Page 38 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“My pride insists I invoke our general rule. We must agree to disagree.”
“Very well, I acquiesce, but only for the sake of my Lady’s pride. We both know the truth of the matter.”
The mood had turned winsome again, and the silence now between them hung with less awkwardness. It was not comfortable by any means, but it was not painful. That was something at least. Henrietta closed her eyes for a spell and dozed, awakening to find a kink in her neck and many more miles travelled. She glanced out the window again to discover that she had no idea where they were, and that thought alone sent a delicious thrill through her from head to toe.
“You are smiling again, my dear Lady.”
“Freedom,” she said with a soft sigh.
“Freedom?”
“If you must know why I was smiling before and why I smile now, ‘tis because I am thinking of freedom.”
“And not cake?” he teased.
“No, not cake, my Lord Marquess, as good as it was.”
“What do you know of freedom, Henrietta?” he scoffed lightly. “You’ve just traded one noble prison for another. A jailer father for a jailer husband.”
“Is that what you intend to be? My jailer?” she challenged.
“’Tis not my wish, but I fear to be made a wife is to gain no more freedom than to be an army general’s daughter.” He became stoic for a moment and said, “And in the end, who is truly free?”
“Ask you, who are free,” she quipped.
“Now I will say touché. But answer me this, what do you hope to gain with this freedom you seek?”
“Is it wrong to desire to be free? Free to grow in thought and free to express those thoughts without judgment or censure?”
“I can think of no reason anyone should be denied such freedom. Certainly not my wife.”
“Ah, but my Lord Marquess,” she cautioned, “expressed thoughts often sound very much like opinions. And ladies with opinions, especially educated ladies, need to be controlled else they might run off and fulfill their dreams.”
“Controlled is a rather severe take on it.”
“Indeed. Severe. Hence, the need for freedom.”
“And what are your dreams, Henrietta?”
Henrietta said nothing, again unwilling to believe him trustworthy. He was just another member of society’s peerage, the society that was born and bred to quash a woman’s dreams. If, that is, she dared aspire to more than matrimony and motherhood.
“My Lady, please consider yourself always free to share your thoughts and opinions with me. In fact, I will make it a rule. You can trust me,” he added almost tenderly.
We will have to see, my Lord Marquess. We will have to see.
Chapter 16
Scarborough welcomed every affluent traveler with everything necessary for a leisurely and well-heeled stay upon its shores. The draw was, of course, the spa waters, but the town council had gone above and beyond to provide holiday and pleasure-seekers diversion of all sorts. Numerous accommodations were available, and those with means could relax by the sea in comfort and ease.
The rooms at the Old Bell Inn on Bland’s Cliff were perfect, spacious and well-appointed with an inside door conveniently connecting them. The servants had other accommodations above stairs which suited Ewan’s plan for privacy perfectly. The door was to remain open while Anna and Gerome were about and would be closed when they were safely dispatched to their own rooms.
As the traveling party had arrived late the night before, everyone had dropped tiredly into bed with little need for direction and even less chatter. The Marquess and his new wife had passed most of their first day by the sea in their separate quarters recovering from several days’ excitement. He decided to read, and she apparently spent her time writing letters. It was nearly time for tea, and they had agreed to enjoy it together in a tea room on the city’s famous cliff promenade. The stroll and the salt air would do them good. Such was their plan. In the meantime, Ewan readied himself for the outdoor excursion.
“From where in France do you hail, Gerome?” the Marquess asked his new valet.
The man deftly worked the blade across Ewan’s cheek, removing all traces of the dark stubble that had grown in since his last shave the previous morning.
“Have you been, My Lord?”
