Cursed

by Felicity Harper

  “Yes, Prue. What I shall be wearing will absolutely be my top priority on the day; much more important than - say - whether I decide to marry Sir Hardwick.”

  “That does sound divine though, Henrietta,” Caroline Hyde-Thornton added excitedly. “With everyone else in pastels and sages, you will certainly shine.”

  “I’m not objecting to the suggestion: it sounds perfectly fine. It’s the notion that my attire will be more important than a possible betrothal!”

  “And that’s what this is all about, little hen,” Lord Pemberly cut in, “to get my eldest girl wed before it’s too late.”

  “Thank you, Father. I feel much better now.” Henrietta glared at Prudence, who was biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. “You understand, I blame you for this entirely?”

  “Not entirely, surely?” Prudence smirked.

  “Have you decided what the challenges will be, my Lord?” Miles added quickly. Having borne witness many times in the past to the sisters’ ability to bait each other, he felt it best to intervene before it ended with his wife in a huff.

  “I have indeed!” Lord Pemberly said, looking very pleased with himself.

  “Will you tell us what they will be, William?”

  Lord Pemberly smiled fondly at Mrs Hyde-Thornton. “I’m afraid not, my dear Caroline. The challenges are known only to myself and Mr Briggs.”

  “Why do you insist upon that, Papa?” asked Prudence.

  “Because I am Lord Pemberly of Riverly and father to the fair maiden, Lady Henrietta,” he said with a formal bow to his eldest daughter, “ … and because I said so!”

  “Well, one cannot argue with that, my Lord.” Miles said cheerfully.

  “Well - actually - this one can!”

  “Then kindly refrain from doing so, wife.”

  Prudence sniffed crossly and Henrietta smirked in her turn. She was quite enjoying seeing her sister being put in her place by the mild-mannered Miles.

  “Let us hope the weather co-operates. It gets colder by the day,” Caroline interjected.

  “Which is exactly why I have decided I will post notices for the challenges rather than have everyone gathering in the cold.”

  “Good idea, Papa.” Henrietta had no wish to be the cause of anyone coming down with a cold or worse. “How will the challenges be issued exactly?”

  “Well,” Lord Pemberly said gleefully, rubbing his hands together, “Sir Hardwick will be required to arrive ready to challenge. He must call out, ‘What doth mine Lord require of thy challenger that I might win the hand of the fair maiden of Riverly?’ and then I will issue the challenge.”

  Oh, dear Lord! Henrietta was sorry she’d asked. “So - you couldn’t just have sent him a note then?”

  “And where is the ceremony in that, my girl?”

  “Just enjoy the attention for once, Henrietta.” Prudence advised. “I’m almost sorry I married Miles now. I could have had all this!”

  “Shall I bother to take offence at that?” asked Miles.

  “Do what you like, husband.”

  Mrs Hyde-Thornton, who wasn’t yet used to the good natured bickering between Miles and Prudence, watched them warily. “Ignore them, Caroline,” Henrietta said. “They are always reconciled by cocoa time.”

  Prudence blushed prettily. It was true the newly-weds had vowed never to go to bed in bad spirits but, still, she considered it indelicate of Henrietta to mention it in front of others. She turned to her father with a shrewd look. “Wouldn’t it be marvellous, Papa, if Henrietta were to present Sir Hardwick with a token of her esteem after each challenge had been completed?”

  “Oh - Papa! No!”

  “Excellent idea, Prudence!” Lord Pemberly said, ignoring Henrietta’s protestations. He clapped his hands in delight. “Hetty - make sure you have plenty of ribbons and trinkets.”

  Henrietta stared vengefully at her sister. “Yes, Papa.”

  She could only hope the challenges would not be as embarrassing as she now feared.

  The knock, when it came, echoed through the waiting house.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  “Good grief!” Prudence exclaimed. “Is he using a battering ram?”

  Henrietta giggled nervously. “He does have big hands!”

  Prudence laughed too and Mrs Hyde-Thornton gently hushed them as Lord Pemberly, formally dressed in a long, ermine-trimmed cloak, rushed off to answer the summons.

  The three women hurried to the drawing room window to watch the proceedings. Sir Hardwick was sitting astride his dapple-grey horse, rigged out in full armour. To Henrietta, he looked exactly like a knight from one of her books: noble; imposing - yet gloriously handsome too.

  One of Sir Hardwick’s party was standing by the door. It was he who had pounded upon it. The others, like Sir Hardwick himself, had remained seated atop their fine horses, all bedecked in the colours of their leader.

  “What dost thou seek, most noble Knight?” Lord Pemberly called solemnly.

  Prudence covered her mouth with her handkerchief to stem her laughter, while Henrietta rolled her eyes. “This becomes more farcical by the moment!” she whispered.

  “Hush now, girls,” Caroline gently chided. “We do not want to miss Sir Hardwick’s reply.”

  Hardwick held up his sword and, with great solemnity, demanded: “What must I do to win the hand of the fair maiden of Riverly?”

  “What doth mine Lord require of thy challenger that I might win .…” Lord Pemberly corrected him.

  Sir Hardwick leaned forward. “My Lord?”

  “Never mind!” Lord Pemberly shook his head despairingly. “A storm tore down some stout trees a few nights past. I challenge thee, Sir Hardwick, to make from them something befitting my daughter, Lady Henrietta.”

  “Any suggestions, my Lord?”

  “Yes. Remember your bloody lines next time!” said Lord Pemberly as he slammed the door shut. He took off his cape and handed it to his waiting valet. “Ask Briggs to show them where the trees are stacked.”

  “My Lord,” the valet acknowledged with a bow as he helped his master into his tail coat.

  “I don’t know, Reeves, “ Lord Pemberly said with a regretful shake of his head as he passed into the drawing room. “Young men these days have no sense of occasion.” He turned to his daughter. “Well, Hetty, we shall see what your suitor does with that little lot, eh?”

  “Yes, Papa. What made you decide on that as the first challenge?” she asked.

  “Oh, Briggs mentioned the trees would need clearing and I thought we might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Father! I hope you are jesting!” Prudence exclaimed.

  Lord Pemberly winked at Henrietta. “Of course not, Prue. Your sister would expect nothing less from her practical Papa.”

  Seeing that Prudence was about to lambast her father, Mrs Hyde-Thornton jumped in. “Lord Pemberly, stop teasing your daughters!” she said, handing him a cup of warm tea from the tray. “Now sit down and tell us what we can expect to happen next.”

  Lord Pemberly accepted the tea and took his seat, ready to address his audience.

  “Well, Sir Hardwick has a sennight to make something from as much or as little of the wood as he wants and then he must return here for the presentation. I shall then decide if the challenge has been met.” Lord Pemberly turned to Henrietta, “Your role, little hen, will be to judge for yourself what sort of fellow he is, based on how he chooses to carry out the tasks.”

  “Shouldn’t Henrietta meet Sir Hardwick at social gatherings too, Papa?” Prudence asked. “It seems a bit much that she should have to make a decision based on these arbitrary challenges you’ve set.”

  “Fear not, Prudence. These challenges are designed to test both his resourcefulness and his mettle. A ball would only show how charming he can be while prancing around a dance floor.”

  Henrietta sighed. She had a feeling it was going to be a long few weeks.
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br />   Chapter Thirteen

  The ogre nodded towards the basket Henrietta was untying from her horse. “There’s no need for you to bring that.”

  “Yes there is, actually. Winter is nearly upon us and it will get harder for you to find food.”

  The ogre put down the axe he’d been using and Henrietta looked up at him, her gaze skimming over his enormous thighs and up the expanse of his chest to his fierce scowl. The effect might have been intimidating were it not for the fact Henrietta had grown used to his ferocious looks and brooding ways. Besides, it was difficult to remain alarmed when one was so distracted by the lock of dark hair that fell endearingly across his forehead. Henrietta reached up on tiptoes and brushed the lock away.

  A moment of awkward silence followed as, once again, they became aware of the intimacy of their situation, both remembering the feel of her fingers on his naked flesh the last time she had dressed his wound.

  “It’s heavy,” the ogre growled and plucked the basket from her hands with one finger. “You shouldn’t be carrying it.”

  “Well - for one - I wasn’t carrying it because Marnie did all the work,” Henrietta said, disguising her discomfort with an air of officiousness, “and - two - I’m not a weakling, you know. In fact, I’m quite strong.”

  “Ah! Like Atalanta of Greek legend?” he teased and turned away.

  Henrietta stared after him, astounded. “I don’t know what amazes me more: that you are familiar with Greek mythology or that you made a jest!”

  The ogre grumbled threateningly.

  “Spare me the grrrs, Ogre. You don’t scare me in the slightest!” she chuckled as she followed him indoors.

  It was warm and cosy in the lodge and the homey smell of dried lavender sprigs, which Henrietta had hung from the beam, permeated the room. She had been sure he would take them down once he was well but that he hadn’t made her smile. It seemed so incongruous.

  He set the basket down on the table. “Still, you must not come. It grows cold now.”

  “But I like coming to see you.” Henrietta saw his puzzled look and sighed. “I thought we were becoming friends, Ogre?”

  “We are?”

  “Yes! Well … I thought so.” Disappointed by his response, she asked, “Do you not want to be friends?”

  He frowned down at her, as though seeing her for the first time. “I-I don’t know how,” he mumbled.

  Henrietta smiled while, inside, her heart broke at his words. “Of course you do!” she said gaily. “You already do a fine job of it.”

  “I do?” He looked surprised to hear it.

  “Yes! You listen, which is more than most people do. You worry about me - which is nice - and you made me a wonderful gift.” She saw him frown. “The figurine,” she added.

  “It was just wood.”

  “Just wood?” Henrietta exclaimed. “Do you want to know what I saw?”

  The ogre shrugged non-committally but Henrietta could see that he wanted to know.

  “I saw something that you had crafted: something beautiful that showed thought; something that showed you had seen me - because it was me, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, there you are! We ladies know when something is done with care - and we take notice of that.” She smiled at him, letting him see how much she delighted in being with him. Because she did. Even when he was being grumpy, she enjoyed being around him and talking to him. And though he said little, Henrietta knew he listened to her and understood her: more so, in fact, than she might have intended and, in turn, Henrietta felt she was beginning to understand him too. She knew he strived to keep both her and Mr Briggs at arms’ length and she was also sure she knew she reason why: his ridiculous belief he was a monster.

  She held out her hand. “Friends?”

  The ogre hesitated, as though unsure what to do, so Henrietta took his huge hand in both of hers. “Friends,” she said with finality - and the ogre nodded solemnly.

  “Good! Then no more talk of me staying away.” She tugged his hand, indicating that he should follow, and pulled out a stool at the table. “Sit. I have bread, which is still warm from the oven, and - of course - a pie.”

  Henrietta smiled to herself as he first washed his hands before sitting down to eat. She cut herself a slice of the warm bread and buttered it before putting the rest in front of the ogre. They sat across from each other, eating in companionable silence; the two of them enjoying the food and the comfort of each other’s presence. Henrietta watched as the ogre bit into the pie, closing his eyes in pleasure as he did so. And at that moment, she finally understood her mother’s words and thought: so this is how you feed a person’s soul.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A sennight had passed and the household was abuzz with speculation about the offering Sir Hardwick would present to Henrietta.

  “I imagine he will be keen on grand gestures,” Prudence said. “Therefore, my guess is that he has built a folly - an elaborate one at that; probably in the style of a fairy tale castle.”

  “What am I to do with a folly?” Henrietta laughed - though, she had to admit, the idea wasn’t so unappealing.

  “My guess is a love seat or a swing,” Mrs Hyde-Thornton suggested. “Either would look quite lovely under the great oak.”

  “With the amount of wood he had, he could have built you a nice little buggy,” Mrs Huggett added, as she placed the tea tray on the little supper table.

  Henrietta took the housekeeper’s hand. “You are ever the practical one, Mrs Huggett!”

  “The time for speculation is over, ladies!” Lord Pemberly announced as he swept into the room. “Sir Hardwick and his comrades have been spotted coming through the gates.” He turned to Henrietta with a grin. “Ready, little hen?”

  Henrietta nodded and checked her pocket for the ribbon she would give to Sir Hardwick as a token of her affection - as per instructions.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  “I see they are persisting with the unnecessarily loud hammering at the door,” Prudence muttered as she, Miles and Caroline Hyde-Thornton followed Henrietta and Lord Pemberly to the entrance hall.

  “Hush, Prue,” Miles admonished her. “Let Henrietta enjoy this.”

  Henrietta gave her brother-in-law a grateful smile. Prudence winked and mouthed, “Here we go,” and Henrietta’s stomach fluttered with excitement.

  “Benton,” Lord Pemberly said with a ceremonious nod - and the butler opened the door. Standing at the bottom of the steps was Sir Hardwick. He wore no armour but, to Henrietta, he looked just as dashing in his breeches and tailcoat.

  “My Lady,” he said as he swept off his top hat and executed a deep bow.

  “Sir Hardwick,” Henrietta replied, dipping into a curtsy.

  “A-hem!”

  “My Lord!” Hardwick said hastily and bowed to Lord Pemberly. “I come bearing a gift for my Lady.”

  “And your gift, Sir Hardwick: am I to take it that this is the first offering.”

  “Offering, my Lord?” Sir Hardwick asked.

  “Yes,” huffed Lord Pemberly, “as in: the first thing you offer to my daughter for her consideration.” When Hardwick still looked doubtful, Lord Pemberly sputtered, “The first item by which she will judge you!”

  “Ah-ha!” Hardwick said. “Indeed it is, my Lord.” He held up his hand and two of his men advanced, carrying a large object between them. They let it drop to the ground by Sir Hardwick’s feet. With a flourish, he tore away the tarpaulin that covered it.

  “Your gift, my Lady!” he exclaimed - and pointed at the tree stump that lay on the ground at his feet.

  Henrietta’s mouth opened but she had no words. What did one say in such a situation? Thankfully, Lord Pemberly had not been rendered mute. “What the devil is that thing, Hardwick?”

  “A battering ram, my Lord,” Sir Hardwick said. He looked a little disappointed by the muted reception his gift was receiving.

 
“A battering ram!” Lord Pemberly bit off the words. “How many castles do you imagine my daughter storms each year that she requires her very own battering ram?”

  Hardwick looked around at all the stunned faces, “I … I had Lady Henrietta’s name engraved on its side, my Lord.” He pointed to Henrietta’s name which was - indeed - emblazoned along the trunk.

  Lord Pemberly turned to his daughter. “Well then, Henrietta: does this satisfy both your need to lay siege to a castle and - at the same time - to inform the occupants by whom they are being attacked?”

  Henrietta looked disappointedly from the stump to Sir Hardwick and then to her father. “No, Papa, it doesn’t,” she said and turned to go indoors. Prudence and Caroline Hyde-Thornton took up supportive positions either side of her and, together, the three women returned to the drawing room.

  Lord Pemberly glowered at his daughter’s suitor. “Well, there you have it, Hardwick. It seems you will have to work a little harder if you wish to win my daughter’s hand.”

  “My Lord,” Hardwick acknowledged with a bow. “I shall return in three days for the next challenge.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “My Lord?”

  “You have three days, Hardwick, in which to create something, from that extensive pile of wood I gave you that will make my daughter smile. Now go!”

  “This time, be sure your man knows whereof he speaks!”

  “Come on, Hardwick. You said ‘pretty it up’ and that’s exactly what he did.”

  Hardwick scowled at his friend. “Well, then, this time I’m saying ‘do something better!’”

  The ogre waited until the men had parted and gone their separate ways.

  His sudden appearance in front of Hardwick’s horse startled the beast. “What the hell!” Hardwick yelled as his horse reared, threw him off and bolted across the field. He landed with a thud, the wind knocked out of him. Before he had time to recover his breath, the ogre was looming over him.