Page 30 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“That bad, eh?” Averson replied, taking the glass and adding to it.
“You were there as I recall.”
“Yes, yes, indeed I was. You were all nervous excitement when you went to lift the veil. It was quintessentially quaint!” Averson announced dramatically. “And then you made quite the scene, leaving that poor girl to think you had looked upon Medusa herself.”
Ewan winced and took another swig of scotch. He was acutely aware that was not his finest moment.
“I might owe her an apology for that,” he mumbled.
Averson laughed. “You owe her something, that’s for sure.”
“I truly fail to see how this is all so amusing, Averson,” Ewan asserted indignantly.
“Come now, my friend. Is it really so bad? To be wed to a clever and comely girl? You could do much, much worse. The stupid ones are incredibly hard to bear.” He downed the last of his drink. “Even if they are pretty.”
“Clever how?” Ewan’s mind shot back to the ruse of visiting a sick relative. Nothing good ever came from dishonesty. And since the ruse was part of keeping her mysteriously out of his sight until today, well, the taste in his mouth just turned all the more bitter.
“She’s smart, Ewan. I have a new valet who was recently in the employ of General Oliver. Seth tells me that your bride was caught on more than one occasion reading medical journals well into the night — much to her father’s chagrin. And the General suspects his daughter of frequenting the circulating library in Byrne to feed this incessant hunger for knowledge.The medical journals,” he repeated with annoying emphasis.“The General keeps her close, but she has been known to become separated from her abigail from time to time. It’s naturally all hushed up.”
“And just what interest could this girl possibly have in medical journals?”
“That is what I behoove you to discover.” Averson finished his drink. “Again, I say, you could do much worse. Ladies like Miss Oliver are curious creatures. Very intriguing, wouldn’t you say?”
“No. I would not say. Sounds like trouble. I don’t want trouble, Averson. I just want to be left alone. Why does no one understand that?”
Ewan had given a standard answer, but truth be told, he was intrigued, if only a little.
“Well, being left alone is going to be a problem, at least for a few days. There are nearly a hundred people in the Nightingale dining room currently eating a wedding feast with a very gracious, if unconventionally attired, bride and noting the very conspicuous absence of a groom.”
Ewan stood, set down his glass, and straightened his tailcoat. Intrigue had won the day over melancholy. “My Lady hath returned from far afield to sit at table?” he mocked.
“She has indeed, sir.”
“Then methinks we best attend to her promptly, Lord Averson. It is most-bad form to maketh my Lady wait. Especially on her wedding day.”
“Indeed, it is,” Averson replied with a smile, following his friend out the apartment doors. “Indeed, it is.”
Chapter 12
Henrietta, with shoulders back and chin high, returned to the house with Ronscales and Davids dutifully in tow. With a distinct determination, she set her jaw and marched through the large front doors of Nightingale. Her mother, however, stopped her cold in the foyer before she could enter the dining room and take her appropriate place at table.
“Henny, you are a disgraceful mess. You will retreat to your rooms this instant and dress appropriately before you sit down to dinner.”
“Mother, I don’t have rooms here yet. You will please step aside. I am going into the dining room.”
“I forbid you, Henrietta! Your appearance is atrocious. Running about the countryside like a wild animal. I will not allow you to be seen like this! Go!”
Henrietta cringed before she drew a deep breath. “And I will not allow you to speak to me like a child, Mother. I am, need I remind you, the new Marchioness of Peterborough. And by your design if I recall. Now, please, excuse me as I expect dinner is waiting on me.”
Tabitha drew back in surprise, thus making way for her daughter to pass. “You are making us all fools, Henrietta. This is too much.”
Henrietta chuckled sardonically. “Mother, you could not be more correct.”
A hush fell over the large dining room, and the din of chattering guests fell awkwardly away as Lady Henrietta Maria Oliver Clark, the new Marchioness of Peterborough, stepped into the room. A hasty announcement of her presence was made by a quick-thinking steward and everyone in the room rose to stand. With all the poise she could muster, she walked tall toward the two conspicuously-empty chairs at the head table. She felt a wayward ribbon brush her cheek as it dangled dangerously from her disheveled hair. Blowing at it momentarily from pursed lips, she paid it no more mind. There was no going back now. She knew there was no forgiving her appearance, but it served the Marquess right. Insult to injury, indeed.
When she reached her chair, she faced the crowd of wedding guests, every last one a complete stranger. She noticed her father’s look of complete mortification as her mother sidled up to him with a look of disgust all her own. That look seemed to say,I tried to stop her.
Henrietta forced a nervous, regal smile, as she imagined the finest lady of the realm would do. “Please, everyone sit and enjoy,” she announced boldly. The music started, breaking the tense silence, and the guests resumed their chattering conversations, of which she was quite sure she was the central subject matter.
