The Lady's Hero

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by Carolyn R. Scheidies


  As Edward’s eyes flashed, Carter hurried on. “She lived with him for some time without benefit of chaperone. The situation was so disgraceful, I understand, the earl’s fiancée, Lady Margaret Ainsworth, called off the betrothal when she discovered the true state of affairs.”

  Edward took this in with a sense of unreality. “I cannot credit it!” He sat back in shock as he stared at the self-satisfied new vicar. “There is some mistake. You don’t know my sister.”

  “Mayhap you don’t know your sister. How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

  Edward was hard put to disguise the guilt that flashed across his face.

  “As I thought.” The vicar leaned back with a smirk on his face that made Edward grit his teeth. “I fear it is true enough. The earl bought off Lady Margaret, or so I heard. He is besotted with your Angella.”

  Edward relaxed. “Mayhap...”

  Reverend Carter shook his head slowly, a pitying smile on his lips. “He certainly did not ask me to perform a wedding.” He spread thick hands. “One day she was touted as his ward, the next...who knows?”

  Edward sensed there was much left out of the recital the vicar told with such relish. Something was off and yet, yet could there be truth in what the vicar told him? Please, Lord, no! Let there be some other explanation.

  Edward left the vicarage in shock, hardly noting the baggage the vicar had his man pile into the curricle—all that was left of his father’s possessions. He urged on the horses, letting them travel at their own pace as he tried to assimilate Reverend Carter’s information.

  Surely, surely the vicar was wrong. Edward’s head cleared somewhat as he moved slowly through the village. Of course, the vicar wanted her for himself. Someone else would tell him differently.

  Drawing up the animals before a small cottage, he went to speak to the woman who truly cared for his mother.

  “I fear she was forced to it.” This the old woman said sorrowfully. “You see...” She proceeded to explain how the village had turned against the girl and how the earl rescued her. “She was at the earl’s mercy. His reputation has not been of the best...a real charmer. I’m sorry, Reverend Denning. Your sister is a dear girl. I’m sure she did not seek to do wrong—mayhap she hasn’t.” Her lips tightened. “I fear our vicar likes to spin things to his advantage.”

  Recognizing the woman’s sincerity, Edward bowed his head. Pain bore anger, and anger fostered his guilt. There was little left for him in the village. With a heavy heart, the Reverend Edward Denning drove to Lucashire Hall. Though the servant who opened the door looked askance at his disheveled appearance, Edward straightened. “I am Edward Denning, Reverend Denning’s son, the former vicar of Little Cambrage.” He held in his anxiety with some difficulty.

  At this the servant nodded. “Indeed. Good man, the reverend.”

  “I wish to speak to His Lordship.”

  “He is not in residence.” The expression on the man’s face told Edward it was something he should have known since the earl’s standard was not flying from the flagpole.

  “May I speak to whoever is in charge?”

  The servant considered the request. “His Lordship’s secretary, Mr. Trowbridge, is here now.”

  A few minutes later, Edward was shown into a small office, where a man with military bearing sat before a large desk. Ledgers lay open before him. After introductions, Trowbridge offered refreshments Edward was not loath to consume. He tried to use the manners instilled in him from his childhood to eat with decorum and not to stuff the small, fancy sandwiches and sweetmeats into his mouth. He had not eaten since the evening previous. Mr. Trowbridge waited patiently.

  With one last swallow and sip of tea, Edward wiped his mouth on the serviette. With a sigh, he turned to the matter at hand. “I stopped to visit with Reverend Carter in Little Cambrage.”

  “I see.” From the frown on Trowbridge’s face, Edward surmised the man cared little for the vicar. For some reason that cheered Edward somewhat.

  “He sent me here with some tale about Angella....” Edward hoped Trowbridge would allay his fears.

  “With some Banbury tale, I suppose.” Trowbridge sighed and moved around papers on his desk as though carefully considering his words. “You realize she is not in residence right now.”

  “She was here.” Edward knew sarcasm bit his words.

  “Yes. No thanks to that cravenly vicar.” For a moment the man let down his guard. “I shall be in high gig when the man moves on.” His gaze held compassion. “Not like your father. Not like him at all.”

  “I agree.” A thin smile touched Edward’s lips. “Of my sister. Where is she?”

  Trowbridge tented his hands and observed Edward until Edward shifted uncomfortably. He sensed the man read confusion and anger in his expression. “London for the season.”

  Edward closed his eyes momentarily. “I understand my sister was held here without benefit of chaperone or companion.” Anger was definitely gaining sway as he spoke.

  Mr. Trowbridge merely surveyed him. “She was well provided for.”

  “Provided for. Is that what you call using an innocent?” Edward ground out his thoughts about men who do such things.

  The secretary was amazingly calm in the face of his outburst. “You are not ready to hear it, but you don’t exactly have the right of things. Remember that before you judge too quickly. Still, I imagine you wish their direction.”

  “I do.” Edward gulped back more condemnation, ashamed of his outburst. He managed a weak “I am only concerned for my sister.”

  “Yes. She’ll be happy to have you home.” He paused, considering. “Well, I’ll tell you what. Write a letter to your sister and I’ll send it on to her.”

  It was the best Edward was able to manage. With ill grace, he composed a letter. Handing it over, he said, “I will be heading toward London.”

  Nothing Mr. Trowbridge said or didn’t say mitigated the reason for Edward’s anger. Yet the man had as much as said he wasn’t fully in the know. How much worse could the truth be? He left Lucashire Hall angry at the situation, angry at Lucashire and just a bit angry at God. But that he was unwilling to admit.

  He thought of all the congregations and donors on his list and sighed. If only the funds weren’t needed so badly. If only he could put off his mission until after finding Angella, but no.... Straightening his shoulders, Edward breathed. “Take care of her, Lord. Take care of Angella until I get to her.”

  For him there was nothing like work to take his mind from all the possibilities. With a vengeance, Edward plunged into his schedule, pushing his animals from place to place on his schedule, always heading in the direction of London. He was moderately successful. If only his heart was not so heavy within him. The sooner he made his contacts, the sooner he’d get to London...and Angella. He began to see himself as a knight on a mission of rescue.

  Of what use was his ministry far away in India if he lost those nearest and dearest to him because he had not been here to see to Angella? For all his eloquence, he felt the hypocrite as the rage grew within him. The only thing that cooled his ire were thoughts of the lovely, gentle Betsy Carrington. At times he wondered, to his shame, whether he more desired to get to London to see his sister protected and settled or to run into Miss Betsy Carrington. Now he had returned, but not for Betsy. He must remember why he came—to rescue his sister.

  With a long list of stops still to go, the next stop changed everything.

  To him it was just one more stop, one more place open for him to speak of the work in India in the opulent parlor of a wealthy donor. As always, he told of Carey’s struggle to set up a mission, spoke of his own small congregation. There was no gainsaying the love he held toward the people he had adopted as his own.

  As he surveyed the congregation, he was startled by the hostility in the eyes of a
tall young woman who watched him intently. Dressed to the nines as she was, there was no doubt she found the whole quite dull. Nonetheless as he mentioned that his father hailed from Little Cambrage, a tight smile formed on her lips—as though she already knew. He had the sense she was simply there to see and be seen and really did not care a fig for his mission. Nonetheless, he’d take what he could. God often moved in mysterious ways.

  “Reverend Denning,” the woman gushed after the service, “thank you for speaking to us. Of course, my brothers and I will do what we can for those poor unfortunates.”

  Denning forced a smile. This condescending attitude toward other peoples and cultures always left him in a towering rage he could not show. Why did the English think they had a corner on civilization and intelligence? Nonetheless, he answered politely, “I thank you, my lady.”

  “Lady Margaret,” she said, then turned to introduce her brothers. “My brothers, Lord Hinton and Herbert. I insist you dine with us this forenoon.”

  Reverend Denning noted the surprise in the eyes of Lord Hinton, who nevertheless hastily added his insistence. The other brother parroted Hinton’s welcome. “Yes, please come.”

  Edward mulled the name. He seldom forgot a name and he tried to pinpoint where he’d heard the name of this woman, whom he was convinced he’d never before seen.

  The lady dismissed his sad rig with a hand to her servant. “Bring it around to the hall, Manny.

  “Reverend,” she said, smiling in a way that made Edward distinctly uncomfortable, “you will ride with us.” Taking his arm, she led him to her smart turnout, a white barouche with gold trim. The paneled doors held a freshly painted crest.

  Knowing of no way to withdraw without offending the woman, Edward found himself sitting beside her on the long seat with Lord Hinton and Herbert facing them, backs to the horses. The lady kept up a cheerful banter on the way to the family hall designed to relax the visiting clergyman. Edward, however, unaccountably found himself tensing as he frantically searched his mind for the connection to her name. He knew, somehow, it was vital he make the connection.

  After a sumptuous luncheon, he followed Lady Margaret and her brothers into a large parlor done ostentatiously in heavy golds, browns and, oddly enough, pink. Like the lady’s effusive attitude toward him, it did not fit.

  It did not take him long to realize the lady was acting a part for his benefit, a part that amused Lord Hinton and bewildered the younger baby-faced brother. She wanted something from him, but what?

  As they sat down on the heavy mahogany furniture, Lady Margaret sighed heavily. Edward sensed it was for his benefit alone. “Is there something wrong, milady?”

  She touched his folded hands. “My dear Reverend Denning, I must ask you a question.”

  “Yes.” He tensed.

  “Have you a sister named Angella?”

  He made the connection. This, then, was the woman Reverend Carter told him the earl bought off in order to pursue his sister. “I do. You know of her?”

  A bitter smile twisted the woman’s face and for just a moment, the rage that shone from her eyes made Edward start. “La, I know of your sister. I am surprised you have not made contact with her since, I understand, you’ve now been back in England for at least a week or more.”

  Edward shifted uncomfortably. “I returned to Little Cambrage, but Angella was not there. I understand she was received at Lucashire Hall.” He decided not to let on that he knew more. “Might you be able to give me her direction? Afraid Lucashire’s man was less than forthcoming with information.”

  “I am not surprised Lucashire would not wish you to know. I can indeed give you assistance.” She clenched her teeth, and seemed to calm herself with some difficulty.

  “’Tis not her fault, I suppose, that my erstwhile fiancé is as he is. Never could keep him from dallying with the innocents.” She looked up at his face, which he knew had gone decidedly pale, through modestly lowered lashes.

  “He picked her up on the outskirts of the village. She came willingly enough.” The lady sighed deeply before continuing. “I fear she was quite taken in by my smooth-talking fiancé. Fact is, she was quite besotted with him, and he with her—though these tendres of his never last.”

  “I was told he called off your engagement. Mayhap he had honorable intentions.”

  Margaret quickly, though unsuccessfully, sought to hide her fury behind the same pitying smile he’d seen on the vicar’s full lips. “There was no marriage while we stayed at Lucashire, Reverend Denning.” She hesitated. “At no time was there a chaperone present while we resided there. Fact is, Spensor made it clear he would not have one for your sister.”

  She sighed. “I suppose I must tell you. At times, Herbert is inclined to wander at night.”

  Herbert looked surprised at this, but Harry kept him from speaking as Margaret continued.

  “In looking for him, I happened to look in on the earl’s rooms. ’Twas in the middle of the night. I found...well, I hate to shock you, Reverend, but I found your sister with the earl. I might add, she appeared to be right at home there.”

  Edward frowned. He did not trust the woman overmuch. Like the vicar, she had her own reasons for trying to disgrace Angella. “I understand the earl has presented her to London society. I can’t credit a man presenting his mistress as his ward. The scandal alone, should the truth be revealed, would be disastrous.”

  “You don’t know London or the earl. He’s a dashing rake. More than likely, he’ll pass the whole off as an enormous jest, and get away with it. Men can do things that ruin women for life.”

  “Yet you do not denounce him.”

  “No, ’tis more of our secrets, Reverend, though I am sure I may trust your discretion.”

  He sensed her pause was more for effect than from genuine embarrassment.

  “Harry got himself a bit under the hatches so to speak. The earl paid for our silence by buying up Harry’s vouchers. For the sake of my family, I can say nothing amiss or the earl will call in Harry’s markers. You do understand?”

  “I do indeed.” Edward’s lips tightened. Though he tried to hide it, the anger that flashed in his eyes brought forth a smug smile of satisfaction from Margaret. That gave Edward pause. Something was definitely havey-cavey about the whole. Still and all, what else could he think but that there resided at least some nugget of truth to what the vicar and the lady had told him?

  Cutting short his schedule of visits, Edward Denning turned his cattle in the direction of London. Patting his pocket, he made certain he had his mentor’s address. As he moved out, he realized with a wry smile, that for all her promises, Lady Ainsworth hadn’t given him so much as a farthing for the work, nor had she given Angella’s direction.

  He well knew her concern for the work had been but a ruse to get him where she might tell him the state of affairs with his sister. For all his rage, he was not such a slow top as not to know she greatly savored her role.

  For the next two days he traveled as swiftly as the less-than-prime animals could manage. The fury that tore through him on first hearing the news about his sister was nothing to the rage that consumed him as he entered the bustling city of London.

  All around him hawkers cried their wares, the din reminded him sharply of India, where people thronged everywhere. In the cities, the bright-colored saris of the women were a sharp contrast to the somber robes of the pagan monks. He felt more capable of handling his affairs there, far from home, than in dealing with a young woman who had been forced—leastwise he told himself she had been forced—to wantonness for a man who should have protected her.

  He considered a thousand plans and discarded each. How was he to approach his sister? If only he knew the whole truth of his sister’s circumstances without the vested interests of either of his informants.

  And yet, for all his concern for hi
s sister’s plight, his thoughts kept turning to a young woman with intense brown eyes.

  Chapter 4

  “Calm down, Betsy,” Angella told her, not for the first time since they had arrived at Lady Obermisst’s party.

  Betsy grimaced as she tugged on the sleeve of her white silk gown with sprigs of blue and yellow flowers embroidered on the background. “Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

  Betsy took note of her friend’s momentarily confusion. “Who? Oh, Baron Fritton or the Marquis of Beddinlong.”

  “Either one, really,” Betsy whispered as she plastered on a smile when they entered the room with her mother on one side and her cousin and Angella on the other. “You know I only present well on horseback.”

  “Nonsense,” her mother told her so quietly only their small group heard.

  Angella echoed, “Nonsense. Betsy, make this your night. Make the most of it.” Leaning in, she whispered for her ears alone, “Enjoy yourself. Make a conquest or two. If Edward does show up, he’ll be jealous.”

  Betsy exchanged a glance with her friend. “You think mayhap...?”

  Angella squeezed her hand. “No, I do not think it likely, though there is no way of knowing. For tonight, at least, do me a favor, all right?”

  Betsy glanced over at her friend, almost afraid to agree. What did she have to lose? It wasn’t as though Angella would ask of her something outrageous. Hesitantly, Betsy nodded.

  “Good,” Angella told her. “Now, just for tonight, forget about my brother. Don’t let your feelings for him hamper the opportunity of getting better acquainted with other eligible bachelors.”

  “Like the Marquis of Beddinlong and Baron Fritton?” Betsy surveyed the room, checking to see if either had arrived. She did not see either, but that meant little.

  Angella drew her attention back into focus. “Just like the baron and the marquis. Stop worrying so much that you’ll trip or appear graceless and concentrate on having a good time. This is a party. Simply enjoy.”

 

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