by Regina Darcy
“I have my jewellery,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her cloak. “I do not intend to be a burden on anyone.”
She handed him a jade brooch. The workmanship was exquisite. “Lady Honora, there is no need—”
“I must,” she said with a childlike dignity that he found very moving. She was out of her depths in this world where she had to depend upon her own resources and yet she would not forsake her sense of responsibility.
“Please take it. I do not want it. I am sure that you will be able to receive enough funds in return to pay for my keep here.”
She wished to be rid of the brooch, even though it was a present from her parents to celebrate her wedding announcement. The gem-studded adornment seemed to carry with it a reminder of the evil that she had been exposed to in her engagement and she wished to exorcise it from her life.
Silently, he accepted the brooch, although he had no intention of pawning or selling it. He would provide for her needs with his own money and she need never know. Impulsively, he bowed over her hand and kissed it.
To his surprise, Lady Honora, who had risen from the chair, threw her arms around him in an impetuous hug that gave him a better glimpse into her nature than he had thus far witnessed.
He bid her good day and promised that he would see to her wellbeing. She was to have nothing to fear, he said. She was safe in the hands of the Abbess and he would see to it that his footman, Jason Harding by name, stopped in regularly to check on her and make sure that she was well.
“Will I see you again?”
“I have told you that you will,” he said tenderly. “But before the week is out, I intend to explore this matter.”
“You think me a liar?” she whispered looking bewildered.
“No, my lady,” he replied. “I think that we must find out how matters stand. You cannot stay hidden forever. Your family will wonder where you are and what has happened to you. And the Duke—“
“The Duke will find another bride to murder,” she said bitterly. “He is not the one to suffer for this.”
“I do not doubt your word, my lady,” Michael assured her. “But I shall go back to London to find out what is being said about your disappearance.”
He also intended to meet with Summersby, to see what Ivanhoe’s cousin could offer in the way of detail about the mystery surrounding the Duke.
FIVE
Honora didn’t know quite what to do with herself. When she had run from the Duke in the middle of the night, never would she have guessed the kind of hardships she would be exposed to as a woman travelling on her own.
To have landed in Twickendale under the protection of the Marquess of Dennington was nothing short of a miracle. But to realise that she lost her heart to him in a split second is devastating. Never would she have believed that she was one of those frivolous maidens that lost their heads over a pretty man in breeches. But the truth could not be denied. As she replayed their farewells, she searched in her memory for anything that might indicate that he had noticed her too, despite the abysmal state she had been in.
She sighed heavily as no such sign readily popped into her mind. Their farewells were decorous and devoid of physical communication. He bowed, and she inclined her head.
But ever since he left, and Honora returned to the sequestered part of the nunnery were none but she and the holy sisters could enter, her thoughts had been in turmoil.
Never had she felt such a sense of destiny as if it was her very destiny to encounter the Marquess.
There was no denying the obvious - she was in love with the Marquess of Dennington. Her stomach churned.
Who would have guessed that being in love was like an illness? This unbidden and unsought emotion of love had shown her that the giddy thrill she had experienced when she had first been told that she would marry the Duke of Ivanhoe was no more than a sham, the shallow pleasure that a girl took in attaining a husband sought after by others.
What she felt for the Marquess was very different, all the more so because she could not speak of it. What would he think if he knew that she, a runaway bride, had lost her heart to him? Surely he would be appalled at the prospect of scandal that would be his if word got out that Lady Honora, who had fled London rather than marry the Duke of Ivanhoe, had fallen for her rescuer and mistaken his charitable acts for something more.
He was a gentleman, but even so, he would not tolerate an unwelcome passion. He would think her as unbridled as—as Lady Caroline Lamb, whose lustful antics had fascinated and horrified London. She bit her lower lip, then shook her head. Whatever the state of the Marquess’ affections she needed to keep a sensible head on her shoulders. It would not do if the nuns found her presence in their midst a burden. She was safe but for the Grace of God and their generosity.
The nuns raised everything that they used in the convent and although the food was simple, it was nourishing and delicious. Honora decided to make herself useful by asking if she could help with some of the household tasks.
The Abbess showed her surprise.
“I do not suppose that you are accustomed to domestic labour,” she said.
“No, Mother Clothilde,” she answered. “But . . . ”
The Abbess smiled.
“You do not find the contemplative life suited to your nature,” she said succinctly, expressing the truth that Honora was too courteous to admit.
Honora smiled in relief at the woman’s understanding. “I am not suited to praying and silence all day,” she replied. “At least, out of doors, I can hear the birds and smell the flowers. There are so many wondrous scents and sounds in spring. I daresay I could learn to milk the cow and gather the eggs from the henhouse as well. I am willing to learn, at least. I am very grateful to you for allowing me to take advantage of your hospitality and I should like to do my part while I am here. I don’t wish to be a burden when you have been so kind as to allow me to stay.”
“Holy Scripture tells us to welcome the stranger,” the Abbess said lightly, “for by this have some entertained angels unaware.”
Honora laughed. “I do not think anyone would mistake me for a holy angel,” she said.
And yet, the Abbess thought as she studied the girl who looked like an angel with her raven hair and her delicate features, even in the habit of the order and a veil covering her locks, she had an aspect of the sacred about her.
“Angels might, perhaps, be tiring,” the Abbess said in pragmatic tones. “Better for some of us to see to the eggs and the milking. I shall have one of the sisters instruct you so that you will not be idle.”
So it was that Michael, who had not yet been able to leave for London as he had been obliged to handle a scrape involving his half-brother James’ exploits in Bath, saw Lady Honora looking healthy and alert when he came to visit her a few days after she had arrived in Dennington.
His eyebrows rose at the sight of her in her habit. She smiled demurely. “There are no mirrors here,” she said, “but I can tell by your reaction that I have startled you.”
“My familiarity with nuns is, I confess, limited. Will you sit?’
“Yes, of course. Please be seated as well,” she said.
They were in the common room. There was no one else there and yet Michael sensed the presence of vigilance. The room had no adornments, only the rigid wooden chairs. There was a carved crucifix on the wall and a grill in the window where visitors went in order to be granted permission to visit one of the sisters or to meet with the Abbess.
“You are well?”
“I am,” she said. “I have learned how to milk not only a cow but also a goat. I have been chased by hens and I am learning to bake bread. I fear that my skills in that department are rudimentary at best.”
“They are not, I should think, the sort of talents an earl’s daughter is required to possess.”
“I have found that all my talents are of no use here. There is no dancing, and I dearly love to dance. My watercolour painting is not needed. I can embroi
der and Mother Clothilde lets me embroider the altar cloths that need to be done, but I am useless at the sort of sewing and mending that would be of actual use here.”
“I doubt if the Abbess expects you to discover a vocation.”
Her retroussé nose wrinkled.
“I do not have a vocation in the least,” she confessed. “I should not admit it, but I have ever found Sunday services to be dreadfully tedious and uninspiring. That has not changed, although I am required to attend Mass. How Father would be shocked if he knew.”
Then she fell silent and he knew that she was likely thinking of her family and wondering how long it would be until she could be restored to the life that she had cast off when she fled the Duke. He could not hazard a guess but hoped to be able to leave for London soon in order to find out more about the reaction to her absence.
He wondered what she was thinking; she appeared to be lost in her thoughts as if she had forgotten that he was there. Then she looked up.
“Were you able to sell the brooch?”
“I—not yet. I shall do so in London; it’s likely to fetch a better price there,” he said quickly.
“I wish to provide something for my keep,” she explained.
“I tell you what. I shall pay the Abbess and then, when you are in funds again, you shall return the money. Will that do?”
Relief was apparent on her face.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, gratitude colouring her features. “That will do wonderfully. I don’t want to—”
“Be a burden,” he finished. “Yes, so you have said, more than once. You are not a burden. I wish you would realise that.”
“But I am,” she said, tears filling her sparkling blue eyes. “I have no abilities which are of inherent use here. I have no money for my keep. I have imposed upon you and upon the nuns and I cannot guess when any of this will be resolved. What if it is not resolved?”
Then I will marry you myself, he thought. As the full implication of what he was thinking settled on him, he tried to bat away the thought, but his mind would not let him. We shall live here in Dennington, far from the London set with their prying, malignant ways and their malevolent tongues and schemes. His eyes strayed over her full lower lip… and we shall be as happy as ever a pair of lovers could be.
He clenched his teeth and willed his mind to still. A cold sweat broke over his forehead. As the impulse to declare himself receded he abruptly forced his mind away from his reckless thoughts.
Marriage? Had he lost his senses?
What was he to do with marriage when there were willing women such as Lady Penelope and countless others, willing, nay, eager, to provide the physical recreation that a young man relished without submitting to the constraints of marriage?
Marriage!
To a runaway bride?
He was mad to consider such a thing.
Irritated with himself he stood up.
“I shall leave for London tomorrow,” he said. “I shall investigate what the news is and I shall come to you upon my return to let you know what is being said. For your part, you must stay here, where you are safe. My footman shall be about; if anything seems amiss, you must let the Abbess know of it and she will send for Harding. He is a most resourceful young man and I assure you that he will be of infinite service if he is called upon. Promise me that you will heed my words and stay vigilant within the confines of the abbey.”
“Where could I go?” she asked.
He realised later that she had not given him the promise he sought. But as he bid her farewell, his thoughts were of how beautiful she was, and how ill-used she would be if the Duke of Ivanhoe should prevail in his unscrupulous quest for his bride.
Their farewells were decorous and full of anticipation. He bowed over her hand, and she inclined her head. The heat of his breath on her scandalously un-gloved arms left them both in turmoil. They did not lay eyes on each other again, but instead walked away. But the banks of the Marquess’ gaze was overflowing with yearning and the mind of Honora was desperately trying not to put too much stock in the longing of her heart.
Michael began his journey to London the next day, having committed his faithful footman to act on Lady Honora’s behalf should she have need of him, Michael’s thoughts were indeed concentrated upon Lady Honora, but not in comparison to Lady Caro. That would have been laughable; Caroline Lamb was reckless and ardent and entirely ruled by her own rapacious desires. Lady Honora was quite different. Beautiful and charming and tantalising, she was the sort of woman who would cling to her marital vows.
Marriage again!
Michael dug his heels into his horse’s side to stir him into a gallop.
What was this foolery, always thinking of marriage?
He would go to London as he had vowed and there, he would find out the news. He would manage a way to reassure the Earl that his daughter was not in harm’s way without revealing Lady Honora’s location.
He would discover what the Duke of Ivanhoe was doing now that his chosen bride had escaped. He would learn whether or not the old rumours of the Duke’s dead wife had resurfaced.
Yes, there was much to be done and he had no business wasting time with whimsical thoughts of marriage to a woman he barely knew who was promised to another man.
The news of the runaway bride was, he discovered when he arrived at his London residence several days later, flooding the city like an intoxicating brew which needed just the right mixture of speculation and gossip to bring it to boil.
“What news?” Michael asked when his groom came out to take care of his horse upon his arrival at the residence.
Standish, the groom, was a garrulous man whose familiarity with the actions of the ton were an endless source of astonishment to Michael.
“Well, my lord,” Standish said as he patted the horse, “there’s been a bit of chicanery, it would seem.”
“Chicanery? How is that?”
“The Earl of Winterhaven’s daughter has up and disappeared. She was to be married this very month and not long after the engagement ball, she ran away. No one knows where. The Duke of Ivanhoe—he that was to be her husband—has people out all over the county, looking for her but no luck so far. I marvel that you haven’t seen nor heard from them, milord. I’m told that they’ve ventured over to the Earl’s estate in Twickendale.”
“Really?” Michael inquired, careful to maintain an expression of nothing more than bland interest.
“Why should Ivanhoe go there? He is very seldom in residence there. It’s unlikely that a bride in flight from an unwelcome marriage would go so far.”
“Aye, but a girl not knowing her way might,” Standish nodded wisely, as if an absence of navigational skills could readily lead a lost woman to the county.
“Unlikely,” Michael replied carelessly. “Balliol has earned his oats; he’s had a long journey.”
“Aye, my lord. He’s a good horse.”
“None better.”
“Will you be staying long in London, my lord?”
“Not past the week. Perhaps less.”
“Business, my lord?”
“Of course, what else?”
“I do hope Lord James hasn’t been troubling you, my lord.”
It was impudence, of course, and part of Standish’s never-ending hunger for information, but there was no malice in his querying. “I have not seen my brother in a month, although I learn of his actions by post,” Michael said. “I hope that he is pursuing some gainful means of earning his livelihood. There is the army or the church.”
“Aye, my lord,” Standish said noncommittally, both of them knew that Master James was not suited for either.
Once inside, Michael summoned the housekeeper, who had received his message that he would be arriving and had made certain that the house was ready for his return.
“I shall dine at my club tonight, Mrs Logan.”
“Very good, my lord. Will you be entertaining while you are here?”
“No, I’m only
staying a few days. What’s the news? Standish tells me that there’s a runaway bride whose exploits have captivated the imaginations of the ton.”
Mrs Logan had no patience with idle gossip. “Standish is better than the newspapers,” she said dismissively. “If a poor girl runs off from her wedding, it ought to be a matter of concern, not tittle-tattle. Young ladies of her standing don’t just run away unless there’s something to run from.”
“Then you think her justified?”
But Mrs Logan would not offer more, mindful of her station. “I’ve no notion of that, my lord. But if I were a parent of a daughter who didn’t want to marry the husband I’d chosen for her, I’d find out why. It may be that she has a good reason.”
“Thank you, Mrs Logan,” he said sincerely. “You are most astute.”
“I’ll see that Cook has your breakfast is ready for tomorrow morning, milord. Will you be rising early as usual?”
“Yes, I think so. I don’t expect to be out late tonight. “
It was his expectation to dine at his club, absorb the gossip of the beau monde and learn as much as he could regarding Lady Honora’s disappearance and return home without accepting any invitations that might bring him in contact with Lady Penelope.
He was certain that she would have found a new lover in his absence and the thought brought him only relief. Nonetheless, he did not wish to stir any amorous nostalgia in that lady’s opulent bosom.
He was dining contentedly on cutlets, having enjoyed a bowl of his club’s excellent soup, when he saw the Duke of Summersby enter, spot him, and then strode over to him.
“Back in London, I see. I hear the fair Penelope has found another, but I’m sure she will be amenable to offering you welcome. May I join you?”
“Please do so. I’m unexpectedly back in London.”
“Nothing to do with James, I hope?” Summersby gestured for the servant to bring him a glass of wine.
“James has been out of sight of late. I suspect he’s sulking.”