A Marriage 0f Convenience_Historical Regency Romance

by Janet Woods

  She moved to the dressing table. The image confronting her in the mirror shocked her. The sockets around her eyes were blackened and her face swollen. Blood crusted her hairline. It was probably a cut from the ring Brian wore.

  A movement under her window caught her attention and she opened it.

  The rooster came cautiously from the side of house, lifting his bronze feathered legs and placing them down again daintily, like a little dance. Edith followed, making concerned clucks like the governess Grace’s father had hired for her when she’d become a motherless child.

  The storm must have wrecked the chicken coop and she hoped the foxes didn’t discover the two birds roaming free.

  ‘Be careful you two. Sleep in the hayloft.’

  Disorientated, she sat down again, feeling more than a little despair. Hunger and thirst roiled inside her.

  There was a small amount of water in the jug that accompanied her washing bowl, enough to last her until Dominic arrived if she was careful. Scooping it into her cupped palm she sucked it into her mouth, then placed the damp hand on the site of her headache to help cool the pain. It came back bloodied and she wiped it on the towel.

  The darkness deepened. There was nothing to light the candle with. Cold gradually seeped into her bones. Making a renewed effort to open the door with a metal hatpin she cried out in despair when she applied pressure and it snapped inside the lock. She should have taken the key inside the room, for Lady Florence had liked to feel secure before she went to sleep … but that had been the last thing on Grace’s mind.

  She buried herself under a couple of blankets and curled up on the mattress, wondering what Dominic was doing.

  It was a long night; the pressing darkness did a good job of scaring her and every noise took on some frightening significance. The pattering and squeaks of mice seemed to get louder, as though the creatures sensed they had a full run of the house. She wondered if they’d nibble at her if she fell asleep. The blood on her face might attract them. She imagined them crawling all over her, tearing the flesh from her bones with sharp little teeth.

  There came a whimper.

  ‘Who is it … help me, I’m locked in.’

  It took a moment to realize it was her own voice and she was talking to herself.

  Was she going mad? She began to count, telling herself she would be rescued when she reached one thousand. She fell asleep before she did.

  Another day passed, and with a sickening slowness. She kept a watch at the window in case somebody happened by and she could attract attention to her plight.

  She found a pencil in the cupboard and started counting all over again, wondering if she should aim for more numbers. Pausing for a moment she scribbled, ‘Dominic I love u’, but rather childishly she wrote it back to front for the sake of variety, so it read, ‘u evol I cinimod’. After all, numbers could wait, as they would never run out. If she died here from lack of food and water and Dominic came across her skeleton, she just wanted him to know she’d loved him. For good measure she added an infinity sign of two joined circles: ∞

  ‘There,’ she said.

  For the rest of the time she slept, but fitfully, waking with every noise. There was no way out of her prison however hard she battered at the doors. Even if she did find the courage to attempt a long drop to the ground from the window, it was covered with flagstones and surrounded by a low wall topped with decorative spears. If the fall didn’t kill her it would certainly break the bones in her legs, or worse, her back. Then she would no longer be able to walk.

  She tried to remember how many days someone could survive without water. Possibly three to five, and as far as she could work out this was her third day. If it rained she’d be able to hang the jug out of the window and collect some water, but the clouds had been stubborn in their dryness. Her small supply of water was exhausted. At least she’d stopped feeling hungry. Fatigue overcame her as she despaired and whimpered his name.

  ‘Dominic!’

  She imagined him sitting at the table with his family, his smile lighting up with the pleasure of being there with them. It must be time for dinner.

  He might have forgotten she was here … or even her existence. When he remembered he would come, and he’d find her all shrivelled up from lack of water. He might even find her dead!

  A hysterical giggle left her. ‘Then you’ll be sorry, Dominic LéSayres.’

  Her stomach had given up protesting and was now a cramped, empty void that she hugged against herself.

  She made another mark on the wall and cried when the pencil lead hit a rough patch and it snapped.

  There was a creak on the stair and she rushed to place her ear against the door panel, her voice cracking. ‘Who is it … who’s there …?’

  A meow was followed by a throaty purr. It couldn’t be her cat because she didn’t have one. Lady Florence used to have a tabby cat once but she couldn’t remember what had happened to it. Perhaps it was her ghost.

  Grabbing up a scrap of torn paper from a small pile in a bowl on the table, she folded it and then knelt and pushed the paper under the door crack. She wiggled it and slid it along the crack under the door. ‘Here, puss.’

  A tabby paw swiped back and forth along after the paper. The cat was willing to play while the game held its interest. She wished it were her side of the wall. Still, it was someone to talk to.

  ‘How did you get in?’

  The cat mewed.

  ‘Through the kitchen window, you say … it was left open? They must have known you intended to visit. By any chance, do you think you could open this door, tabby cat?’

  There was no answer.

  Even a cat was better company than none. ‘Please come back to visit any time you wish,’ she called out.

  As she stood the paper fell to the floor. She gazed at it with some curiosity. It had her name on it and she remembered the letter from Lady Florence that she’d ripped up in a fit of temper. Somebody had picked the pieces up … Dominic she imagined. He hadn’t been too pleased by her behaviour then, and neither was she now she’d thought about it. She’d been childish.

  Carefully, she began to piece the torn pieces together.

  To my dear little companion, Grace Ellis,

  By now you might be wondering why I have not treated you as one of the servants. It may not have occurred to you that you were not part of my house staff, but rather a protégé, paid from the purse of Mr John Howard. In exchange I promised him I’d look for a suitable spouse for you.

  Men suitable for that purpose lost interest when they realized you had no dowry except for a pathetically small annuity that your mother left you, one that wouldn’t keep most of us supplied with hosiery. As to what’s left of that you must enquire of your mentor.

  My dear, I grew used to your kindness, your competence as well as your honesty. Selfishly, I couldn’t bear to part with you so allowed my task to lapse.

  Now the problem needs to be addressed, and urgently. I know you will be angered by my interference, but please do set aside the inclination to act rashly.

  My nephew, Maximilian Crouch, is a rogue who is disinclined to wed. Like most men I’m sure a little stimulation will overcome his reluctance regarding the marriage bed, allowing him to perform his marital duty when required.

  Grace blushed, even though there was nobody to observe it. Heavens! She knew Lady Florence could be outspoken, but not this blunt. What next?

  To that end I have left you a rare book, a gift from a maharajah to my late husband, who carried it back from India. Both he and my gentlemen acquaintances who came after him, enjoyed perusing it when the flesh was unwilling. It’s called Kama Sutra and is kept in the locked cabinet in my room. You will recall, no doubt, that I caught you looking at the illustrations once. How sweet and innocent the blush you gave!

  You have an inclination to be outspoken when your anger is roused, Grace, but I beg you to think carefully, and bear in mind that Max is no longer a young man, and will need enco
uragement. Remember – men and women are created to enjoy each other, why else would we feel as we do?

  I cannot think of a better match for you, and at least you will have a home where you can look after my treasures.

  Best wishes for your future.

  Florence, Lady Digby.

  Had Dominic read this letter? Grace felt sick with shock at the thought. Then she giggled as she remembered some of the illustrations, and then she began to laugh. One would need to be a contortionist.

  Lady Florence had been true to herself right up to the end, she thought.

  Another day passed, her only company the cat, a creature that must feel as lonely as she, for he visited at regular intervals to air his complaints at the lack of service under the door. She slept fitfully, but often and was fatigued when she was awake. Grace found a fan in the dresser drawer and plucked a feather from it to tease the cat with.

  She began to hate the fall of darkness. Gazing over the landscape she watched the houses in the village gradually light their candles and felt lonely.

  The occupants would be sitting down to dinner. She groaned and pressed her hands against her hollow stomach. If the rooster came in now she would fall upon him, tear him apart with her teeth and consume him, feathers as well.

  Across the fields the faint outline of the gravestones glowed as the moon rose high followed by clouds. The light wove in and out like a needle pulling thread through embroidery.

  The windows iced over and her tongue stuck to the glass as she tried to lick the moisture. It was painful to remove.

  Footsteps creaked on the stairs.

  She shuddered and placed an ear against the door panel. It was her imagination. It had to be, since it always was.

  All the same, she whispered, ‘Help me … please help me.’

  The footsteps stopped and the house went eerily quiet, as though it was listening with her. Her heart beat loudly in the void outside her room.

  A sudden creak made her jump. ‘Who is it? I’m locked in. Find a key … let me out.’

  There was a whispered conversation, barely discernable and the cat answered with a mew. The footsteps retreated stealthily.

  ‘No … don’t leave,’ she shouted and banged her fists against the door. ‘Help me.’

  Grace staggered to the window when she heard the front door close. A man stood there, looking at the house, a dark menacing figure. She shivered when he shrugged and turned, walking down the driveway towards the gate.

  Hope left her. She was beginning to feel ill. Her stomach and back ached, her skin felt hot and dry and her thoughts were in chaos.

  She gave a small cry, for her voice didn’t have the strength to scream at the retreating figure. And then she shrank back and crept under the blankets, too tired to cry out, her heart pounding from the effort.

  The donkey began to hee-haw.

  She pulled the cover over her head … she must be hearing things. All she wanted to do now was to sleep and never wake up.

  Noise prevented it. The stealthy footsteps came from different places and then she heard a squeak of the back door opening. A man called out, but cautiously, ‘Is someone in there?’

  Her voice croaked in reply, her mouth too dry to answer clearly. She managed to scrape out, ‘… Grace Ellis … I’m locked in … please help me.’

  ‘Is there anyone else in the house?’

  ‘No.’

  Someone mounted the stairs taking solid steps now the need for caution was no longer valid. ‘Stand away from the doorway, miss, I’m going to try and heel the door open.’

  Something crashed heavily against the lock and the man swore as the hatpin fell to the floor.

  ‘I’ll have to shoot out the lock. Get under the bed covers in case some splinters go astray.’ A short time later he said, ‘Ready?’

  Another loud crack was followed by the crash of a shoulder against the door.

  The window shattered as a bullet ricocheted off the iron fire grate and went through the glass. A stream of cold air filled the room and allowed the moonlight to illuminate their faces.

  He smiled at her. ‘It looks as though you’ve been having a hard time of it, missy.’

  Grace dragged her legs out of bed, holding the bedpost for support as she coughed on the smoke left behind from the pistol shot. She gazed at the man who gazed back at her, grinning. Surely she was seeing things?

  ‘It’s you, Rafferty Jones,’ she whispered.

  ‘So it is, and here was me thinking I was King of England hisself.’

  The relief she experienced made her weak. Three steps forward and her legs folded under her.

  The smuggler caught her before she hit the floor.

  Ten

  Dominic’s business with John Howard was over for the moment. Dressing for dinner, he wondered what he’d done to be the recipient of such largesse. As a courtesy he intended to run the business wisely, and keep John informed.

  He had liked Philip Dupain too, finding him to be a man of good sense, who was quick-minded and had confidence in himself despite his humble beginning as the son of a brick maker. They had got on well.

  Downstairs, the ladies were dressed in their best. Vivienne wore a dark blue gown with a little velvet jacket. His stepmother, Eugenie, was gowned in pale grey, a colour that on anyone else would appear drab. She was of average height and elegant, with a face much younger than her age implied. Her hair shone with copper lights with a touch of silver at the temples.

  Dominic gave her a hug. ‘John told me you and he plan to wed in the spring. Congratulations, my dear.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. We love you and will miss you, that goes without saying, but Alex and I are adults now, and I hope we’ll always prove to be a credit to you.’

  ‘I can safely say your mother would be as proud of you both as your father was.’

  Dominic was preoccupied during dinner, and that drew notice from his brother who cornered him afterwards.

  ‘What’s bothering you, Dom? Is it John Howard’s generosity, or Eugenie’s engagement? I must admit, they both took me by surprise. No wonder he kept finding excuses to visit. As for Eugenie, I never knew she had it in her to keep that sort of news a secret.’

  ‘Eugenie deserves some happiness after all those years of being our stepmother. John Howard has been extremely generous towards me, and after thinking about it I’ve come to the conclusion I was the obvious choice to inherit his estate. However, that doesn’t mean I have to accept it. Rather, I’ll observe his wishes until the day comes when I can find a better way to distribute his wealth.’

  ‘Ah … I can see you’re going to remain independent, and earn your own fortune.’

  ‘One of the joys of my profession is the money I earn, and my freedom to spend it. I’m comfortably off in my own right now. When John’s time comes I’ll expect you to head a committee for the disposal of some of his cash since I’m well situated to earn my own.’

  ‘So what has put that frown on your face?’

  ‘It’s Grace I’m worried about. I’ve got one of those uneasy feelings that I shouldn’t have left her alone with the Curtis couple.’

  ‘You always were sensitive to the needs of those closest to you.’

  ‘And that ability proved to be right as often it proved wrong.’ Dominic still felt guilty. He thought to himself, It is possible she might be overcome by pique and decide to go to Australia, after all. No … surely Grace had more sense than that. Rather, she would choose to wed Maximilian Crouch. The soldier might find enough manliness in him to father a child on her, and do the right thing according to the terms of the will. Then again, he might use a proxy to carry out the act of procreation for him, a not unusual event when a man such as Maximilian Crouch was expected to provide an heir, even when disinclined. If Grace married the man he might insist that she accompanied him to Australia?

  There was a tidy amount of wealth involved in Lady Florence’s estate, enough to s
way Grace in that direction perhaps, he reasoned. Not that he would blame her, since she had nothing much to call her own or support her through life except for a small legacy from her mother.

  Lady Florence had been misguided in her conceit to assume that either party would agree to such an arrangement though. Grace didn’t strike him as being a woman who suffered from avarice. How could it be when she gave chickens names and mourned them when they were served for dinner? That didn’t stop her enjoyment of eating it.

  He’d tried to take his mind off Grace during the meal of roasted chicken with all the trimmings. He’d eaten enough chicken of late and longed for a thick, juicy beefsteak slathered in gravy. He doubted if Grace had been shopping, especially since he’d seen the housekeeper and her husband in Poole just the day before. They’d had the donkey cart with them. He hoped the rig had been returned to Oakford House because it had been purchased by Rafferty Jones.

  He rubbed his fingers against the frown that occupied his forehead. ‘Something odd is going on, Alex. The couple were sailing out of Southampton, not Poole, yet I could swear I saw them in the crowd at Poole. At least, I think I did.’

  Eugenie joined them with a smile. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing. You’ve always been prone to a vivid imagination, Dominic. Put an idea into your head and you don’t let it go until it’s proved, one way or another. But you forget that less intellectual mortals cannot read what’s going on inside your head?’

  Which was just as well on occasion, he thought, and he brought them up to date. ‘Gracie is in trouble; I fear. I can feel it. I’m going to cut my visit short.’

  Eugenie protested. ‘It’s gone nine and it’s dark.’

  ‘It can’t be helped. If I ignore this feeling and something untoward happens to her I’ll never forgive myself. Instruct the staff accordingly while I change into my travelling clothes, would you please, Alex.’

  Vivienne said, ‘I’ll do that. A traveller alone on the road invites trouble and I think it behoves you to go with your brother.’