The Rebel’s Daughter

by Anita Seymour

  Henry accepted an invitation from Master Newman to take a glass of claret in his private sanctum in Charles Street; a small room at the front of the house strewn with maps, pens, tools and miscellaneous cartons piled up in one corner.

  “Is this a special occasion, if I may ask?” Henry accepted the full glass. He hadn’t been asked to sit, so he leaned against the desk where he studied a plan of a church.

  “Ask away, my boy, ask away.” Francis Newman grinned as he poured ruby liquid his own glass. “Mistress Newman and I are celebrating a forthcoming marriage.”

  Henry took a mouthful of his wine, not anticipating Newman’s next words. “My beautiful daughter is to become a bride.”

  A knot of dread descended onto Hendry’s chest, hovered there and slowly expanded. He swallowed. “You…er…have five beautiful daughters,” Henry stammered, the drawing forgotten. “To which of them do you refer?”

  Master Newman guffawed. “Well, two of them are well below marriageable age, one is still in the schoolroom, and the other not prepossessing enough to attract any young man’s fancy.” He paused at Hendry’s startled look. “Not that I would disparage my sweet Joanna to her face. However, I’m sure you can guess who the fortunate daughter is.”

  Henry set his glass aside, eliciting an enquiring look from his host.

  “Not to your taste?” Newman asked, surprised.

  “It is excellent, sir, but I have a headache I am reluctant to worsen.” A lump formed in his throat. “All-allow me to congratulate you on your news.” Aware his hopes were about to be cruelly dashed, still a contrariness rooted him to the spot, as he waited for the damning words to be spoken.

  Newman frowned. “I’m sorry, Henry, I had no idea. You must retire and get some sleep.” He patted Henry on the back. “Before you go, I must tell you that Sir Joshua Holt has offered for my Mary Ann. They are to be married in two months. Is that not excellent news?”

  The blood in Hendry’s ears roared and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. Was it possible his employer did not see how this news affected him? Or perhaps he knew how Henry felt about Mary Ann, and this was his way of ensuring his apprentice never declared himself?

  “I-I don’t believe I know the gentleman.”

  “He is extremely wealthy.” Newman’s eyes glowed in appreciation. “There is an estate in Hertfordshire that runs to three thousand acres, not to mention a fine townhouse with at least fifty servants. He has a nephew.” This was said almost regretfully. “He will inherit, as the estate is entailed, but the portion he has agreed to settle upon Mary Ann is…oh well, perhaps I shouldn’t dwell on it.” He gave a sheepish grin. “Suffice it to say, he is a fine match for my girl.”

  A dense fog wrapped itself around Hendry’s senses, but Newman ploughed on. “He’s somewhat older than she is.” He looked momentarily uncertain, then a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “The truth of the matter is he’s thirty years older, but what does that matter, if he gives my daughter a place in society?”

  Thirty years! Henry fought to keep his face impassive. The man was older than Newman himself. How could he give his beautiful Mary Ann to an ageing lecher, no matter how wealthy and respected he might be? He shook the thought away, realising how ridiculous that was; were not wealth and society what mattered to everyone?

  To discover he was not penniless and alone had changed everything for Henry. Having some of his father’s wealth at his disposal was what enabled him to be in Master Newman’s drawing room, dressed in gentleman’s clothes and drinking a gentleman’s wine. It was wealth and society that would allow him to fulfill his dream and become an architect, visit rich men’s homes as an equal and enjoy their society.

  For Mary Ann, the question was far simpler. She belonged to her father, to be given in marriage by him, to a man who could provide for her and offer her a secure home, a future, and respectability.

  “And Mistress M-Mary Ann, does she consent to this match, sir?” Henry hardly recognised the sound of his own voice as he stumbled over her name.

  “Eh?” Newman asked distracted, apparently oblivious to Hendry’s discomfort. “Oh, I have not yet informed her of her good fortune, but I don’t expect anything but submissive gratitude from that quarter.”

  Newman paused in thought, the wine pitcher still clutched in his hand. “I admit, I’ve heard disturbing tales from other fathers whose daughters have given them all manner of difficulties over the subject of marriage. Praise be, I have a dutiful child, who would never go against me or her mother.”

  Newman raised the pitcher as an invitation for a refill, which Henry declined. Instead, he left his on the table, fearing he would choke.

  Pleading his worsening headache as an excuse to cut short the conversation, Henry stoically offered his congratulations and withdrew.

  “You’ll raise a glass at the wedding, though, won’t you Henry?” Newman’s cheeks glowed with wine and good humour. “You are my best apprentice after all, and I would have you present at the ceremony.”

  Henry inclined his head in assent, his aim to get out of the room before his feelings showed on his face.

  His host was right; she was a dutiful daughter, who adored both her parents and would offer no objections. Mary Ann was lost to him, forever.

  The hour was late, and apart from his host, the rest of the household slept. He lit a candle at the bottom of the stairs and dragged himself up to the second floor. As he rounded the corner leading to his room, he felt rather than saw her.

  “Henry?”

  He could tell by that one, choked word she had been crying. Mary Ann detached herself from the shadows, the yellow glow of his candle throwing her face into sharp relief. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she gave a sad sniff, yet she was still the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

  “Henry,” she sobbed. “The most horrible thing has happened.”

  He sighed. “Your father said you had not yet been told.”

  “You know?” At Hendry’s nod, she gave a tiny moan. “Mother told me.” She wiped her eyes with a kerchief. “She imagined I would be overjoyed, and swore me to secrecy.” She took a step toward him and burst into fresh tears.

  The floor creaked under their combined weight and with a furtive glance along the darkened corridor, Henry ushered her into his room, closing the door firmly behind them.

  Mary Ann leaned against the door, slumping as if her knees were giving way. “What are we to do?” Her eyes were pleading.

  He placed the guttering candle on the low windowsill, where it stilled, and glowed brighter. His reflected face in the pane looked drawn, his eyes large, as he stared at the shadowy rooftops reaching away into the darkness.

  Mary Ann grasped his arm with both hands. “I don’t want to marry him; I won’t marry him, I…”

  “Yes, Mary Ann, you will,” Hendry’s voice was almost cold. He didn’t move, nor could he look at her. He felt he would break into a thousand pieces if he tried.

  She gasped, the kerchief pressed against her mouth. “You want me to?”

  “No!” He burst out in a harsh growl as he turned toward her, her distraught face like a knife twisting in his stomach. He reached out his arms toward her, and with a ragged sob, Mary Ann collapsed against him.

  “I could refuse.” She lifted her face to his, her eyes full of unshed tears.

  “And tell your parents you wish to marry me? The consequences would be devastating.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed the tips of his fingers against her lips. “Not just for us, but for our families too.”

  She stared at him, horrified, large tears spilling onto her cheeks.

  “Your Father would discharge me from my apprenticeship, and no architect would agree to continue my training.” The truth of his own words tore at him. “Aaron would cut me off from my allowance, and might not even allow me back into my father’s business. Helena may accept us, but she is in no position to offer practical help. We would have nothing.”

  He held he
r away from him, his hands gripping her upper arms, willing her to understand. “Do you have any idea what it would be like, to be penniless and with no friends?” She shook her head, the wispy curls at her temple bobbing. “Well, I saw what my future would hold without those things. Even if I could stand such a life for myself, I could never do that to you. Eventually, you would hate me for it.”

  “I could never hate you, Henry.”

  “We would be shunned, Mary Ann. And how could you bear never to see your mother, or any of your sisters again? Apart from you, Helena and Aaron are all I have. I cannot lose them.” He bit his lip, his throat almost closed with pain as she collapsed again into his arms, defeated. His eyes stung with hot tears as he realised his words had penetrated her despair.

  “How stupid of me to think we could…” she broke off. “Oh, Henry what are we going to do?”

  “There is nothing we can do,” he whispered into her hair.

  They clung together in the gloom of Hendry’s attic room, making oaths and promises to help each other through the future they would spend apart. As the night deepened and their loss became real, they separated, painfully, with fresh tears on both sides.

  Henry spent the rest of that night in wakeful misery, imagining Mary Ann crying herself to sleep in the room below his. For the first time since his apprenticeship began, he did not look forward to the morning.

  * * *

  Viewed through a crack in the door to the kitchens, Helena watched Robert and Guy Palmer emerge from the salon, the older man’s arm encircled Guy’s shoulder. His look was one of guarded nervousness that told her the interview Guy had requested on his arrival had been a success.

  She backed away, and returned to her place at the parlour table, flicked open her journal and pretended to study the last entry. Her gaze fell upon Guy’s name in large letters on the page, and she slapped her hand over the words she had penned, saying she expected his proposal, just as the man himself appeared.

  “I met Phebe in the hall just now,” Guy said. “She told me you would be in here.”

  “Phebe knows everyone’s movements at Lambtons. Do take a seat, Master Palmer.”

  “Were you aware…” Guy perched on a chair opposite, “that you always greet me with mild surprise, as if you have no expectation of seeing me? Surely you must know by now that I am your most devoted admirer?”

  William’s face flashed into her head, but she dismissed him instantly. “I am flattered, though to prove I have been paying attention, there are some things I have learnt about you.”

  “Which are?” He laid his arm on the tabletop, his fingers hair’s breadth from her journal.

  “That you were orphaned at the age of ten, and brought up by your father’s much younger brother. He is a kindly man, but a confirmed bachelor with a penchant for exotic travel.”

  “You have been paying attention, I-”

  Helena held up her hand. “There is more. Your Uncle Arthur left you in the care of a string of semi-neglectful tutors and housekeepers.”

  “…which made me realise at a young age that acquiring success lay entirely in my own hands,” He finished for her.

  “Exactly.” She adopted an expression of rapt attention at the same time closing the journal and moving it away from his reach. If she had miscalculated, what he would have read there could be embarrassing.

  “I have something to ask you, Helena, which I am not finding easy. May I ask you to remove your attention from that book for a moment?”

  Startled, she released the journal that slipped to the floor with a small thump. “No, leave it,” she said as he bent to retrieve it, suddenly nervous.

  “What was it you wished to ask?”

  “Helena,” he said slowly, as if savouring her name on his tongue. “Would you do me the honour of marrying me?”

  There, he had said it. Was this were she was required to exhibit breathless excitement? Surprise? Even a little fear? If only she could blush on command, it might make the situation easier. As it was she had no idea at all how to react, even though she had expected this. “Master Palmer, why do you wish to be married to me?” It was the only thing she could think of to say.

  “Why would any young man not want you for a wife?”

  “A pretty compliment, sir and I am flattered.” She inclined her head. “I simply ask why do you wish it?” “I feel we would make a good marriage, as we have a great deal in common.”

  “Such as?”

  “I-I have no living parents, yet I am financially sound.” He swallowed, as if it struck him that was the wrong thing to say, but it was too late to retract.

  “I’m not actually an orphan. At least I hope not. I ask, because I am curious to know if there is any emotional attachment to your offer.”

  He blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

  “Oh, no matter.” This time she was certain she blushed. “I’m not making myself clear.”

  “Do you imagine I would seek a marriage with someone I did not feel affection for?” His voice rose sharply.

  Helena lifted her chin. “I don’t know you well enough to make such a judgment.”

  “Has it occurred to you,” he said, his forearms on his splayed knees and chin jutted forward. “I have no idea what your feelings are either?” At her hesitation, he went on. “I’m no courtier, and you are not a duchess. Perhaps we are expecting too much of one another.”

  Helena blinked, surprised the meeting did not appear to be going as she expected. What did she expect? A besotted young man who would worship at her feet because she had agreed to be his wife? She did not realize she was frowning until he reached forward and smoothed a finger across her forehead.

  “Helena.” Her calm acceptance of his touch appeared to give him courage. “I would not have called upon you so diligently these last weeks, had there been no emotion on my part.” “You’ve indeed been most attentive, Master Palmer, but you have never-” She left the sentence hanging.

  “Professed my undying devotion?” He inclined his head, arching one eyebrow. “Is that what you want of me?”

  “You could have professed a little,” she wheedled. Perhaps Robert was right and she was indeed a coquette? Yet wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? Then why was she urging for more?

  He propped his chin on an elbow, a warm smile on his lips. “I love you Mistress Woulfe, and you will never have reason to doubt my devotion.”

  “When I first saw you at Ralf and Celia”s wedding I was certain then that we would marry.” He laughed self-consciously as he absently massaged her thumb. “I even toyed with the idea of asking you that night.”

  “I might have refused you, then,” she teased.

  “Does that mean you are not refusing me now?”

  “I have forgotten the question.” Impulsively, she reached across the table and took his hand, her fingers resting lightly in his as if they belonged there.

  His gaze slid sideways then back at her face. “Are those serving girls still watching from the kitchen?” he asked without turning his head.

  Helena shifted looked past his shoulder, and nodded, a smile tugging at her mouth. Guy gave a slow, thoughtful nod, then without lowering his voice, he repeated his proposal. “I asked, Mistress Woulfe, for your hand in marriage.” A ripple of sighs and giggles erupted from behind them.

  “I accept your offer, Master Palmer.” She held his gaze, surprising herself at how delighted she felt.

  Guy released a slow breath, and pulled her hand up to his lips. A tiny flame of anger lit his eyes and his grip on her hand tightened. “Helena, I hope that having laid bare my feelings has proved more than simply a source of amusement to you.”

  “There are very few times in a woman’s life,” Helena began, aware she had teased him too far and he was now angry with her. “When she has the advantage of a handsome gentleman. Surely you would not condemn me for making the most of mine?”

  “In that case, you are forgiven for teasing me.” He snatche
d his hand away and rose. “Now. May I inform your guardian we are formally engaged?”

  She hesitated. “Yes…you may. If that is what is expected.” His eyes darkened for a second, then he turned and strode across the hall.

  Helena stared after him for a moment, mildly bewildered before she reached and retrieved her journal. She continued to sit, listening to the familiar kitchen noises in the background. What was she was supposed to do now? She idly fingered the fastening on the leather book, toying with the idea of recording the fact she was going to become Mistress Palmer. Like Lady Castlemaine. What would Aaron have to say about that?

  Guy’s discomfort was something she had intended to exploit a little before accepting him, but at some point in their exchange, the balance of power had shifted, and Guy had taken control. Perhaps that’s as it should be; what woman wants a husband she can bully?

  A small knot settled beneath her breastbone at the thought of Aaron, whose letters had lately taken the form of political rants and religious tracts, with appended instructions as to how she and Henry were to conduct themselves in his absence. Would he be angry and disapprove of her decision, or would he be glad to have her off his hands? She had taken a while to admit to herself that she had been disappointed when Henry had chosen his own path without discussing his plans with her. He had spoken to Samuel first, and simply presented her with his decision. Though she was happy for him now seeing how happy he was, and he would welcome another fireside to visit, and a table to eat at during his free evenings.

  The prospect of having her own household was a heady one; no matter it would not be grand, like the Saffron Hill property Ralf had provided for Celia. She glanced round the snug room where she sat, wondering if she too might have Dutch delft arranged in a rack on the wall, like the housekeeper.

  “Helena. Whatever are you doing sitting here all alone?” Helena jumped at the sound of Phoebe’s voice. “You must join the family and let us all fuss over you, now that you are a betrothed woman.”

  “Did Guy already tell you?” Helena rose slowly from her chair. “Or did your father?”