Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “Good afternoon to you,” he said. “How may I assist you?”

  “Are you Mr. Fordham?” Ewan asked, taking the lead.

  “I am.”

  “I was wondering if you have recently dealt with a Mr. Booth, who is currently in the employ of Lord Averson?”

  The old man thought for a moment. “Why, yes, he came in earlier today. Around half-past-eleven, I should say. He was seeking a jacquard silk for Lord Averson’s new waistcoat.”

  Ewan felt a twinge of disappointment. “Did he stay very long?”

  “Not at all. Fifteen minutes or so. It was a fairly simple request.”

  “Ah… well, thank you for your time.”

  Mr. Fordham frowned. “Would you care to look around? We have the most remarkable fabrics shipped from all across the world. Perhaps, your dear lady wife might care for a new gown?”

  Ewan glanced at Henrietta, who was already smoothing her delicate hands across a scarlet satin. He watched her for a moment, admiring the intensity in her eyes. She had never looked prettier, he thought. Indeed, in the gray light that shone in through the store window, he saw her in a way he had never done before. Like this, she bore little similarity to Patricia. He could almost forget the features they shared, for Henrietta looked much younger and infinitely more impish in her demeanor. Patricia had always bordered on the side of sincerity, where Henrietta resided in perpetual mischief.

  Is it possible to feel affection for two ladies in one’s life? He had convinced himself that his chance for love had ended, the moment that Patricia and their son had been stolen away from this world. Now, however, his heart beat a little faster at the sight of his new wife.

  “I suppose we may browse these fabrics a while,” he said to Mr. Fordham, who looked pleased to hear it. Indeed, the proprietor swept towards Henrietta and began to discuss the merits of the satin with her.

  “This would look beautiful against your pale complexion, My Lady. Although, perhaps scarlet is a little too harsh for one so young. With your blue eyes, might I suggest something in amethyst? There is a speck of green in the color of your irises, and this would do wonders at plucking out those hidden hues.”

  Henrietta flashed him a shy smile. “Do you have the same fabric in such a shade?”

  “I do, My Lady.” He hurried back around the counter, moving swiftly for a man of such advanced years, and brought back a roll of amethyst satin. Ewan liked the color very well, especially when Mr. Fordham lifted it against her skin.

  “It is rather striking,” she admitted, peering at the fabric in the looking glass at the side of the room. “And you say it will bring out the green in my eyes? I did not think I had such a color.”

  “Oh yes, My Lady. There are hidden pigments in the eyes of most people, though we often, mistakenly, paint them as a simple blue or brown or amber.”

  Ewan looked at his wife’s reflection and realized that Mr. Fordham was quite correct. When the purple material was held close to Henrietta’s throat, it created the most marvelous metamorphosis upon her eyes. As she blinked, the color of her irises seemed almost to match the shade of the tempestuous sea—blue and green and gray, all at once. Nothing like the piercing aquamarine of his deceased wife.

  His throat constricted unexpectedly. “It looks delightful, Henrietta.”

  “Do you think so?” She turned over her shoulder, a playful smile on her lips. He admired her endurance, for any other woman who had suffered what she had this day would barely have been able to muster a chuckle. And yet, here Henrietta was, brimming with cheerful defiance. She would not be broken by anyone or anything. He realized it more and more with every passing day.

  Indeed, now that he thought about it, there had been a great deal of spunk in the way she had penned those letters to the medical institutions. To have been so bold… at first, he had been angry, but now he felt a glimmer of admiration. Yes, it had irked him, but that did not mean he could not change his mind with regards to the situation.

  “It makes me long to take you to a ball,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. All he could do was picture her in a fine gown of that fabric, with her radiating smile cheering the hearts of all those who laid eyes upon her. Himself included.

  “Well, fortunately, there is one to be held in the gardens of Scampston Hall at the end of next week. Friday evening, if I am not mistaken,” Mr. Fordham replied brightly. “If you would like, I can have my seamstress put a splendid gown together for you by then?”

  “In such a short space of time?” Henrietta gasped.

  “Of course. We do not often get such charming young ladies in here, and my seamstress would be delighted to create something that is not to be worn by a gentleman.”

  She looked at Ewan with a childish expression of glee. “Might you take me to this ball, my Lord Marquess?”

  How am I to refuse such a face?

  “I shall, My Lady.” He turned to Mr. Fordham. “I will have my man send through my wife’s measurements, so that your seamstress may make the gown in time. Would that suit you?”

  “Certainly, My Lord.” Mr. Fordham bowed his head.

  “He will also bring remuneration, if you send a bill to the Old Bell Inn.”

  “I thank you for your business, My Lord.”

  “It is my wife you should be thanking,” Ewan replied, with a wry chuckle. “It would appear that I can deny her nothing.”

  He laughed in response. “That is always the way with fine young ladies. In all my years in this position, I have seen the same thing occur, time after time. Although, if it is not impolite of me to say so, you two are quite the handsomest couple I have seen in a long while.”

  Henrietta blushed.

  “I believe it is my wife who improves the general good looks of all those she surrounds,” Ewan insisted.

  “There is a radiance to the young lady, that is a certainty,” Mr. Fordham commended. “Now, I shall see to it that your gown is ready for the ball at Scampston Hall. If you ask Mr. Chambers up at the Old Bell, he will undoubtedly arrange tickets for you. I am surprised he has not already mentioned it, for it is always quite the event. A final hurrah before winter sets in.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fordham, I shall.” In truth, it sounded like precisely what the two of them needed to take their minds off the recent unpleasantries. It was easy to forget that they were newlyweds on their impulsive honeymoon.

  I will have you remember that you are a young, vibrant, merry young woman, Henrietta. You deserve some joy in your life. I regret that I have not brought you enough in our short span of time together.

  In that moment, he resolved to do better. She had not asked for this, but it was his duty to chase away regret.

  * * *

  After finishing in the shop, they made their way down the street to the bakery that Mr. Booth had spoken of. Henrietta followed her husband, her arm looped casually through his. She did not know where the rest of the afternoon would take them, but it was already getting rather late.

  However, the bakery gave no further clues as to what Mr. Booth had been up to. Instead, it simply validated the timeline that he had given. The comely, plump woman behind the counter had attested to Mr. Booth’s visit and reiterated his statement about the box of custard tarts.

  “Even so, this does not mean he is innocent of today’s incident,” Ewan said, as they departed the bakery and headed further into the center of town.

  “You believe he may have accomplices?”

  Ewan shrugged. “It is difficult to say. Although, when you and I saw him on the promenade, he was speaking with a gentleman, was he not?”

  “Indeed, he was.”

  “Then we cannot rule it out.”

  Henrietta felt a flicker of anxiety as they turned down the street that led to the postal office, her heart beginning to pound as they neared. She had visited it barely two hours ago and was sure to be recognized if she set foot inside. She felt no shame in what she had done, but she did not wish to reignite Ewan’s
ire towards her.

  “The postal office, my Lord Marquess?” she said nervously.

  “Yes, Mr. Booth told me this was his last errand. I must be assured that he was here, as he said he was.”

  Realizing she could not escape the situation without alerting Ewan’s suspicions, she tipped the edge of her hat down over her face and followed him inside. She kept her head down the entire time, as Ewan went up to the counter and spoke with the postmaster on duty.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” Ewan said.

  “How may I help you?” the postmaster replied, in a broad Yorkshire accent that Henrietta struggled to decipher. Posting the letters earlier had proven a droll affair, for they had become lost in translation with one another. Indeed, he would undoubtedly recognize her after such an interaction.

  “Have you spoken with a man named Mr. Booth today?”

  The postmaster frowned. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Lord Averson’s new man?”

  A flicker of recognition passed across the postmaster’s eyes. “Ah yes, I recall the fellow. He came in here shortly after noon, if I’m not mistaken. Had a young lass with him?”

  It took all of Henrietta’s willpower not to whirl around. A young lady was with Seth? Who could that be? A sudden flash of remembrance burst into her mind, of being thrown from the horse and seeing hooves close to her face. Surely, a young lady would not do Seth’s bidding—he is much too proud for that. And yet, she could not imagine who else the young lady might be, if not an accomplice.

  “A young lady?” Ewan replied.

  “Aye, a lass of maybe eighteen. Terribly weary-looking creature—didn’t look as though she’d eaten much in a while. Sickly thing, with long dark hair and big brown eyes, like a doe.”

  “Do you know her?”

  The postmaster shook his head. “Haven’t seen either of them until today. I guessed this fellow to be Lord Averson’s man, as the letters were addressed from him. Was that not the chap you meant?”

  Ewan paused. “No, I think that must be Mr. Booth. I do not know of the young lady, though. You are certain you have never seen her before?”

  “Sorry, My Lord. I can’t say that I have.”

  “Never mind,” Ewan said, his tone disappointed. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Think nothing of it, My Lord. Happy to help.”

  With that, Ewan turned and strode out of the postal office, with Henrietta in hot pursuit. The cold air lashed at their faces as they stepped back out onto the street. Henrietta knew, before Ewan said a word, that their trail had run dry. It was written all over his face.

  “The household said he did not return until two o’clock,” Ewan muttered, half under his breath. “If he was here just after noon, then what kept him between then and two o’clock?”

  “The young woman,” Henrietta replied. “It has to be something to do with her.”

  Ewan frowned. “But what?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Did Mr. Booth ever mention a family when he was in your father’s employ?”

  Henrietta shook her head. “Not that I can recall.”

  “He told me he had a sickly mother and a sister who had recently suffered something troubling.”

  This was news to Henrietta. In all the time that Mr. Booth had been at the Oliver residence, he had never mentioned any family at all. Indeed, Henrietta had always thought it a rather peculiar attribute to have no family to one’s name.

  “A ruse, do you think?”

  He sighed heavily. “I do not know. Truly, this entire thing is becoming more and more convoluted. I felt sure we would be able to catch him in a lie by visiting these places, but it seems he was exactly where he said he was.”

  “Up to a point,” Henrietta reminded him.

  “I will send word to Averson, and have Mr. Booth followed when he next leaves the house.”

  “An excellent plan.” Her gaze was suddenly caught by two figures standing on the corner of the street, a short distance ahead. The gentleman had his back to the pair of them, but she could see the young woman clearly. Dark hair, pale skin, bruised circles beneath the hollows of her sockets, an emaciated frame, and the biggest eyes that Henrietta had ever seen.

  Thinking quickly, she grabbed Ewan’s arm and pulled him into the alleyway at the back of the postal office. He was about to protest when Henrietta placed her hand over his mouth, lifting her finger to her lips. Leaving him bemused, she peered around the brick wall that hid them from sight.

  Now that she could look at them at her leisure, there was no mistaking the frame of Mr. Booth, as the two individuals spoke animatedly. It appeared that the young woman was cross with him about something, her expression shifting from fear to anger in steady waves. His body language gave off a similar suggestion of ire, his shoulders tense and his hands waving wildly as they gesticulated something she could not hear.

  Who are you?

  “What is the matter?” Ewan hissed in her ear.

  “Mr. Booth is just up the street, speaking with the young lady,” she whispered back.

  “Are you sure?” he gasped.

  “Oh yes. I would know that man anywhere.”

  She kept her eye on the unlikely pair for a few moments longer, before the young lady shoved Mr. Booth in the arm and stormed off. Mr. Booth waited there for a couple of seconds, before turning and disappearing down the right-hand street, in the opposite direction to the young lady. Whatever their discussion had been, he did not look happy. Indeed, thunderclouds seemed to have gathered over his head as he strode away.

  “You must return to the Old Bell,” Henrietta insisted, realizing she only had a small window of opportunity to utilize.

  Ewan frowned. “Not without you.”

  “I have to go after that woman,” she replied firmly. “If you come with me, you are like to scare her away. Please, allow me to do this. If you have any faith in me at all, then let me discover the truth from her.”

  “And put you in harm’s way?” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “I am able to protect myself, my Lord. Please, trust me.”

  “Unacceptable.”

  Henrietta cast him a withering look. “Then, if you will not do as I ask, follow at a reasonable distance and do not seek to come between us. You cannot be seen by her, do you understand?”

  He nodded slowly. “That is infinitely more reasonable.”

  “Very well, then come on before she disappears from sight.” Darting out of the alleyway, Henrietta took off up the street and turned left where the young woman had. She could make out the girl’s thin frame in the distance, about to turn right. Despite her heavy dress and her unsuitable boots, Henrietta broke into a run, determined to catch up with the stranger. Behind her, she could hear Ewan’s footsteps following at a distance.

  In truth, she felt safer, knowing he was there. Still, danger was the last thing on her mind. Instead, she felt only anticipation.

  Now, I shall find some answers. You will not escape me.

  Chapter 26

  Henrietta followed the young woman through a labyrinth of streets, always conscious of Ewan close by, before finally catching up to her outside a terraced house. It looked somewhat dilapidated, the paintwork peeling off the exterior and one of the upper windows cracked like the veins of a spider’s web.

  “Excuse me!” Henrietta called out. The woman whirled around in fright, her big eyes even wider. She struggled with the key in the lock, trying to gain entry faster. However, Henrietta was beside her before she could get inside. “I only want to talk,” she said softly, laying her hand on the young woman’s arm.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “That is of little consequence. I just wish to ask you a few questions.”

  “What kind of questions?” Her accent was hard to place, though it had the clipped tones of the South. Indeed, it sounded as though her upbringing had been good, though it was hard to decipher that much from a voice.

&nbs
p; “First, I should like to know your name.”

  “Why?”

  “I shall explain everything soon enough,” Henrietta promised.

  “Isobel Booth,” she answered, after a lengthy pause.

  “That man you were talking to on the corner, not a moment ago. That was Mr. Booth, yes?”

  She nodded uncertainly. “Does this concern him? If so, you ought to speak with him yourself.”

  “What is the relationship between you?” Henrietta pressed.

  “He is my elder brother.”