She looked at him in amazement. “How?”
“I have private funds. They’re safely invested and more than sufficient to keep you in silk gowns and jewels, should you wish.” He paused to look at her, his forehead ruckled. “Have I allayed your fears that marriage to me won’t mean any more financial problems?”
“You astound me. But then, you always have.”
“Let me astound you some more then.” He kissed her again, backing her towards the neatly made bed.
Any thoughts of anything except sharing their love, evaporated.
A True Gentleman
London, Spring 1818
John Wright, valet to Sir Henry Blanche, strode swiftly down the main staircase into the drawing room of his master’s house in Berkeley Square. It was early in the day and the housemaids and footmen were busy lowering curtains under the steely eye of Yates, the butler.
Vases of bright flowers from the rear garden still decorated tabletops and the mantelpiece. Parlour maids cleaned ash-filled fireplaces of their debris from the previous evening’s card party.
John retrieved his master’s cigar case from a card table set up in one corner of the room, and retraced his way to Sir Henry’s dressing room.
As he stepped into the small space, he heard Sir Henry’s voice in the adjoining bedroom growl, “You waste of space, when will you ever serve me well? You haven’t given me an heir, and you slop around like a maudlin old jade!”
“I’m sorry.” Lady Emma’s voice trembled.
John’s stomach contracted. Not again!
Then came the sickening sound of Sir Henry slapping his wife’s face.
She gasped.
John’s hand clenched around the cigar case.
“You useless hag!” Sir Henry shouted.
Anger ignited in John’s gut. The worthless piece of base humanity. How a gentleman could treat a lady in such a way... how any man could treat a woman so, disgusted him. He wanted to storm into the room and punch the swine’s vile face until it spewed blood all over his starched cravat.
But he was Sir Henry’s valet.
For how much longer, he didn’t know.
John backed away from the door and moved around the dressing room, making as much noise as possible to let his pig of a master know there was a witness to his behaviour. He had seen Sir Henry’s increasingly cruel acts over the last three years. Part of the cause of the escalation was Lady Emma’s failure to give him a son, when her husband desperately wanted to ensure the succession.
If his violence continued, he would eventually kill her.
John wasn’t going to let that happen.
The outer door to Sir Henry’s room banged closed. The brute had left. The danger to her was over, for now.
Should he go into the room to check how she fared? Or spare her the humiliation of having her husband’s servant find her red-cheeked and probably crying?
John remembered the naïve, trusting, very young woman who had arrived in the house on her wedding day; the sparkle of love for Sir Henry in her blue eyes, the joy in her demeanour, the energy and excitement in her bearing.
Slowly, through angry words, spiteful blows, and more lately, vicious attacks of rage, she had become a solemn, dull-eyed ghost of herself.
John continued with his tasks, expecting any moment to hear her ladyship leave Sir Henry’s room, or for her to appear at the doorway, eyes downcast, returning to her room.
He finished tidying the narrow dressing room. Still he hadn’t seen or heard her leave.
John took tentative steps to the doorway, listening for Lady Emma. He knocked quietly on the open door.
No answer.
Still unsure about disturbing her, he stepped into the room. He expected to see her sitting on the window seat overlooking the square, stunned as usual after her husband’s vicious outburst.
She wasn’t there.
He looked around. Could she have left without him hearing her? He strode through the room, and around the large canopied bed towards the bay window.
Where could she be?
Oh God! There she was, huddled and crying in the corner of the room.
He hurried to her crumpled form and knelt before her, careful not to touch her in case he frightened her. “Let me help you, my lady.”
She raised her tear-stained face to him. His heart ached for her. She stretched a trembling hand towards him. He took it in both of his. Her trusting gesture shredded his heart. That she should be brought so low that he—her husband’s valet—gave her comfort!
Still clutching his hands, she leant her head against his shoulder, and sagged against his chest. He encircled her with his arms, holding her in a loose embrace.
Oh, how he longed to soothe her pain. He stroked circles on her back.
And how he longed to beat Sir Henry to a pulp for harming her.
“Something must be done, Lady Emma!”
She snuffled against his chest, then sighed. “What? I’ve told my parents that he is cruel. They will do nothing for me. They won’t shelter me, won’t allow a separation. My husband pays their bills. They will never support me against him.” Her face was blank with acceptance.
“Is there nothing that can be done through the law?”
“I don’t exist in the eyes of the law. He owns me.” Bitterness hardened her voice.
“Have you spoken with Reverend Lowood? What does he say?”
A sob hiccupped from her. “Go home and submit to your husband.”
If the law could not help her, if her father, the Earl, would not help her, he must help her.
He loved her.
But he needed a plan.
John’s mind raced with actions he could take. She would be locatable and in danger anywhere in England. Her daughter could be legally taken from her at any time, and alive, Lady Emma was a hindrance to her husband’s succession plans. Refuge could only be possible outside England. That meant Europe, America, or maybe one of England’s colonies.
He suspected the cost of living in Europe was exorbitant, and who knew when another Napoleon would arise from that politically seething abyss. Mainly convicts went to Australia, so it was unsuitable for Lady Emma. He had heard that India had a ferocious climate, and that Canada’s winters were abominably cold. And, none of those colonies were beyond English law. That left America. The first ship available would decide their exact destination.
But first he had to convince Lady Emma.
“Ma’am, would you allow me to help you?”
“How?” she whispered.
“I can assist you to escape Sir Henry, but you’ll need to leave the country to be free of him, and then you must remain undetected for seven years. After that he could divorce you and marry again and would probably be glad of it.”
She leant away to look at him. Her brow crinkled in bewilderment. “Where would I go?”
“I suggest America. You can start a new life there, and eventually be free.” I’ll protect you, no matter where you go.
She gulped down her tears. “Alone?” She swallowed. “Without you?”
His heartbeat ratcheted up to hopeful. “You don’t need me.” Please disagree!
“But I do! How could I survive without you?”
His heart performed the Roger de Coverley in his chest. She may not care for him as he loved her, but she wanted him with her. Him! “You wish me to accompany you?”
She grasped his lapel with her slim hand and looked into his eyes. “You would do that for me?” A fragile tinge of excitement and hope threaded her voice.
He saw those large tear-washed eyes seeking reassurance from him, and his heart melted into a puddle of warm caramel. “Yes.” He nodded. It would take every penny he owned.
“When?”
“As soon as there’s a ship leaving from the London docks.” He soothed her hands where they lay on his chest. Already his mind was whirring with the steps to be taken, the tasks that must be completed before her escape. He mustn’t fail. He c
ouldn’t fail.
“Take the money I’ve saved from my dress allowance for the ship’s passage,” she urged, her eyes wide, voice insistent.
No! “I can’t do that.”
“You must!” She tugged on his lapel.
He nodded to reassure her. Never would he take her money for his expenses. “Where is Sir Henry now?”
“Gone to a private boxing match out of town, with his cronies.”
“Then I’ll to go to the docks immediately.”
She held his lapel in a death grip. “Don’t leave me.”
He clasped her fists where they lay against his chest. “If you’re to escape Sir Henry, I must leave you now and organise our departure on the first ship sailing across the Atlantic.”
Her hands dropped from his coat. “Yes, you’re right.” She drew a deep breath and withdrew from his arms.
He stood and extended his hand to help her rise.
“Please hurry back,” she pleaded.
“While I’m gone, you must pack a small bag of clothes for yourself and your daughter. Put it in the dressing room, as no one but me goes there. I’ll return as soon as I have everything organised. Mind, it will take some hours. Can you cope with that?”
She dried her eyes with a linen handkerchief and drew a shuddering breath. “Yes.”
“You must not tell anyone, not even your maid, and don’t let anyone see you packing. The success of this plan depends on those things.”
She nodded.
“My absence should not cause any questions, as I’m often out doing tasks for Sir Henry, but if anyone asks, I’m out on his business.”
***
The next day, the pale light of dawn seeped into the sky from behind ragged clouds. Everything was planned for Lady Emma’s escape. The ship sailed at high water, within the hour.
John hurried down the front steps of Sir Henry’s house in search of a hackney carriage. Lady Emma’s hand luggage and his sat on the hall porter’s chair. She dressed her daughter, Lucy, in the nursery. By now, the nursery maid knew something was afoot. Please God, she didn’t try to stop her ladyship while he was gone.
Within a few minutes, John found a cab and brought it back to the square. He hurried into the entry vestibule. Lady Emma had commandeered the porter’s chair, and drawn Lucy onto her lap for a quiet counting game.
“My lady,” John said in a hushed tone, “The cab is here.” He took up the hand luggage and ushered them both from the house into the silent street. He opened the carriage door and stowed the bags on the rear-facing seat then turned to assist Lady Emma. She placed Lucy on the seat and took John’s hand for assistance into the vehicle.
As she gathered her skirt, another cab swept into the square.
It halted behind theirs and Sir Henry staggered from it. Seeing his wife and John, he roared, “Where do you think you’re going?”
John’s heart thundered. Every muscle in his body tightened. They were not going to be stopped now. Not when freedom beckoned with both hands. Not if he had breath in his body. John hoisted Lady Emma into the cab and attempted to step up behind her.
Sir Henry pulled him back, spinning him around. With a snarl of anger, the brute swung his fist at John’s face. John dodged it and stepped away from the carriage, hoping to lead Sir Henry away from Lady Emma.
Inside the vehicle, Lucy began to cry, and her mother soothed her.
Sir Henry sliced his walking stick down to hit John across the shoulders. He blocked it with his left arm and jabbed his right fist into the blackguard’s solar plexus. Sir Henry staggered forward, clasping his waist, and John kicked his flabby posterior, making him stumble and fall.
Anger ripped through John’s body. His heart pounded, every muscle tensed for the next onslaught. It never came. Sir Henry sprawled on the ground. John drew a gasp of air and spat the words, “You swine. You abuser of women!”
John strode to the carriage and entered in time to slam the door closed in Sir Henry’s blotched, drunken face. “Drive on!” John shouted to the driver. “And hurry!” His heart pounded. He breathed in short, ragged puffs.
The carriage leapt forward, thrusting them backwards into their seats.
Swaying on the pavement, Sir Henry’s faced reddened in anger and he yelled, “You’re my wife! I own you.”
John turned around to watch him.
Sir Henry continued to rant at them from the footpath for a few moments, then hurried back to his cab and gestured for it to follow them.
Lady Emma clutched John’s hand in a painful grip. Fear lined her face. Her other arm bound Lucy to her side. “Save us, John,” she breathed.
They must not miss their sailing. He rapped on the carriage ceiling and called, “Faster, driver!”
As they rocked eastward, Sir Henry’s cab attempted to keep pace behind them. By the time their carriage clattered onto the dock, his was out of sight.
Sir Henry was probably only a few minutes away. John couldn’t be complacent now. He paid off the cab and hastened Lady Emma and Lucy from the vehicle. With their luggage clasped in both hands, he shepherded them to the gangway.
Last-minute preparations had the crew scampering up rigging. As they hurried onto the deck, the bow and stern lines were thrown off their bollards.
“Bit of a risk arriving so late,” the weather-beaten and grizzled captain remarked as he touched his cap to Lady Emma.
“We were delayed. And you’re early in your departure,” John answered.
“We depart when we’re ready and the tide is favourable,” the old salt answered curtly. He gave a tight-lipped smile. “I saw your cab bowling along the dock. We wouldn’t have left without you.”
John nodded his thanks.
On the dock, Sir Henry’s cab had halted. He jumped out to pace the wharf, yelling for Lady Emma, and for the ship’s gangway to be put down.
The captain looked at Lady Emma and said, “Someone late to see you off, ma’am? Would you like me to wait?”
“No!” they both answered.
The captain raised a shaggy eyebrow. “I wasn’t serious. We have good weather and a long voyage across the Atlantic ahead of us. We have mail to deliver. We stop for no man. Not even a peer of the realm.” He turned to a young sailor. “Mr Davids, please show these passengers to their cabins.”
For the first time this morning, John’s heart stopped racing. “Our thanks, Captain.”
The captain touched his cap in acknowledgement, and turned away to give more orders to his men.
Minutes later, John dismissed the cabin boy with a coin and brought Lady Emma’s large bag into the cabin. A cot lined either wall. Two stools and a small table took up most of the remaining cramped space. Lady Emma laid the now-dozing Lucy on a cot and covered her with a paisley shawl.
Now they were here, John felt as out of place as a schoolboy in his headmaster’s office.
Lady Emma stumbled with the unaccustomed motion and manoeuvring of the ship. John thrust out a stabilizing arm. She took it with a grateful smile. “What now, John?” she asked.
“We enjoy a swift and calm trip across the Atlantic to Baltimore, and you prepare for a new life, safe from Sir Henry. I’ll find you accommodation with a genteel landlady, and you’ll start to create a social circle under whatever new name you wish to use.”
She smiled in a confused way. “What about you, John? What are your plans?”
“I’ll be starting a business once I find suitable premises.”
A crinkle of confusion creased her forehead. “What sort of business?”
“I’ll open a general store with clothing, haberdashery, imported homewares and so forth, and trade goods with my brother in London.”
Her eyes widened. “How? What will you use for stock?”
“The items I purchased yesterday now lie in the ship’s hold. Pray for good weather, so they’re not damaged.”
She smiled in the open, enchanting way that had first taken his breath away. “I had no idea you were so enterpris
ing! Where did your capital come from?”
“I have a little nest egg for this venture, saved during the last fifteen years of service.”
“Just as I have a bequest that will pay my living expenses, but no more. And what will you call your venture?”
“The Wright Emporium.”
“Clever.” There was that smile again, with its overlapping eye tooth, its one imperfection mesmerising him.
“And now I’ll leave you, Lady Emma.”
“You must call me Emma... and please don’t go. You haven’t told me why you’ve done all you have for me. The fare, the arrangements... everything.”
“Because you deserve better than Sir Henry.”
“Nothing else?” Her face looked hopeful.
“What else could there be?” He wasn’t foolish enough to lay out his heart to have it crushed by her innocent indifference.
She looked down at her hands playing with the ribbons of her dress and said, “I thought perhaps you cared for me.” A slash of pink coloured her cheeks. “That you saved us because you wanted a life together.” Now her large, sky-blue eyes gazed up at him with a look of tormented yearning in them.
John’s heart raced again. He stared at her. Should he tell her the truth? Risk rejection? He glanced away and extended his hand to smooth the toddler’s blonde hair as she slept.
He raised his eyes to Emma’s. His heart felt like an iron band squeezed it. “And if I said there were other reasons, what would you say?”
Her words came out in a whispered rush. “I would say, ‘Thank goodness my feelings may be returned.’”
Blood thundered in his ears. Had she just said she loved him? Or did she just return his friendship? He longed to reach for her. “To which feelings are you referring?”
“I don’t want to lose you, John.”
“And you shan’t. I’ll always be near to help you. You just have to ask. Nothing more is required of you.”
“I mean more than that. I need your love, your support... your everything. Am I making myself clear?”
“You love me?”
“With all my heart. With all my mind. And all my soul.”
His breath caught in his lungs. Could this dream be true?
“I’m just an ordinary man, plain and simple. What would you be wanting with the likes of me?”
Regency Rescues Page 3