A Ravishing Beauty in Disguise: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Emily Honeyfield

  Was it truly as simple as the mention of Harriet Arnold?

  An hour later, William lifted a parasol over his mother’s head as they took their stroll towards the belly of the carriage. The rain pattering atop the fabric filled William with a sense of longing, reminding him of similar, rainy afternoons of his youth.

  “I hate to ask this, darling,” his mother began in the carriage.

  William shook out the parasol outside and then cranked the carriage door closed. He blinked his enormous black eyes towards her. He knew she would press on without his response.

  “I was curious what, if anything, is happening with dear Zelda?” his mother continued.

  Beneath them, the carriage wheels churned in the muddy puddles. One of the horses grunted with the weight. William forced himself to maintain eye contact with his mother, despite yearning to look anywhere else.

  “Zelda is my past, Mother,” William said, his words articulate. “As much as it pains me to say so—”

  “I assumed this was true,” his mother said, snipping over his words, as though they were now a waste of her time. “I wanted only to affirm it in my mind. To tell myself, once and for all, that Zelda Arnold would not become my daughter-in-law …”

  “Mother,” William sighed. “It’s not as though I returned to London to be married off immediately.”

  “I suppose not.”

  This provided a dramatic end to the discussion. William turned his head towards the window, watching as the drizzly London snaked past the window. His mother reached for a handkerchief from her pocket and scraped it over her left nostril. She always did this when she was anxious.

  William was surprised how grateful he was to arrive at the Arnolds’ estate. The moment they arrived, Zelda and Renata ducked out from their carriage. Renata waved a manic hand to them, flashing a lightning-bright smile. Zelda gave only a sombre bow of the head. At this, William’s mother snorted, whispering, “I suppose she’s not entirely pleased with the decision you’ve made for her, William.”

  Once inside the Arnold estate, however, the mood brightened. Hugs were given. Zelda gripped his elbow and told him he was looking well, “rested.” Renata made some wretched joke that they all forced themselves to laugh at. Lady Arnold hustled in from the tea room, her face round, its cheeks bouncing.

  “Darlings, please! Come in. It’s far too chilly for May, isn’t it?”

  William’s eyes snaked across the foyer, towards the yonder library, its shelves stocked with musty books. He hunted for a shadow, any movement. As yet, Harriet hadn’t revealed herself. Perhaps she waited in the tea room. Lagging behind the others, William stalked, stabbing his hands into his pockets. Lady Arnold chirped on about the affairs of the house, an upcoming garden party they hoped to have. His mother corresponded with her in kind, seemingly filling in the gaps without giving any real thought to their sense.

  “Of course, a garden party is always a marvellous thing.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Really, everyone is always so appreciative.”

  “I always think so, too.”

  The words were drivel. Zelda and Renata had dipped into their own, separate conversation, seemingly regarding Hayward, the man Renata had danced with several times at the Marquess’ ball. William suddenly felt like a sore thumb. Sweat billowed up along his neck. Was Harriet not in attendance at all?

  The tea room reflected back nothing but empty chairs, empty sofas. William’s heart dipped into his stomach. He sat near Renata, with Zelda on the other side, whilst Zelda burned, “You really need to stop discussing this at such length, Renata. Keep your reckless thoughts to yourself.”

  “It’s only that I haven’t heard from him since the ball …” Renata hissed back. “And a girl has to wonder about it …”

  “Perhaps you could use your diary for such a thing, then?” Zelda returned.

  “Where is Harriet?” William asked, his voice booming out.

  All four women halted their vapid discussions and turned to him, as though just realising he was there. His mother, in particular, looked rueful. Lady Arnold, however, took a moment to adjust her face, and then seemed almost pleased.

  “Well, I told her what time tea would be,” she offered. “But the girl looked almost ill this morning. I never quite know what’s happening in that skull of hers. Shall I call for her?”

  William hesitated, not wanting to seem like he cared one way or another if Harriet appeared. But already, Lady Arnold bumbled up from her seat and yelled for the maid, instructing her to “fetch” Harriet. At this, Zelda cast William a curious expression. When William tried to match it, Zelda turned away.

  “You said she might be ill?” William’s mother asked, her voice feigning sadness.

  “Just utterly pale this morning,” Lady Arnold said.

  There was a scuttling on the stairs. William’s ears perked up, hunting. Zelda and Renata returned to anxious whispering, but he didn’t bother himself with the specifics. Rather, his eyes turned towards the crack in the door, waiting.

  Finally, four long, thin fingers wrapped around the doorway. They were feminine, beautiful. They paused there for a moment, whilst Harriet’s voice rang out, thanking the maid for retrieving her. Then, the rest of Harriet appeared in the doorway.

  Her brown curls seemed a bit off, as though she’d just been slumbering on them, and her eyes were bright, yet searching, as though they’d just been closed. Just as her mother had mentioned, she had lines around her eyes, showing a level of fatigue that didn’t match what William deemed to be her lifestyle. Perhaps the girl suffered from some kind of insomnia?

  “Good afternoon, darling!” Lady Abernale said. She rose and kissed Harriet on the cheek.

  “You’re looking quite …” Renata began, arching her brow. At this, Zelda rapped her hand across Renata’s upper arm.

  “Shh. Don’t be rude. We’re in mixed company,” Zelda hissed.

  “Oh, yes. I slept absolutely terribly!” Harriet said, her voice bright, in no way reflecting her external image. “I suppose it’s my fault. Always tossing and turning, dreaming up ridiculous things. I should really train myself to sit still.”

  Lady Abernale gave William a curious look before returning to her seat. Lady Arnold poured her daughter a cup of tea and gestured towards the cushion beside her. Harriet all-but collapsed upon it. William stifled a laugh. Harriet was reminiscent of a clown at a child’s birthday party.

  “Anyway,” Lady Abernale said, seemingly trying to patch over the suddenly bizarre (yet never boring) mode of the tea time. “Has anyone heard tell about the Marquess? Has he caught who stole the jewels yet?”

  “Isn’t it wretched,” Lady Arnold said. “Genevieve had only just been discussing the jewels with myself and Harriet at the ball. Wasn’t she, darling?”

  Harriet tipped her head forward and took a slight sip of tea.

  “Well, we discussed it a few days ago,” Renata chirped. “And we think that the Marquess and his wife deserve what happened to them. It’s not as though they earned those jewels through any proper means, you know.”

  “As though any of us came into our wealth properly—” Harriet uttered then.

  At this, Lady Arnold smacked her teacup onto its saucer and gaped at her daughter. Again, William yearned to chuckle, yet pressed his lips together tightly. Harriet turned her eyes into her tea cup, seemingly looking for an escape.

  “Darling. Are you sure you don’t want to return to bed?” her mother hissed.

  “No, I’m quite all right, Mother,” Harriet whispered.

  “You’re really not ill?” Lady Abernale asked.

  “I’m really fine,” Harriet said. But as she spoke, her eyelashes crept over her cheeks. Her mouth erupted into an enormous yawn. Again, she seemed at the mercy of whatever her body wanted her to do next.

  “Perhaps we should step outside?” Zelda asked then. “The clouds have cleared a bit, it seems, and I, for one, wish to spend as much time in the fresh air after
such a dreadful winter.”

  Zelda seemed a protective mother. She stepped towards Harriet, extending her hand. Harriet slipped hers over Zelda’s, allowing herself to be guided towards the hallway. Once outside, she flashed her eyes towards William, almost as an apology. William tilted towards the edge of his chair. Every inch of him yearned to follow after her.

  “Ah, there he is,” Renata said, making her eyebrows bounce. She crept closer to William. “I told Zelda that you still fancied her. And look at you now! Hungry to go outside after her.”

  William shoved himself back. His teacup clattered atop its saucer. “I was simply readjusting,” he told her, forcing his face to remain stoic. “To be frank, I would like to remain in this conversation regarding the Marquess.” To prove his point, he turned back to his mother and Lady Arnold, listening as they toiled on in the humdrum conversation.

  “Wasn’t anyone looking after the jewellery?” Lady Arnold sighed. “You would think such deliriously expensive jewels from Paris, of all places …”

  “Some people grow far too arrogant, you know,” Lady Abernale said. “They assume that no one can touch them. They assume nothing bad will ever happen to them! But they’re wrong.”

  “Of course. It’s best to stay on the safe side at all times,” Lady Arnold said.

  “That said, I’ll never forget the Marquess’ wife’s face,” Renata blurted, her cheeks burning pink. “When she was told her jewels were gone! You would have thought it was the very end of the world itself. Her skin was as green as the moors on a sunny day.”

  Lady Abernale stifled a giggle. William pushed himself further back in his chair, feeling, now, that he was trapped in this conversation for the foreseeable future. If he walked into the garden

  to find Zelda and Harriet, then Renata and Zelda (along with his mother and Harriet’s) would assume that he was “after” Zelda all over again. This was nothing he wished to translate.

  He knew it would create a world of torment for him. His mother would ask him endlessly why he wasn’t courting her. His father would mention the beauty of “a woman’s touch” in one’s life. The London society had a way of shoving you towards whatever reality it wanted for you, without asking what you wished.

  “What say you regarding this, William?” Lady Arnold asked. “After so many years abroad, you must have a far different eye regarding the Marquess.”

  William weighed up various responses. He imagined them, and their due terror. In fact, Lady Arnold, I find the Marquess to hold within him the central theme of all the evils of London. In my mind, if we were rid of men like the Marquess, we could fight towards better equality. Perhaps slums would improve. If man could only uphold the men around him; if man could acknowledge that we’re all meant to be equal on this earth—

  As the thoughts swirled in William’s mind, Renata’s lips parted into her own yawn. She blurted, “As much as I love gossip, I do think I want to join the girls. I’m far too young and beautiful to discuss the rickety old Marquess for the rest of the week. William, won’t you join me?”

  William could have kissed her. He bolted up, bowing his head to both Lady Arnold and his mother. It seemed neither of them had truly yearned for his response to the question regarding the Marquess. Already, they’d pressed their faces tighter together, muttering in a conspiratorial fashion reminiscent of war spies.

  Once in the hallway, William gripped Renata’s elbow. She nearly leapt out of her skin.

  “What!” Renata yelped.

  “Thank you. Thank you for getting us out of there,” he murmured.

  “What? Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I only pray we won’t grow to be as old and lacklustre as they are. No offence to your mother. She’s positively—lovely …”

  “You don’t have to lie.” William chuckled.

  “That’s wonderful news. It seems that in London, lying is a bit of a pastime.”

  William and Renata retrieved their coats and stepped into the back garden. A stream of sunlight burned out between grey clouds, casting its energy across the stony path. At its centre stood Harriet and Zelda: one blonde, one brunette, walking with their white, slender hands crossed over their stomachs.

  Despite not saying a single word, it seemed that Harriet anticipated them. She swirled around, turning her eyes to the door. William and Harriet gazed at one another for an impossibly long moment. The wind caught Harriet’s hair, churning it back. Zelda seemed to be demanding something of her, something that forced her hand to Harriet’s elbow, tugging it. Still, Harriet gazed at William with those lost, yet sincere eyes.

  William felt he could have died in that moment, and still lived a complete and total life.

  Chapter 16

  “You look absolutely wretched, Harriet,” Zelda muttered to her, still tugging at her elbow.

  “That’s not polite, is it?” Harriet said, her eyes still fixed towards the beginning of the stony path. William and Renata ambled down it, passing the various gardens as they approached. The wind thrust itself across William’s curls, making him look blustery and wild. Harriet’s heart beat with frenetic timing. She felt it might bolt itself directly out of her chest and onto the soggy ground.

  “It’s not about being polite or not, Harriet. It’s only that, if you’re ill, you should really be in bed! I don’t want you catching sick again.” She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip. “You’re such a baby when you’re sick.”

  “Oh, so this is about you avoiding suffering, is it?” Harriet asked, her voice teasing.

  “I suppose so.”

  William and Renata appeared beside them, then. Renata burst through Zelda’s words, interrupting, as was her custom.

  “Even I couldn’t commit to the gossip in there. It’s always the same three stories for the entire season, isn’t it? Does one lose all creativity once one hits 35?”

  “Perhaps William can answer that for us in a few years’ time,” Zelda said.

  The words were cold, almost calculated. Zelda pressed her lips together tightly afterwards. Harriet couldn’t help thinking: Zelda is only a year or so younger than William, and, in a sense, this sentiment had been cast towards herself, as well. The four of them grew heavy with the silence.

  William’s eyes flickered towards Zelda. They were difficult to read, although Harriet was smart enough to deduce what was happening. Surely, William had followed the two of them outside to speak directly with Zelda, to keep himself in her shadow. Whatever had happened or not happened over the previous eleven years, it didn’t matter. They would still surely wind up together.

  This felt like a heavy rock in Harriet’s stomach.

  “Shall we walk?” Renata asked, shifting her weight.

  The four of them trekked forward. Harriet felt William’s presence in every area of her mind, heavy and strange. When he spoke, his voice curled through her ears, warm and textured. She yearned to turn her head completely, to fall into the darkness of his eyes. But instead, she was trapped in whatever drivel Zelda was translating to her. Something about how she could sleep better through the night.

  My, oh my, Harriet thought. How strange it was to live such a double life.

  As they walked through the rose garden—still mostly thorn, sans the petals, there was a shuffle in the rocky corner. A tuft of hair burst out from the leaves. Then, an enormous black tail. Despite her fatigue, Harriet leapt forward, calling out, “Baxter!”

  Baxter was Harriet’s father’s dog, one he’d purchased for hunting. Harriet and her mother had never allowed him to take Baxter out on an expedition, however, due to their immense love for him. Throughout her teenage years, Harriet and Baxter had been stuck to one another like glue, escaping through the moors on imaginative adventures. Harriet had practiced her dog-howling whilst sitting beside him one evening, beneath a willow tree, and casting her chin towards the sky.