by Regina Darcy
“I am afraid that I have no solution, Lady Charlotte. However, if you wish to give me a letter to hold for her, should she make an appearance in the county, I am willing to do so. I warn you, however, that I cannot say with any certainty that she will do so. I am not acquainted with the Duke and I was not in attendance at the engagement ball, therefore I cannot be regarded as a comrade.”
“I don’t know . . . still, if you would deliver a letter should you learn that she has been seen in the county, it would be a means of communicating with the poor girl. She really must return, you know; her reputation is going to suffer dreadfully if she does not.”
Michael waited while Lady Charlotte wrote the letter and sealed it, again reminding her that Twickendale was not so small that there was any real likelihood that Lady Honora would take refuge at Dennington. With the letter on his person, he returned to his home and made plans to return to Dennington the following day. There seemed to be a concentration of interest in the county of Twickendale and it occurred to Michael that he could serve Lady Honora’s interests better by departing from London without delay.
SEVEN
Unknown to Michael, the news of the runaway bride had already travelled from London to the convent. The Abbess, was, despite the cloister, well aware of the topics of interest in the village outside the walls of Cannington Court. The nuns lived apart from the community, but it would have been incorrect to say that they were isolated from its doings. They tended to the sick, helped in childbirth, provided comfort and care to the aged and the distressed.
So it was that one of the nuns informed the Abbess that strangers had been seen in the county who were believed to be in the service of the Duke of Ivanhoe.
The Abbess received the news with equanimity. She seldom exposed her emotions to the sisters. But after prayer, and meditation on the matter, she decided to summon Lady Honora to her office.
With some trepidation, Honora made her way to the Abbess. She had adopted the behaviour of the nuns, walking with her head down so that she would not intrude upon the contemplation of the sisters. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she walked. To an unknowing eye, she would have seemed no different from any of the young women who had entered the convent because they had a vocation.
But as the Abbess surveyed Honora, she could see the signs of a disquiet spirit. For Lady Honora, a life of seclusion was not one that she sought, even though she was in hiding. It was unfortunate, the Abbess thought, that young women were at the mercy of their families, who seldom seemed to consider the wishes of their daughters. It was far better to be removed from the community and subject only to God, the Abbess thought.
“My dear,” she said warmly. “It seems that London has a far reach. Our village has detected the presence of men in service of the Duke of Ivanhoe who is searching for you. I will warn the sisters that there are strangers about intent upon misdeeds. But I am not sure that I can protect you for much longer by offering you sanctuary among our sisterhood.”
Honora drew a deep breath. “I understand, Mother Clothilda. It is not my wish to endanger others.”
“Pray upon the matter tonight, child. God will give you guidance.”
Honora attended evening prayers with the others, but she knew that while their pious thoughts were focused upon God, hers were concentrated upon her fear of the Duke of Ivanhoe, her dread of what her parents might be enduring, and her awareness that, knowing now that she loved the Marquess, she could not submit to the intimacy of Ivanhoe.
When prayers ended and the sisters returned to their solitary cells, Honora remained in the chapel. The Abbess saw her and nodded approvingly, leaving her to, what Mother Clothilda assumed were, holy ponderings. In fact, Honora was trying to summon her courage to do what she knew she must do. She must return home and submit to the will of her parents and her marriage to the Duke.
And she must do so before seeing Michael again, for well she knew that her resolve would weaken if he returned before she left. He had been her rescuer and he had offered her safety at a time when she was in desperate need of it. But he could not protect her parents from the ignominy of a daughter who had run away rather than marry the man they had chosen for her. Her reputation would be at risk as it was. No one but the Duke would be willing to marry her now, and marry she must. The honour of her family was at stake. Daughters were for marrying. That was, it seemed, her only use, Lady Honora thought bitterly.
A spirit of rebellion took hold of her. Why must it be so, that a woman could not assert her own preferences regarding her choice for a husband but was obliged, out of filial duty, to accept her father’s decree? Papa would scoff at her objections, he would not believe her when she said that she feared to marry a man whose first wife had died under suspicious circumstances. He would accuse her of filling her head with nonsense from reading novels written by female authors and he would disparage her for her apprehension.
The serene convent, with its pervasive atmosphere of a seraphic silence, was suddenly oppressive to her. She needed to be out of doors, though it was night-time, where the air was free and untamed and there was a boldness in its audacity to go where it willed.
No one would know if she went outside, just for a bit, only long enough to savour the panoply of the dark sky and its wealth of celestial lights illuminating the night. During her stay at the convent, she had learned the intrinsic nature of silence, moving as the nuns did, without calling attention to themselves. It was almost supernatural, the manner in which they seemed to make their way across a room or a corridor, their motions so still that they might not be moving at all.
Honora went to the side door. It was the entrance that the nuns used to enter the convent grounds without being seen by the public, so that they could go to their garden and their barn without the violation of public congress. It was a sheltered passage, embellished in a deliberate overgrowth of ivy which covered the lattice like a green wall. Honora stealthily closed the door behind her. She would not be long outside; it was forbidden to go out at night unless on an errand of need on the order of the Abbess.
The air was marvellously, fragrantly fresh, evoking the winsome wildness of the season and its cycle of fertility. Small wonder, Honora thought as she inhaled the lush scents all around her, that pagan Britons had celebrated the lusty months of birth as the earth grew round and full with life. Small wonder—
Used as she was to silence, any sound was that much louder. Honora halted, shrinking back against the tunnel wall as she heard the noise of someone walking very close. Someone who was trying to conceal his presence, as if such a thing were possible in a setting where silence was practised so expertly. She sensed, she could not say why, a threat outside the tunnel wall.
Then she heard a sound and a thud. And then a voice, speaking softly.
“It’s all right now, milady, you’ve nought to fear.”
Who was it? Who knew that she was here? Honora’s heart began to beat in the accelerated pace of terror. Ivanhoe? Had he found her?
“I’m from His Lordship, milady. The Marquess. He sent me to look out for you and a right good thing he did, too. This blackguard, I warrant he had nothing good on his mind.”
Dare she trust him? He had spoken of the Marquess. But was that a ploy? A trick to snare her and lure her out of safety’s confines and into the clutches of the Duke?
“He’s come back from London, milady, and I know he’ll be wanting you out of here. We’d best get going afore this chap wakes up. I reckon I knocked him good, but he won’t stay out forever. Milady? My name is Jason Harding, milady. Valet to His Lordship.”
The Marquess had told her that his valet would be staying nearby to look after her while he was in London. She had not thought that he would be so close. But he must be telling the truth, for it was unlikely that a man of the Duke of Ivanhoe’s stature would acquaint himself with the humble staff members of a household.
“I will go through the tunnel,” she said, her voice very low. There is a gate at
the end. It leads to the grounds of the convent.”
“I will wait for you there, milady.”
It was a grave risk, Honora knew. A young woman of high birth ought not to entrust her safety to a valet. But a young woman ought not to have been forced to flee from a marriage that could have been the route to her death. The conventions in which she had been reared had not protected her; it behoved her to find another way to live. What that way was, she had no idea. But she walked to the gate and opened it. There, a young man, visible to her by the light of the moon and stars, waited.
He bowed when she emerged.
“Milady,” he said in tones of undeniable respect. “I’m here at the Marquess’ bidding, to take you to Dennington. But in that white get-up, you’ll stand out like something that fell out of the sky. Take my cloak to cover yourself, won’t you? I have a horse tethered yonder. I’ll lead you to Dennington.”
It seemed as if those words were a summoning. She had never seen Dennington and knew nothing of where the Marquess lived, but she realised that there was no place that she would rather be. Her notions of duty to her parents and her obligation to obey them had faded as fear overwhelmed her while she was in the tunnel.
There had been someone outside who meant to do her harm. The Marquess’ footman had taken care of the man, by what means she did not know. The Abbess would certainly summon the constable on him for trespassing once he was discovered.
She bit her lower lip.
Word would need to be sent to Mother Clothilda that Honora was gone, but not through nefarious means. She did not wish to have the Abbess worry.
As she accepted the valet’s assistance in getting on the horse, she realised that the Abbess might have various concerns about her safety, and not all of those would be a matter of life or death. She was likely to be concerned as well for her virtue.
“Dennington,” Honora said after they had travelled long enough to leave the village behind, “is it far?” they were on a crude pathway that cut through the forest and was, because of its rough terrain, likely not often used.
“Not so far, milady, but not so near, either.”
“Is it . . . isolated?”
“Dennington? It is a fairly busy estate, milady. Tenants farm the land and His Lordship keeps things running proper. Lady Eleanor, now that she’s back, minds the household.”
“Lady Eleanor?”
“Aye, milady. His Lordship’s aunt. A gracious lady she is, too, milady. She’s been away, visiting her elderly kinswoman in Sussex, but she’s returned now.”
An aunt. So there would be someone, presumably a woman of respectable character, as chaperone. That was certainly a relief, for Honora could not vouch for her own strength of will should the Marquess wish to press his advantage as an attractive man who was, again, rescuing her.
“Is it a very large household?”
“Not very, but enough to do what’s right. The Duke of Ivanhoe, he’s the grand one in the area, but he’s never here, so it’s up to the Marquess to keep the gentry entertained.”
“The Marquess entertains?” Honora’s hopes of maintaining her seclusion in a safe setting were quickly fading. How could she remain concealed if the estate of Dennington was the centre of local society?
“He’s got to, don’t he, to keep folks happy,” the valet continued obliviously to the turmoil he was creating. “Lady Eleanor is a dab hand at it. But with everyone in London for the season just now, things are quiet. Not that the household can’t put up a proper fete when it’s called for, milady. Mrs Thompson, she’s the housekeeper, and she keeps the kitchen staff fit for whatever comes along, whether it’s just the Marquess and Her Ladyship sitting down to table or supper for guests. I reckon you might think us a quiet lot, you being a Londoner, but there’s plenty going on in the country. His Lordship gets on well with the tenants and his neighbours and Lady Eleanor, well, she’s a proper lady. Widowed; she came to care for the Marquess after his mother passed on.”
“His father is also deceased, I take it?”
“Aye, well . . . aye, he’s gone.”
It did not sound as if the late Marquess was much missed, but Honora knew that she ought not to probe further. Her mother had been quite firm on the matter of gossiping with servants. A lady simply did not do such a thing, Mama said. Papa always said that if the lady of the house idled in gossip, the servants took license to shirk their labour and spread tales about their betters. Honora thought that Jason Harding seemed to be a very upstanding young man, not at all the sort to pass untruthful tales. But it was, nonetheless, not her place to put him in an uncomfortable position.
Jason was still talking.
“Then there’s Cole, he’s His Lordship’s valet. He’s a good sort of chap, sees to it that His Lordship holds up his station when he’s out and about. Mr Blake, he’s the butler. Very proper, o’ course, but that’s a butler’s lot, i’n’t? Proper.”
“Yes,” Honora said, amused. “I suppose it is.”
“Then there’s Mr Sterling, the steward. He meets daily with His Lordship. The farms and tenants, and crops, and such,” Jason said vaguely, as if the matters of husbandry were too esoteric to allow for detail.
“At Dennington, we grow all that we need,” Jason said. Then, he turned to look back at her. “If I sound as if I’m boasting, milady, it’s only because it’s true.”
“I am sure that you are not boastful without cause, Jason,” she assured him, amused further by his proclamation.
Satisfied, he turned his head again so that he could watch the pathway, leading the horse with a firm hand. “It’s a fine household, one I’m proud to be part of… Lord James is away.”
There seemed to be a connection between the two phrases but Honora could not fathom what it might be.
“Lord James? Who is he?”
“Oh . . . just His Lordship’s half-brother.”
“Half-brother?”
“Aye. His Lordship’s father was left a widower when Her Ladyship died. He . . . . fathered Lord James.”
“I see.”
“Of course, living out here in the country, the scandal didn’t touch His Lordship much. He was at school for most of the time that his stepmother was at Dennington and after his death—His Lordship’s father, that is—Her Ladyship—the second one, you see—was left a bit of money and she went off to the Continent. Gambled it all and died,” Jason said matter-of-factly. “Leaving Lord James to his own resources, which he don’t like above half. But he’s away. So things is what you’d call harmonious.”
“I see.”
But whatever the scandals of the Dennington name, they did not, so far as she could tell, include a murdered wife. Not that it mattered, to be sure. She was not of the household and at some point she must, as she had steeled herself to do before tonight’s unexpected turn of events, return home to accept her fate as the daughter of a man who did not brook disobedience and the fiancée of a man with secrets in a violent past. But perhaps, before she did so, she could cherish a bit of respite under the roof of the Marquess of Dennington.
“Jason,” she asked after they had gone a bit more distance, “that man who was there outside the tunnel . . . had he been there before tonight?”
“No, milady, and I would know, for I’ve been about the premises every night, as His Lordship bade me do, to look after your safety and welfare, as he said. But it’s said that the Duke of Ivanhoe, he what almost never comes to his estate in Twickendale, has sent lookouts searching for you. Once I heard that I stuck closer to you than a tomcat to his tail, I did. All the village noticed it, folks have eyes, after all, and the sisters, for all that they’re Papists, are good to the local people and kind and they look out for people. No one knew why the Duke was looking for his runaway bride—meaning you, no disrespect intended, milady—right here in the county, but folks were watching.”
“Do people know me? Or know that I am here?’
“Not a bit of it,” Jason replied heartily. “The Abbess
, she don’t gab, you know, and the other sisters, well, they’re mostly inside anyway and who would they tell? No, the Duke is searching for what he won’t find, that’s all. Don’t you fret. And if it comes to ought, have no fear. There’s no finer swordsman in England than His Lordship.”
“Why should his swordsmanship matter?” Honora asked in alarm.
“Why, bless you, milady, but if it should be necessary to protect your life and your . . . ladyhood,” Jason said with discretion, “why, wouldn’t the Marquess take out the sword that’s been in the family for generations and put it to use? He practices every day, and there’s no one can best him.”
“I have heard that the Duke of Ivanhoe is also counted as a man of rare skill with a sword,” Honora pointed out with a frown.
Was she to be the cause of violence between the two men? It had not occurred to her, even after tonight’s episode, that matters could proceed to a point where she might be the cause of the Marquess being in danger.
“Maybe he is, milady, but if you were to bet on a winner between the two, you put your coin on the Marquess.”
Jason’s loyalty toward his master was certainly commendable. But as Honora thought of Ivanhoe’s unreadable green eyes and unrevealing countenance, she shivered at the thought of a bout between him and the Marquess, for if the stories were true, the Duke had done murder and not suffered any qualms over it. Why would he refrain from killing again?
EIGHT
Whatever sort of reception she was expecting, Honora was entirely caught off guard when Jason ushered her into the manor and, standing behind the austere butler who had opened the door was the Marquess, in his trousers and shirtsleeves and boots.
“I daresay this is blasphemy,” he said as he stepped forward and took her in his arms, “but as you haven’t taken your vows, I trust that God will forgive me, although I doubt the Abbess would.”