by Meghan Sloan
The solicitor sighed again. “Unfortunately, because my client so desired to believe that they were not true, he did not investigate them as he should, and thus, has no proof of her infidelities.” He hesitated. “But they alarmed him enough that after they had exchanged their vows, he suddenly realised he could not go ahead with the marriage, that he must flee it. In his despair, he re-connected with Miss Marchand, who showed him what the love of a good woman was. He knew that he could never return to his wife, given her loose morals, for fear that he would always be played for a cuckold, and most likely never be confident that the children they might have would indeed be his. It is the only reason that he betrayed his marriage vows …”
Her father suddenly put his hand in the air. “May I speak, my lord?”
The bishop nodded. “Yes, Mr Arnold?”
“This is rather ridiculous, my lord,” he said, his voice full of ice. “Mr Blackmore seeks to blacken the name of my daughter and excuse his actions against her without a shred of proof that she was ever unfaithful to him, or behaved in the wanton manner suggested.” He glared at the solicitor.
“Your client is living in mortal sin with a woman who is not his wife. He is expecting a bastard child from this unholy union. His adultery is plain for the world to see. Whereas I can produce any number of people, who can swear that my daughter, Henrietta, always behaved appropriately during her betrothal. Where are these people who attest to the actions you insist she committed? I demand you produce them.”
“You have no authority here to demand any such thing, sir,” said the bishop, frowning deeply. “It is up to this court to carry out such investigations if it deems it is necessary. I ask you to sit down, sir, and let the court do its work.”
Her father turned bright red but did as he was instructed, muttering to himself. Hetty’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at him. He was the best father in the world and would defend her like a tiger, but he was as helpless in this situation as she was. His hands were tied.
She glanced at Louis, who was still sitting in the gallery, listening to all this. He was pale and looked as appalled as she felt. Her heart lurched. What must he be thinking? But there was nothing he could do about any of this, as well. He might be a peer of the realm, but he was powerless here, too.
It was all slipping away from her. Only a short time ago, she had been quietly confident that perhaps the court would grant her the divorce. It had looked so promising. And now, it had been turned on its head, flipped over, and she was being presented as the one at fault, who had driven her husband away.
She would never get to marry him. She would never be a free woman.
And it was even worse than that. For not only could she never marry the man that she loved more than life itself, but Frank had made sure that she would always carry the shame of this. Word would get out about his wild accusations, the fact that he had accused her of being little better than a whore. He had tripled her disgrace if the court found in his favour. How could she ever return to her home and live again in society?
She took a deep, shuddering breath as she felt her whole world come crashing down around her. She was doomed. She should never have petitioned to this court. She should have run off to a convent as she had wanted to. She wished to God that her parents and Louis had never talked her out of it.
Maybe it would have been better if Louis had never approached her father, seeking her hand. For it had set them all on this course, now. It had given her hope, and there was none. None at all.
***
That night, in the small inn near the court, where her family had booked rooms for the evening, he came to her, sneaking into her room after dinner, wearing a dark cloak with a deep hood.
It had been a wearying day. The judges had been unable to agree on a verdict, in the end, and had instructed them to return the next morning. She knew that it was merely a stay of execution; that in the morning, they would find in Frank’s favour. Their eyes had been cold when they rested upon her. She could almost hear the accusations swimming around in their heads.
Whore. Jezebel. Strumpet. Adulteress.
“You should not be here,” she whispered desperately. “Anyone could have seen you. And it will only confirm that I am the whore that they are making me out to be …” her voice trailed away on a sob.
“Hetty,” he whispered, his green eyes glittering in the darkness, “you know I do not believe any of it, don’t you? I know that it is all lies, cooked up by a desperate man, eager to keep your dowry. He is angry with you that you dare to call him out on what he has done, and he is getting his revenge …”
She sobbed again. “Well, it is working. Those judges want to believe the worst of me. They want to believe that Frank had no choice but to leave me.” She shuddered. “All is lost, Louis. All is lost.”
He grabbed her fiercely, pulling her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. She buried her face into his chest, unable to stop the torrent of tears from spilling over.
“How dare he,” she whispered, beating her hands against his chest. “How dare that man blacken my name with his lies. He knows that those judges will always believe the man over the woman. That they do not take much persuasion to condemn me as an adulteress …”
Louis sighed heavily, stroking her hair. “It is true, my love. Look at what Henry the Eighth did to get rid of the wives that he no longer wanted.” He paused. “He made up all manner of things about them, accused them of the most shocking things in order to get his way, knowing that once a woman’s name is besmirched in that manner, that the mud sticks …”
Hetty pulled away from him, gazing at him. “Yes, he did. He could never prove his allegations against Anne Boleyn, but it did not matter in the end. Everyone wanted to believe that she was guilty, and so it was done.” She paused, pensive. “He also claimed that his marriage to his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, was never valid, either, because she had first been married to his brother. He managed to procure an annulment because of it …”
Hetty’s heart started to quicken. Something was forming in her mind. Something that might just convince the court that she was telling the truth about everything. Something that might just manage to fix all the damage that had been done today.
“Hetty, what is it?” asked Louis, frowning. “You look as if you have suddenly found a fortune.”
She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. It might not work, and besides, she didn’t want to get his hopes up. She needed to think it through thoroughly.
“You should go,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “It is not safe.”
They kissed passionately, and then he stole out of the room as silently as he had arrived. Hetty walked over to the window, staring down at the unfamiliar streets of the city where they were staying. Her mind was whirring like a cog in a wheel, and she could not hope to rest, yet, even though she was so very weary.
She thought about Frank, safely ensconced with his mistress, in the small fishing village, in Provence. He had been so very confident that he hadn’t even bothered to make the journey back to England. He had thought that all he needed to do was pen some lies about her, and he would be home and hosed.
He thought wrong.
Because there was one little thing that Frank had forgotten about. He could call her all the names under the sun, but he couldn’t prove a word of it. He was counting on the fact that the law almost always believed the man over the woman. But she did have proof that his lies were just that.
She thought of Louis, patient, kind Louis, who had told her he was willing to wait to make love to her, until their wedding night, as a sign of his commitment to her. She had been impatient, wanting to make love with him, but now, she was very glad – so very glad – that they hadn’t. That Louis had insisted that they wait.
She almost laughed out loud. Her love of history was proving very beneficial indeed.
Good old Henry the Eighth. He had been a clever man. He almost always got what he wanted, in one way, or the othe
r. His queens had been clever women, too. And she was about to take a leaf out of all of their books, and use her mind, and her knowledge, to pull out her trump card.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. Frank Blackmore was going to rue the day that he had decided to take her on. Because he was going to be made to pay for all that he had done to her in spades. And no amount of lies, on his side, was going to change it.
Chapter 18
Hetty gazed steadily at the bishop, sitting in the middle of the three judges, trying to ignore Louis, who had already taken the same seat in the gallery that he had occupied the day before. She needed not to be distracted by his presence. She must focus on what she must do for both of their sakes, or else, they had no chance of ever forging a life together.
She was weary, so very weary. She had barely slept the night before, after formulating her plan, tossing and turning. Once, she had awoken with a start, after a particularly vivid dream of her wedding day.
She shuddered, thinking about it. She had been walking down the aisle of the church she had been married in, on her father’s arm. She could clearly see the expectant faces of the congregation, smiling at her as she drifted past them. She could see the figure waiting for her at the altar, his back to her. Frank.
But something changed in the strangest of ways. A dark shadow fell over the church, almost blackening the happy faces of the people. And suddenly – sickeningly – she gazed down at herself, appalled to find that instead of wearing her beautiful, expensive wedding gown, she was, in fact, wearing nothing at all.
The happy faces of the congregation abruptly changed. As she tried frantically to cover herself, they started mocking and jeering her. And then, the figure at the altar slowly turned around to watch her. She screamed as she realised that he had no face at all …
The memory of that terrible dream lingered now like a bad smell around her. It had been haunting her all morning as she dressed and breakfasted and made her way with her parents, back to this building, to face the court, once again. She didn’t know what to make of it. Was it a bad omen?
She took a deep breath, pushing it out of her mind. She mustn’t think about it. It was just her worries and fears, roaming her mind, while she was asleep, emerging in her dreams. It was no bad omen, no premonition, of what was to come. She must believe that.
And now, the time was coming, when maybe – just maybe – she might be able to lay all of those worries and fears to rest.
She raised her hand. The bishop frowned slightly. “Yes, Mrs Blackmore. You wish to speak?”
She took another deep breath for courage. “Yes, my lord. There is something that has occurred to me that has not been put before this court,” she said slowly. “Something that I believe could change the course of these proceedings entirely.”
***
Mr Mitchell, Frank’s solicitor, gazed at her curiously as she stood up. She knew that he had been hoping for a quick verdict this morning. She had already seen him glance impatiently at his fob watch, pulling it out of his pocket, and frowning. He had obviously been expecting that his client’s letter, tended to the court the day before, would stitch up this case quickly, and was put out that it had not. Perhaps he had other pressing appointments to attend.
Her father and mother looked surprised as she stood. She had not informed them of what she was about to do or what she was going to say. The last thing that she needed was them trying to dissuade her from this course of action. Mama, in particular, might be horrified that she was about to share something so personal, and she couldn’t imagine that Papa would be particularly thrilled to hear it, either.
But say it she must. There was no recourse now. Frank had pushed her into a corner, and she was about to fight her way out of it.
“My lords,” she said, addressing all three of the clerics, her gaze slowly drifting from one to the other. “I gave you an account yesterday of my brief marriage. My wedding day, and the aftermath, where my husband and I returned to our new home, to start our married life together. But there was something significant, which I failed to mention, that happened in that space of time.”
The bishop raised his eyebrows. “Well, what is it, Mrs Blackmore?”
Hetty took a deep, ragged breath. Her heart was racing so fast she could almost hear it, like the beat of a drum, filling the room.
“When the time came to retire for the evening,” she continued slowly, “my husband took my hand and informed me that he intended to stay in the guest-chamber, that night. He said that it had been a long, wearying day and that I must be very tired.” She paused. “He said that he would not be claiming his conjugal rights, that night, out of respect and concern for me. I was surprised but did not argue since I was, in fact, tired, and quite a bit anxious about my wedding night, and what would be required of me, as I am sure you will all understand …”
There was a shocked silence in the room. Hetty felt her face redden. Despite her resolve, it was still difficult to talk about such things in front of all these people. The judges, who were all high clerical figures, and her parents. Frank’s solicitor, and the scribe, who was furiously writing all that was said. And Louis, who sat in the gallery, almost in shadow. She kept her gaze firmly on the judges.
The bishop leaned forward in his seat, gazing at her keenly, rather like a hawk.
“What exactly are you claiming, Mrs Blackmore?” he asked. “I need you to be rather explicit about it if you please.”
Hetty took another deep breath. “I am claiming, my lord, that my husband did not take his conjugal rights with me that evening or in the morning before he fled the house, and the marriage,” she said, her voice crisp. “I am still virgo intacta, my lords. I am a maiden still, and I am willing to undergo an examination to prove it.”
She heard the strangled gasp of horror from her mother. The judges all shifted uneasily in their seats. She didn’t dare turn her head to see the reaction that Louis was having to her declaration, nor did she want to see the face of her father, who surely would be suffering mightily, at hearing his daughter say such a thing.
“You claim that you are still a maiden?” repeated the bishop, his voice harsh. “There are penalties for lying to this court, madam. And do not think that I would not order an examination to make sure of the truth of what you say.”
Hetty raised her chin, staring at him steadily. “I swear, before God Almighty, that I am as I came out of my mother’s womb, untouched by man.” She paused. “I would hardly claim such a thing if I could not prove it. Frank Blackmore never laid with me as a husband. He was never a husband to me, in that way, nor I a wife to him.”
The bishop sighed heavily. “Well, this does change things, quite significantly …”
“Yes, I believe that it does, my lord,” she said in a stronger voice. “The reason that I did not mention it yesterday, when recounting our brief marriage was my modesty, in that regard. No lady likes to talk about such intimate things.” She paused. “Nor did I fully realise, at that moment, how significantly it does change things, but I have thought about it, now, and wish to change my petition to this court.”
“How so, madam?” asked the bishop.
“I wish to seek an annulment,” she said slowly. “Not a divorce. On the grounds that since the marriage was never consummated, it does not count as a marriage at all. Frank Blackmore was never my husband, and I was never his wife; therefore, the marriage is null and void.”
The judges stared at her, gaping. They were obviously not used to a woman talking so confidently about marital law.
“I believe that this declaration, and my willingness to undergo an examination to prove it, also puts to rest what Frank Blackmore has asserted about my character,” she continued. “I did not lay with any other gentleman while I was engaged to Mr Blackmore. I was a virgin on my wedding day, as I still am now.”
Mr Mitchell, the solicitor, looked pained. “Even if what Mrs Blackmore says is true, my lords, she might still have done other … things with
those gentlemen,” he declared, rolling his eyes. “We all know that the actual act of intercourse is not the only act that can compromise a lady’s reputation …”