Page 23 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“It is time to rise, Miss Oliver,” she chirped and for a moment, Henrietta was confused.
“What is the hour?” she demanded, noting that the sun still had not presented even a hint of itself through the night.
“Early,” Molly replied. “But you must eat and dress before we leave for Nightingale.”
“Of course,” Henrietta murmured, sitting up.
“Are you filled with excitement, Miss Oliver? You are marrying nobility. You will become a marquess!”
“I imagine that sounds much more romantic in fairy stories, Molly.”
The abigail stared at her in surprise.
“Miss, are you not happy to be marrying nobility?” The disbelief in her voice laced with contempt and Henrietta knew that a woman in her place would gladly give her life to have places traded. Perhaps if Henrietta had cared more for Molly, she would have felt some guilt for her moderate sullenness, but she could not muster the emotion.
“I will be down for breakfast in a moment,” Henrietta replied instead of addressing Molly’s question. She had never quite forgiven her for the role she had played in locking the door.
“You do not wish to have it here, Miss Oliver? I would attend to your hair and—”
“I have had quite enough of this room, Molly, or have you forgotten?” Henrietta snapped. “I will have my breakfast in the dining hall and then you may fuss with my hair.”
Molly’s eyes dropped in shame and she nodded.
“Yes, Miss.”
She scurried away so quickly, Henrietta wondered if she had made the girl cry. Shame did flood her then, and she gritted her teeth.
You cannot fault her,Henrietta reminded herself, but she found herself unable to muster sympathy for Molly any more than she could her mother. For years she had simply accepted their meekness while her father did as he pleased, neither speaking up for themselves or for her. She was exhausted from excusing their behavior and she no longer had to do it. In a few short hours, she would be free of Molly.
It put a slight skip in her step as Henrietta hastily moved toward the main floor where Ronscales and Davids waited like statues by the front door.
“Have you remained there all night?” she asked in shock. She had seen them in precisely the same spot before she had retired for the night.
“Yes, Miss,” they chorused, and her brow furrowed.
They will not make it to Nightingale without any rest,she thought but it was hardly her concern. Perhaps she even wished they might fall asleep, so she might silently gloat to her father that they had been unnecessary, but Henrietta knew she would do no such thing, even if such an event occurred.
“Your breakfast, Miss Oliver.”
She sat at the head of the table, a spot reserved for her father and smiled to herself. He would certainly not approve if he could see her, but it did not matter if Molly told him now.
Without preamble, she savored the meal as though it was her last. The nervousness which had plagued her for weeks had diminished considerably, and Henrietta devoured every morsel with relish. Sated, she sat back in the chair and waited as Molly took her plates.
“We are quite pressed for time, Miss Oliver,” she said when she returned. “We must tend to dressing you before we leave.”
The beam of contentment faded from Henrietta’s lips as she stared at Molly.
“You need not accompany me. I have the soldiers as my escorts.”
Molly studied her with confusion.
“I am not attending as your chaperone, Miss Oliver.”
“Are you an invited guest then?” The question was meant to be witty, but Molly seemed even more perplexed.
“No, Miss Oliver, I will accompany you to Nightingale as your abigail.”
“Pardon me?”
