In Honour Bound (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 1)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  She became aware of the near numbness of her limbs. She could not continue thus. She was clad in an old woollen gown of blue kerseymere, having left off her blacks today as they provided less warmth. But she needed a shawl.

  Alicia was busy elsewhere. Isolde had no hesitation in leaving the parlour. She headed for her bedchamber.

  She could hear the sounds before she opened the door. Isolde could not put a name to them, except that they betokened the presence of someone inside her room. Thinking it must be the maid, she turned the handle and pushed open the door.

  A scene of chaos met her startled gaze.

  Her trunk was open and someone was bending over it. A collection of clothes was thrown higgledy-piggledy across the bed. Several books had been hurled pell-mell to the floor and lay open, upside-down, their pages squashed.

  “What in the world —?”

  The woman straightened and spun round. Isolde stared at Alicia de Baudresey, bewilderment giving way to wrath as the creature’s eyes met hers. She flung out an accusing finger towards the pile on the bed.

  “Do you dare to tell me those are yours?”

  Ignoring the question, Isolde started forward. “What are you doing? How dare you rummage in my trunk? What gives you the right to touch my things?”

  Reaching the woman, she was met by a vicious blow across the face that made her stagger. Isolde grabbed hold of the bed post, wincing against the stinging pain. She was given no chance to regroup. Alicia came after her and delivered another swipe that felled her.

  Isolde landed backwards on the carpet, her hands going out to break her fall. One banged onto the spine of a fallen book and a sharp stab accompanied the smart across her arms and breast where Alicia’s second hit had caught her. Dazed, she stared up at the woman as she loomed over her, hissing venom.

  “I am mistress here, and you have no rights. I knew you were trouble, oh, I knew. What do you call this?”

  She swung away to the bed, grabbed one of the garments off it, and shook it in Isolde’s face.

  “My breeches!”

  “Your breeches? Yours?” Another garment was seized and thrust towards Isolde. “And I suppose this is your jacket too?”

  Using the clothes, she leaned in and beat them about Isolde, screaming as she did so.

  “Hoyden! Brass-faced little hussy! How dare you bring your disgusting, wanton habits into this house?”

  Isolde rolled on her side, bringing up her arms to protect her head as the foul names drove in the blows.

  “Slut! Filth! Trollop!”

  The attack ceased after a moment and Isolde drew sobbing breaths as she cautiously raised her head. The woman was no longer standing over her.

  Flinging across the room, Alicia was now tugging on the bell-pull with unnecessary vigour. Then she swept back to the bed and gathered the rest of the clothes there, turning with them bundled up in her hands and holding them away from her as if they were contaminated.

  “You’ll not wear these again, I’ll see to that.”

  The threat to her precious boy’s clothes roused Isolde as nothing else could. She needed them!

  Gathering strength and courage and ignoring her various hurts, she pushed herself off the floor and stood, swaying a little as her head dizzied from the late attack. Then she leapt for Alicia and seized the bundle, trying to pull it away.

  “Give them to me!”

  A heavy kick landed against her shin, a little protected by her petticoats. Isolde did not let go, although Alicia was tugging in the other direction as hard as she pulled.

  “You’re not getting them back. They’re going on the fire!”

  “Noooo!”

  Without warning, Alicia let go and Isolde staggered back. Two hands landed on her shoulders and shoved. Down Isolde went again, losing her grip on the clothes as instinct kicked in and she tried to save herself.

  The impact was severe, knocking the breath from her body. By the time she had pulled herself together and was making to rise, Alicia had gathered up the clothes and Becky was in the room.

  “Lord-a-mussy!”

  It was the only exclamation she had time to make, for Alicia rushed at her.

  “Take these, girl! Get them to the kitchens and burn them. Throw them in the fire!”

  Isolde screamed a protest and pushed to her feet even as Alicia shoved Becky towards the door.

  “Get going! Get out, girl, before I give you the back of my hand!”

  Becky’s terrified eyes swirled towards Isolde and she hesitated. Alicia slapped her. The girl let out a cry and ran to the door.

  Isolde saw her male attire disappearing through the aperture and a black rage consumed her. Flying at Alicia, she battered her with her fists, driving her against the wall. “You heartless creature! Wicked! I hate you, I hate you!”

  For a moment, Isolde felt powerful and strong. But a hand shot out, her ear was seized and twisted, and a fresh piercing pain made her squeal in distress. Her fists dropped a little and her opponent took instant advantage.

  Isolde could not count the blows. Her head swam, her ears were ringing. Already battered and bruised, she had little strength left to retaliate. She tried, her fingers clawing in a bid to scratch at the other’s face.

  A hand forced her head down and her hair was seized. Isolde felt as if it would come out by the roots as Alicia dragged her from the room by the hair, tearing down the corridor so that she stumbled and crashed along behind.

  Disoriented and in agony, Isolde could only endure as the creature hauled her along to the accompaniment of a fresh deluge of insults which she no longer heard distinctly. In the background of her tortured mind, a murmur of voices started up. A flicker of thought gave a tiny hope of rescue, but no one intervened.

  At last the hideous ordeal came to an end. Alicia stopped and the agonizing pull at her scalp eased, slight enough to afford a modicum of release, though she was still held with her head down, taking in the chequered floor beneath.

  “Open the door!”

  “If I may point out, madam —” The butler’s austere tones, calm as ever. He was cut off.

  “You may not. Open the door, I said.”

  A blast of cold air told Isolde that this command had been obeyed. Her mind leapt into gear. Alicia was going to throw her out of the house!

  “Madam, I beg you to notice the state of the weather.”

  “Be quiet, Topham! Don’t interfere.”

  A new voice was heard. “Miss de Baudresey, have you thought of his lordship?”

  Mrs Pennyfather? Isolde put up her hands to her hair, trying to pull it from Alicia’s grasp. She received a clout across the ear for her pains. Protests rose on two sides.

  “Madam!”

  “His lordship will scarcely approve, madam.”

  “I’ll handle his lordship. You will none of you interfere, if you value your place. One word more, and you may expect to be dismissed without a character.”

  Silence.

  Isolde gathered her courage. She was not giving in without a fight. “Let me go!”

  “I’m going to let you go,” came the snarled response. “Right this minute.”

  The grasp on her hair miraculously released, and Isolde let out a gasp of relief, struggling to come upright. She caught a glimpse of the butler’s face, taut but expressionless. She could see only the dark gown of the housekeeper. And then a hand was in the small of her back and she was propelled over the threshold and onto the cold stone porch.

  “Get out and stay out! Never let me see your face again!”

  Isolde managed to turn as the great door swung back and clanged shut.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dazed and aching, Isolde stared at the closed door. This could not be happening. Even Alicia could not mean to leave her outside in the freezing cold. The thought brought awareness and she realised she had not even the shawl she had gone to fetch. Cold was already penetrating her thin woollen gown, superseding the dulling pains of her various bruises.


  Panic overtook her, and she rushed to the door, battering on the wood.

  “Let me in! Let me in! I swear I will never do anything you don’t like. Alicia, please let me in!”

  No answer. Nothing. No sound, no response. Yet Isolde was sure the woman was standing on the other side of the door. Was this meant to torture her? Surely she would eventually open the door. She could not truly mean to leave her out here. She had nothing to keep her warm.

  Realisation hit. No warmth, no shelter, no food or drink. Though that mattered little because she would die of the cold before she could starve to death.

  Desperate, she ran to the bell and pulled at it, sending peals ringing through the house. She dragged it down again and again, making such a cacophony that the entire household must hear it.

  She stopped, waiting. The door remained obstinately shut.

  Her mind began to daze with disbelief. She cupped her hands and shouted.

  “At least let me get my things! Alicia! Alicia!”

  Nothing. Silence.

  Isolde’s chest heaved and sobs rose up in her chest as she stared at the black expanse of the wooden door. Her mind blanked. She could not think beyond the fact that she was out here, on her own, in the perishing cold.

  Deep down, the beginnings of terror lurked. She was alone, defenceless and she was going to die. A whisper trembled on her breath. “Richard…”

  An echo of his image crept into her head, and as if she would look for him, she turned from the house and trod heavily down the icy stairs. Feeling and thought began to numb, and her aimless steps carried her away from the house.

  “Miss Izzy! Miss Izzy!”

  The throaty whisper came at her from somewhere close at hand. Only partially aware, Isolde paid no attention.

  “Miss Izzy!”

  Louder now. Isolde halted and looked about.

  “No, don’t stop. Keep walking. She’s watching from the window.”

  Obediently, without quite realising what she did, Isolde began to move again. She had no notion where the voice was coming from, and though she looked to left and right she saw only the bushes and trees that lined the drive.

  “Go on, Miss Izzy. Round the next bend. Then we’ll be out of sight of the house.”

  Her mind began slowly to work again. Vaguely she recalled, from her arrival, the winding journey from the entrance gates. It had seemed a long way then. Now it took an eternity. Time had slowed to a meaningless point of nothingness.

  The voice exhorted her to keep walking. Not far now. Isolde obeyed. There was nothing else to do.

  “There, that’ll do, miss. She won’t see nothing now.”

  Isolde stopped, looking for the source of the voice. Then Becky came running out from behind the trees. She was carrying something. Next moment, Isolde was wrapped in a rough woollen cloak, and Becky’s arm came about her, holding her close. The maid was young, but she was sturdy and Isolde immediately felt supported.

  “There now, that’s better, isn’t it, Miss Izzy?”

  Isolde looked at her. “Thank you, Becky. The cloak will help a lot.”

  Becky clicked her tongue. “She’s a mean piece, that madam. Just wait ’til his lordship hears about this. He’ll give her pepper, he will.”

  What good would that do? Isolde did not try to make sense of it. She smiled at the maid. “Thank you, Becky. You’d best go back. She’ll dismiss you if she finds out.”

  The maid’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “Bless you, Miss Izzy, did you think I were going to let you go off alone?”

  Puzzlement wreathed Isolde’s mind. With the cloak around her, the numbness was going and she was beginning to feel the cold again.

  “You can’t come with me, Becky. I can’t even support myself.”

  Another laugh escaped the girl. “Why, miss, it’s muddled you are and no mistake. Mrs P sent me to fetch you back to the house.”

  “What? But —”

  “Oh, don’t worrit yourself, Miss Izzy. We’ll keep you hidden like. Come on, let’s get you inside before you catch your death.”

  The thought of being inside was enough to give Isolde the impetus to move. Although her hurts were beginning to make themselves felt again and she was shivering with cold. “I’m sorry, Becky, I’m a bit slow.”

  “After the battering she give you, miss, I’m not surprised. Mrs P and Mr Topham was that mad when I told them.”

  “You saw it?”

  “I saw as you’d been thumped good, Miss Izzy, the moment I came into the room. And I didn’t go to the kitchen like she told me. I waited and watched, I were that worrited for you. And I saw what she did and all.”

  Isolde’s eyes misted. “Becky, you’re a true friend.”

  The maid hurried her along, flitting along an unknown path through the trees at the edge of the grounds. “I don’t know about that, miss, but let that wretch do what she did and stand by I couldn’t, not if I was to be pilloried for it. Why, she might as well have killed you outright.”

  She talked on in this strain as she guided Isolde to an outhouse at the back of Bawdsey Manor. It looked to be some kind of store, for it was full of old furniture stacked around the walls. There were two high windows, no carpet, and no fireplace, yet Isolde immediately felt a degree warmer for the presence of walls.

  “We’re behind the stables, Miss Izzy. We’ll get a brazier in here soon as ever we can. But sit you down now and I’ll fetch Mrs P.”

  Isolde was pushed into an old deep chair, its upholstered seat and leather back split, the stuffing coming out. She was glad enough to sit down. Becky bade her rest and scuttled off. She sat back in the chair, huddling into the cloak and let her head fall back. A deep sigh escaped her, and tears of relief seeped from her eyes.

  The argument was long and wearing. First Mrs Pennyfather did her best to dissuade Isolde. When that failed, she brought in the butler to try and make her see reason. Only Becky understood, but she kept mum before her seniors, conveying her thoughts by a series of grimaces and eye rolling behind the butler’s back.

  “You have only to wait until his lordship returns, Miss Cavanagh. I have no doubt he will take your part.”

  “Yes, but then what?” argued Isolde. “He won’t remain with me all the time. At some point, Miss de Baudresey will catch me alone and I shall be at her mercy.”

  Mrs Pennyfather clicked her tongue. “You’ll tell his lordship everything, Miss Cavanagh, and he will act appropriately.”

  “How? Short of locking her up, what can he do?”

  The butler and housekeeper exchanged a glance, but neither answered this directly. Mrs Pennyfather turned back to Isolde. “If you will not think of yourself, pray think of us. What do you suppose his lordship will say if we allow you to go off alone?”

  “I’ll leave a letter for him saying I wouldn’t listen to you.”

  The butler shook his head. “I fear that will not answer, Miss Cavanagh. His lordship is your official guardian. You are bound by law to adhere to his wishes.”

  “In that case, perhaps you’d have me go back in to Miss de Baudresey and ask her to resume teaching me how to be a lady.”

  The elderly servants eyed her in frowning silence. Isolde knew she was putting them in a difficult position, but they were not privy to the whole story. They did not know about Lord Vansittart, nor that Richard had pledged himself to make contact with him on her behalf, at some point. If she could reach her uncle, she might find out for herself whether she had an alternative refuge, which had become imperative now that Alicia had shown how far she would go.

  There was no future for her here at Bawdsey Manor. Whatever response Richard made to his sister’s action, her right to his support was far greater than Isolde’s. He would scarcely act against his flesh and blood. Far more likely he would see the wisdom of shifting Isolde into the care of Lord Vansittart, realising that she and Alicia could never inhabit the same house.

  She had rather take matters into her own hands than await an outcome
she foresaw must be inevitable. Yet perhaps discretion was called for here. She sighed.

  “Well, let me think about it for a while.”

  “A couple of days can make no difference,” said Mrs Pennyfather.

  “And his lordship may be back in that time,” added Topham.

  A remark that caused Isolde to take a resolve to be gone within the day. She made no move to dissuade the housekeeper from ordering a truckle bed to be set up for her in the store room and directing Becky to bring sheets, blankets and a couple of quilts. A brazier had already been brought, giving off both smoke and heat, and Mrs Pennyfather produced a basket of provisions to keep hunger at bay. She left, promising to return with salves and unguents to anoint Isolde’s various hurts.

  “When the bed’s made, Miss Cavanagh, I’ll have Becky bring you hot water and a basin for a wash. Then we’ll see better what’s what with your injuries.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Pennyfather. I will ask her for some spare clothing too, if I may.”

  The housekeeper consented to this, and Isolde breathed more easily. At least Becky could go into her bedchamber without incurring the housekeeper’s displeasure.

  “I’ll get a screen in here as well.” Mrs Pennyfather looked around the store room and sniffed. “It’s not what I’d choose for you, but it’s the safest place for the moment. The mistress would never think to look for you here, even should she come to know that you didn’t leave the premises.”

  When she and the butler had departed, Isolde waited for Becky to return with the bedlinen, revolving plans in her head. James the footman arrived with the truckle bed and set it up, grinning cheerfully at her the while.

  “You look like a bruiser in the ring, miss, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Isolde put up a hand to feel her face. Every part of it was tender and there was scarcely any part of her body that did not produce discomfort as she moved. Nevertheless, she smiled at James.

  “Perhaps Miss de Baudresey should think of a career in that line.”

  He let out a laugh. “I can just see her, miss. She’d have them betting the odds in her favour in no time.”