The Stablemaster's Daughter (Regency Rendezvous Book 11) Read online

  “What need have I of their good opinion, when I have Ernest?” Despite her pretty words, her father seized upon the one concern that provoked a mountain of doubts, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Still, Henrietta had to fight for what she wanted, and she wanted Ernest. “Dearest father, I love you, and I would never purposely disobey you. Rather, I would honor your wishes, but in this instance, I cannot. I must follow my heart, which knows no silly rules, and it lies with Ernest.”

  Chapter Three

  The study at Garring Manor had changed little since Ernest was a young boy, and it held no happy memories for him, because his father often chose that location to dispense discipline. As he crossed the threshold, his ears echoed with the telltale cries for mercy, which mingled with the sharp report of the leather belt, as it struck the bare flesh of his backside, and he shuddered and drained the glass of brandy his brother thrust into his hand.

  “Ernest, are you all right?” Barrington carried a crystal decanter to the small table that perched between the two high-back chairs before the hearth. As he poured another healthy portion of the amber liquid into Ernest’s brandy balloon, Barrington frowned. “You are quite pale.”

  “I was reflecting on our childhood and how much I detested being summoned to this room.” And Ernest resented his brother’s similar command, because it brought to mind the horrors he endured at their sire’s hand. To his disgust, as he descended the stairs, his knees buckled more than once, and his palms dampened. In so many ways, he remained the frightened little boy, lost and alone, but not so anymore, because now he had Henrietta to comfort him, as she once did. “Why do you think our father hated me so much?”

  “For what it is worth, I do not believe it was a matter of hate. While I know there is no excuse for his barbaric treatment of you, I suspect he did not know how to love you. Indeed, he did not know what to do with you.” Gazing into the flames, Barrington shook his head. “Whereas I was his heir, thus he understood what was required of him, in respect to me, and he met the demands of rank but nothing more. We were never friends or drinking companions. He never invited me to White’s. While I submit he was too easy on me, he knew not how to handle you, so he hurt you to make you a man, in his way.”

  “Thus he beat me for my own good, and I am supposed to believe that was love?” Pain nestled in Ernest’s chest, and he cursed himself as tears formed in his eyes. Would he never escape the horrors of the past, or was he doomed to forever revisit the savagery that haunted his slumber, even as an adult? “No matter what you say, I will curse him until my death. Indeed, I would not spit on his grave were it on fire.”

  “I do not blame you, and you know I tried to protect you.” Barrington glanced at Ernest and frowned. “I tried to intervene on your behalf, and I begged him to stop.”

  “I remember well.” He almost choked on the recollection, which only intensified his anguish. “Father called me a coward, accused me of soliciting your sympathy, and he whipped me that much longer and harder.”

  “After that, I was afraid to interfere, because I did not wish to cause you further suffering, but I have been on your side, since we wore short coats, little brother.” Barrington shifted. “Which is why I did not protest, when Crawford informed me that you moved Henrietta into a guestroom.”

  “I was going to tell you, but the situation developed far faster than anticipated.” Indeed, even Ernest did not quite know where to go, as he had not planned to offer for Hen, or any woman, when he returned to Derbyshire, yet he did not hesitate when it came to his little bird. They had already lost eleven years, and he would not waste another minute. “But you cannot claim to be surprised, as you know I have always wanted Henrietta Graham, just as you pursued Florence. Is that why you did not tell me of her return?”

  “To be honest, I was rather shocked by the revelations, but I recovered. As for her return, I wanted her to surprise you, because I know of your longstanding affinity, where she is concerned.” Leaning against the armrest, Barrington propped an elbow and cradled his chin in his palm. “Still, have you any idea of the magnitude of issues you court?”

  “Do you object?” Ernest gnashed his teeth. “Does Florence?”

  “To Hen?” Barrington snorted. “No. And Florence was beside herself with joy, as you know she counts Hen a dear friend, as do I. We have known the stablemaster’s daughter as long as you, and we were all playmates, so there is no objection here.”

  “Then what is the problem?” In truth, Ernest was not prepared to defend his position, because he only knew the ultimate goal. He would make Henrietta his wife. “Why do you take exception?”

  “Come now.” Barrington arched a brow. “You cannot be that naïve. What of the Season, when you journey to London?”

  “You refer to the difference in our social status, of course.” Ernest set aside the brandy, as he needed no liquid courage to confront that particular query. “But the circumstances of her birth do not signify, to me, because our devotion transcends such boundaries.”

  Indeed, his was a masterful bit of trickery, to amass his fears, his anxieties, his insecurities, his doubts—his need to evade and deny them, and out of those shattered remnants of misery and pain to construct an invincible suit of armor with which to face the world, with Henrietta firmly planted at his side. And within that world, he would carve out a secret place for the two of them, where they could create their own future, without fear of recrimination.

  “It will matter to society, and therein lies the problem.” As usual, Barrington highlighted the singular snare in Ernest’s plans, with unerring accuracy. “I know you. Although I can afford to thumb my nose at the ton, as I am a marquess, you enjoy no such luxury, and you have always valued their good opinion. To them, what you contemplate is forbidden, and what are you without their respect?”

  “You think I have not considered that? You think me ignorant of the piety and self-righteous rationalizations construed by society to forbid something that is not wrong, in the first place? I submit Henrietta is not of low birth. Rather, she is a victim of those who would control her.” The mere thought of surrendering Hen and wedding someone else evoked a violent response, and he would not even contemplate the prospect, now that they were reunited. “But I cannot be deterred, brother. I want Hen. I have never wanted anything as much as I want her, and I will have her, with or without your blessing.”

  “Wait a minute.” Barrington stiffened his spine. “Do not include me in that perfumed pack of wolves, because I am the last person to cast stones, given I took up piracy while on the run.” Then he stood, walked to his desk, opened a drawer, sifted through various items, and returned with an official looking document. “If you intend to see this through, then you should know all the facts.”

  Curious, Ernest snatched the paper from his brother’s grasp and perused what turned out to be a contract between their sire and the stablemaster. As he digested the contents of the agreement, his fingers shook, and he made no attempt to hide the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks, given the gravity of the terms.

  “I will never forgive him for this.” It was the final insult, and he slumped his shoulders, as the depth of the betrayal weighed heavy. In a sense, it was as though he lost Henrietta all over again.

  Since that horrible day when he first learned of her departure, he suffered her absence repeatedly, as manifested by even the smallest most innocent detail. He experienced her loss in the breeze that blew through the meadow where they often played, in the cowslips that returned every spring, in the empty space where she often sat on the front porch of the stablemaster’s cottage, waiting for him, and the old yew she loved to climb.

  He did not lose her just once.

  He lost her countless times, in incalculable ways, over and over again, such that the torment often seemed never-ending.

  “He knew what she meant to me, even then. Yet he conspired to take away the one person who gave me hope, and he paid her father a vast deal more than gener
ous annuity to achieve his aims.” He gave vent to an unholy roar of disgust. “And I am to be disinherited and removed from the line of succession, should something happen to you and your heir, if I marry Hen.”

  “No.” With feet firmly planted, Barrington folded his arms. “When our father died, and the title and estate came into my possession, our solicitor notified me of the stipulations of the entailment, and I altered them, as was my right, but the annuity remains in effect, as I would not jeopardize Hen’s financial security.”

  “Why would you do that?” Ernest drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his face. “Why do you care?”

  “Because it was wrong, and if our father was here, at this very moment, I would tell him so.” Barrington rested a hand to Ernest’s shoulder. “Whatever you decide to do with your life is your affair, and I will support you in your cause, come what may. However, if you insist on taking Hen as your bride, you had better commit, wholeheartedly, because the task will not be easy for either of you, and it will be doubly hard on her.”

  “What do you mean?” Reeling from the treachery, Ernest again emptied his glass.

  “If you will ponder the situation with your customary attention to detail, you will comprehend my warning, provided you start thinking with your brain and not with your breeches.” Barrington chucked Earnest’s chin. “Men may be the stronger sex, but women rule London’s ballrooms, and the grand dames can be vicious, especially when it becomes clear that another eligible bachelor is checked off their list of potential targets. When they discover your bride-to-be is the daughter of our stablemaster, things are liable get ugly.”

  “Then I must take care that they never find out her true history, else I may be moved to violence in her defense. I must compose a new account to satisfy the gossips and protect my lady.” All manner of narratives came to life, as Ernest reflected on the possibilities, and he plotted a course with unbending detail. He would persist, he would fight, he would claw his way back to that part of his life stolen from him by his unscrupulous father and find a measure of happiness. That he would triumph with Henrietta despite his father’s meddling would be the sweetest victory of all. “First, I must pay a visit to our stablemaster, assure him that my intentions are honorable, and secure his approval, else I am doomed to failure.”

  ~

  Sunlight filtered through the drapes, as Henrietta languished in the plush four-poster of the guestroom at Garring Manor. Decorated in rich blue damask, trimmed in old gold, with refined mahogany furnishings in the Sheraton tradition, the chamber suited her tastes. Stretching, she hummed her appreciation of the soft sheets and then scooted to the edge, just as a maid entered the room.

  “Good morning, Miss Graham.” Maisy, a particularly young servant, curtseyed. “Crawford assigned me to attend your needs. Shall I air a dress and style your hair?”

  “But that is too ridiculous, and since when do you address me so formally?” Was it Henrietta’s imagination, or did she detect a note of sarcasm in Maisy’s tone? “I am perfectly capable of managing myself.”

  “Sorry, Miss Graham.” Maisy yanked the counterpane none too gently, as she made the bed. “I have my orders, and I will do my duty, even for a stablemaster’s daughter who would pass herself off as a lady.”

  “I beg your pardon?” It was the first signal that not everyone would cheer Hen’s new position in the household, and she marked her father’s prophetic words. While she anticipated some resistance from the debutantes, never had she expected discord from her own rank. What awaited her in London, amid polite society unaccustomed to marriage between the classes? “If you are assigned to perform my bidding, then you are dismissed.”

  “Fine.” Maisy dropped a pillow and curtseyed. “Have a pleasant day, Miss Graham.”

  Angry and more than a little hurt by the exchange, Henrietta donned a morning dress of her own design, in a pale pink muslin, with hand-painted flowers at the hem, the cuffs of the sleeves, and the neckline. After arranging her hair in a severe chignon, to match her mood, she pulled her wool pelisse from the armoire and stomped into the hall. At the landing, she spied a familiar and welcomed face.

  “Florence—I mean, Marchioness Ravenwood.” Hen sketched a quick curtsey, and with outstretched arms they met and shared a warm hug. “It is wonderful to see you, and I congratulate you on your wedding, the birth of your son, and the joyous news of the impending addition to your family.”

  “Stuff and nonsense, as I have always been Florence to you, dear Hen, my friend, and I am so happy you are home.” The noblewoman laughed and kissed Henrietta’s cheek. “And thank you, so much. I was thrilled when Barrington told me of your engagement to Ernest, and you must let me throw you the most extravagant wedding London has ever seen. We will post the banns, I shall take out an announcement in The Times, and you will walk the aisle at St. George’s. Can you just imagine it? It will be as we fantasized, when we were young.”

  “That would be lovely.” Suddenly, the full weight of Henrietta’s decision struck her as a blow to the face, and she stumbled to the side, as she pondered what Ernest’s plan demanded of her. “Oh.”

  “Hen, are you all right?” As usual, Florence provided unshakeable support. “You are white as a sheet.” She led Henrietta to a bench in the gallery. “Come and sit.”

  “I do not know what is wrong with me.” Surrounded by the disapproving gazes of Ernest’s ancestors, depicted in paint and plaster, which seemed to cry out in protest, for all eternity, Hen fanned herself and then pressed a clenched fist to her mouth. In so short a span of time, she measured her existence in terms of absence, by the empty spaces she once inhabited, instinctively reaching for them as a hungry babe sought its mother’s breast. In a sense, she felt trapped between two worlds, such that neither place offered sanctuary, and it had only been one night, yet, she belonged nowhere. “I apologize, as I am not myself.”

  “It could not be that you attempt to do too much, at once.” Florence peered at the ceiling, and then met Hen’s stare. “Because you would never do that.”

  Together, they burst into laughter.

  “How I missed you, Flo.” At last, Henrietta found an ally, and she needed one just then. “Two days ago, when Ernest and I reunited, everything seemed so clear. Although I had not seen or spoken to him in eleven years, it was as if we never parted. When he proposed, I accepted him with no reservations.”

  “And now that you have slept on it, you realize things are a bit more complicated?” Florence had a way with reducing the complexities of life to their simplest form, something Henrietta appreciated. “Talk to me.”

  “I know not what came over me.” When Florence arched a brow, Hen sighed. “Oh, all right. Ernest kissed me, everything went hazy, and I suspect I would have surrendered to Boney, at that point.”

  “Your first love.” Florence closed her eyes and exhaled. “How enticing and delicious.” Then she came alert. “So, how was it?”

  “It was magical.” Henrietta clutched her throat and revisited the cherished memory. “As many times as I engaged in such behavior with him, in my dreams, it was nothing compared to the real thing.”

  “Is that when he proposed?” Florence inquired. “Barrington told me of Ernest’s plans.”

  “Am I a fool for accepting him?” Henrietta reflected on Maisy’s reaction to Hen’s new status. “I do not believe everyone wishes me well.”

  “What did you expect?” Florence’s statement cut Hen to her marrow. “While this may be eighteen-nineteen, there are some institutions that remain firmly entrenched in English society, and you must either overcome or ignore the naysayers, and I suspect there will be many, so you must prepare yourself for the fight, and it will be a fight.”

  “Am I wrong for wanting Ernest?” Hen gulped. “Do I aim too high?”

  “Do you truly want him?” Flo twined her fingers in Hen’s.

  “He is the only man I have ever wanted.” Yet, from where Henrietta stood, she could not seize upon a solut
ion that would enable her to marry Ernest and maintain her dignity. Something had to give, but what was she willing to surrender to claim the man she always wanted? “But at what cost will I break the dictates of society, and what will it do to Ernest?”

  “Did Ernest share the details of Barrington’s exile?” When Hen nodded the affirmative, Florence bowed her head. “There are those who shunned me during my husband’s absence, after the authorities accused him of a murder he did not commit. While he was on the run, he resorted to piracy, to survive, and he required a pardon from the Crown to return to England.” She squeezed Hen’s hand. “During those lonely, miserable days, I prayed for Barrington’s safety and confined myself to my residence. I relied on my family for comfort, but even my father abandoned me, in some respects, and society, aided and abetted by my so-called friends, ran my name through the muck, if only to satisfy their insatiable lust for scandal and blood.”

  “Ernest said he offered for you, but you feigned illness to forestall the nuptials.” Hen could not begin to comprehend what her childhood companion endured at the hands of those who should have championed her. “Of course, he explained his did so out of desperation, in order to defend you, because he knew not if Barrington would ever come home. I wish I had been there for you.”

  “In some respects, you were, because I relied on fond memories of our friendship to sustain me in the darkest hours, and of that there were many.” Florence hugged her belly and smiled. “I am sure you know I have nothing against Ernest, but I could not wed him, when my heart has always belonged to Barrington, and that is why you must not yield the field. No matter what anyone says, you must be strong and win your man, because love knows no social boundaries.” She clucked her tongue. “Given how the ton treated me, they may go to the devil.”

  “Florence.” Henrietta giggled and peered over her shoulder, as she was unprepared to confront the Howe brothers. “I should go.”