrietta nodded but did not go to her mother. “I will, of course,” she stated, backing away. “I will return.” Tears were burning in her eyes and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. None of the other guests would notice her departure save for her sister, Lord Preston, and her mother, but she could not risk allowing them to see a single tear fall, just in case it brought about her father’s or her husband’s wrath come the morrow.

  Hurrying from the room, Henrietta dared a glance over her shoulder but saw that Lord Chaucer was much too busy drinking his port to even look where she might be. His eyes were half closed, a broad grin on his face as he held out his glass to the waiting footman, his arm bending this way and that as he attempted to hold the glass out straight.