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

  “Magnificent.” He caressed a glittering gem. “We will take it.”

  “Ernest—no.” Henrietta yanked on his arm, but he paid no heed. “If the other things were too much, that collection is beyond the pale, and I will not wear it.”

  “Yes, you will, and it will pale in comparison to your beauty.” To Mr. Leighton, Ernest said, “I will send my footman to fetch my purchases.”

  “As always, it is a pleasure doing business with you, my lord.” The jeweler bowed. “And permit me to congratulate you on your engagement.”

  “Ernest Cornelius Frederick Howe, no matter what you say, I will not accept such an expensive gift, however well intended.” In a familiar affectation that brought a smile to his face, because he could read her like a book, she thrust her chin and folded her arms, as he all but dragged her outside. “My lord, I have reached the end of my tether, and I wish to go home, because it is not appropriate for a woman of character, regardless of low birth, to accept such gifts, and I will not disgrace my father, as he taught me better.”

  “What a noble argument you make. Did he also teach you to obey your future husband?” Yes, he purposely taunted his lady, because he reveled in her company. “Else you could have difficulty sitting, during our married life, because I rather fancy the thought of spanking your bare bottom, though I would never hurt you.”

  “You would not dare.” Her brown eyes flared. “And the operative word, which you conveniently omit, is future. You are not yet my lord and master, and at this rate you may never be, thus I retain my right to protest. I am not a child.”

  “Then do not behave as one.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, he winked. “If you are to play your part, you must dress the part, and I plan to outfit you in a wardrobe fit for a queen, because you are my queen.”

  “Lord Ernest, this is an unexpected surprise.” It was then he noticed Mrs. Dudley, the biggest gossipmonger in Derbyshire, as she wrinkled her nose and leveled her gaze on Henrietta. “And who is this young lady availing herself of such an estimable escort and one of the most eligible bachelors in England?”

  He cursed under his breath.

  “Mrs. Dudley, what a pleasure.” With a nod of his head, he acknowledged the notorious busybody’s presence, and at his side Hen stiffened. “Allow me to introduce Miss Henrietta Graham. While we would love to chat, Miss Graham and I are due at Garring, and we are already late, so we bid you a fond farewell.”

  With that, he drew Henrietta across the street and steered her toward the narrow medieval streets known as the Shambles and the Royal Oak pub.

  “Are we in trouble?” When he spied fear in her usually charming countenance, he ducked into a cramped alleyway.

  In the dim corridor, free of interlopers, he pushed her against a wall and did what he ached to do all afternoon. He kissed her.

  Lush and ripe as a decadent strawberry, her lips posed a succulent temptation, and he deepened the connection, plunging his tongue into the warmth of her mouth, and she moaned. Fire scorched a path from their point of contact to the lethal part of his anatomy, which roared to life beneath his expensive, tailored garments, and never had Ernest felt more a man, as she shivered in his arms.

  Teetering on the edge of some imaginary brink, he longed to take her, to hike her skirts, set her on her back, lift her heels, and lose himself in her most tantalizing flesh. Instead, he broke free and withdrew from his lady.

  “Did I do something wrong?” She frowned.

  “I wish you would not always presume the fault lies with you, when I am to blame for our inappropriate tryst, but I submit I am helpless to resist the lure you present, because I desire you.” Somehow, he just stopped himself from reengaging in behavior unbecoming a gentleman, as he offered his escort. “Now, let us share a meal and conversation, as we must strategize our next move, and I am sorely in need of a drink.”

  “And that would be—what?” Again, she rested her hand in the crook of his elbow and squeezed his arm. “I thought you planned to introduce me as a distant relation.”

  “Indeed.” But the ton would not settle for something so pedestrian, and even the most plausible tale could prove unconvincing to the nosiest marriage-minded mama. “Yet, we must have care and create a new narrative, and one that omits any mention of your true history, if we are to succeed in our ruse.” If only he could muster sufficient confidence to quiet his nagging doubts and bolster his fortitude, because theirs was tricky business. “In a sense, you shall be reborn.”

  ~

  In a sense, you shall be reborn.

  As Henrietta sat in the back parlor, she gazed out the window and reflected on Ernest’s declaration, which left much unsettled in her mind, because everything relied on her ability to deny her heritage, in the face of society’s scrutiny. While he made it sound so simple to conceal the truth of her birth, she was not half so encouraged, because she could not escape the feeling that she was somehow betraying her father and her mother’s memory, and she knew not how to be anything more than a stablemaster’s daughter.

  “May I join you?” In the doorway, Florence stood and smiled. “You appeared lost in thought, such that I was hesitant to disturb you.”

  “Oh, Flo, you could never disturb me.” Henrietta leaped from the chaise and ran to embrace her childhood chum. Would that everyone in society could be so accommodating as her old friends. “And it is good to see you, as I need an ally right now.”

  “So I gather, after Ernest’s impromptu shopping trip, which I suspect has left you out of sorts, given his lavish taste and generosity, where you are concerned.” Flo ushered Hen to the sofa, and they relaxed. “And Barrington is furious, because he believes his brother does not guard your reputation, and I gather he intends to have words with Ernest.” She clasped Hen’s hand, twined their fingers, and gave a gentle squeeze. “While I have no desire to personally witness the exchange, I would dearly love to be a fly on the wall, and I fear we may be in for a bumpy courtship.”

  “But I do not wish to be the source of strife between them, as their relationship has always been a tad rocky.” And such rancor did not bode well for Henrietta’s fledgling union with Ernest, which already boasted plenty of complications, none of which inspired courage or conviction. “While I comprehend the need for secrecy, regarding my low background, I do not understand the urgency.” She peered at Florence. “Why can Ernest and I not simply elope? Why must we journey to London, and why must I enter society?”

  “Because his social standing requires more of his bride. If you accept him, then you must also accept your place in his world.” Flo sighed and shook her head. “Never was that impressed upon me so greatly until Barrington fled England, and I was forced to confront the responsibilities of my own stature, as I was expected to wed, because it was the thing to do, regardless of my emotional attachments. Given the contract negotiated by my father, I was bound to the marquessate, despite my objections.”

  “Which sounds so silly.” Even as Hen voiced the comment, she realized she would be expected to abide by the same ridiculous, unwritten rules, once she married Ernest. “I know little of etiquette, and I am to learn a new narrative, one that better suits the ton, but I am not sure that suits me.”

  “I can help with the dictates that govern our set, and I sympathize with your situation, as my father tried to persuade me to wed Ernest, regardless of my love for Barrington, and I refused to do so. Thus I found myself isolated from those who might offer support.” Florence bowed her head and sniffed. “It was the darkest, loneliest time of my life, and the only thing that sustained me was the unshakeable belief that my man would return for me.”

  “And he did.” Just as Henrietta returned for Ernest, and the similarities in their predicament was not lost on her. Did Ernest need Henrietta as Florence needed Barrington? “I can only hope I fare half so well as you.”

  A knock at the door cut short the conversation, and Flo stiffened her spine. “Come.”

  “I beg your pardon,
my lady.” Crawford bowed. “But a Mrs. Dudley and a Miss Dudley just arrived to pay call.”

  “Oh, no.” Hen flinched. “Ernest and I ran into them, in Chesterfield. What could they possible want?”

  “It is all right. Let us not panic.” Florence stood and smoothed her skirts. “Crawford, we will take tea and scones, in the drawing room.”

  “Again, I beg your pardon, my lady.” The butler shuffled his feet. “But Mrs. Dudley expressed a desire to visit Miss Graham.”

  “No, I cannot do it.” Hen wrung her fingers, as her knees buckled. “It is too soon. I know not what to say or how to act. Send them away, as I am not prepared to receive callers.”

  “We cannot do that without rousing suspicion, and Mrs. Dudley is the worst scandalmonger in England.” Florence hugged her belly and humphed. “If we do not accommodate her, she will have you infected with the plague, increasing with Ernest’s love child, and declare you the illegitimate daughter of Bonaparte, and the news would spread halfway across the county before the day is done.”

  “She would not dare.” Angry in an instant, Hen clenched her fists. “She could not be so cruel, when I have done naught to her.”

  “Trust me, she has done much worse to complete strangers and reveled in their destruction.” Lingering before a wall mirror, Florence assessed her appearance and then glanced at Henrietta, and a chill of unease shivered down her spine. “Let us face the enemy, as a united front, and you will follow my lead.”

  “I do not have a good feeling about this.” Henrietta bit her lip and wanted to vomit. “In fact, I am terrified by the prospect.”

  “Posh.” Florence ushered Hen into the hallway. “Actually, I think it could be quite fun, if we take the right tack.”

  “I do not follow.” As they neared the drawing room, her ears rang, and her heart hammered in her chest. “Whatever happens, I beg you, do not leave me.”

  “Chin up, dear friend.” Florence gave Henrietta a playful nudge. “Let us do unto the Dudleys as they would do unto us, and enjoy a bit of sport at their expense.”

  “How I envy your spirit.” Henrietta gulped, as she doubted everything about the impending meeting. “I think I am going to swoon.”

  “Smile, and you will do no such thing.” Florence winked and swept into the elegant chamber. “Agnes, darling, how wonderful to see you, and you brought your charming daughter Druscilla with you, thus I am doubly blessed, today. To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

  Henrietta almost choked on Florence’s falsehood.

  “Lady Ravenwood.” Wide-eyed and sputtering, Agnes curtseyed. When she noted Druscilla remained stock-still, the mother snapped her fingers, and the daughter made her less than graceful obeisance. “I am so sorry to disturb you, given your condition, and I thought your butler understood I called upon Miss Graham.”

  “But Miss Graham is my honored guest.” As a queen assumed her throne, Florence eased to a large, overstuffed chair. “Would you snub me in my own home?”

  “Of course not, and that was not my intent, Lady Ravenwood.” The gossipmonger blanched, and Henrietta barely stifled a snort of laughter. “Forgive me for the confusion, as I would never be so impudent as to offend a noble of your estimable stature, but I had thought to welcome Miss Graham to our little community, as I presume she has few acquaintances and could, therefore, benefit from new friendships. Especially from a colleague of discrimination and breeding.”

  Ridiculous, insufferable woman.

  “My, but you are the soul of charity.” Henrietta stifled a gurgle of laughter, as Crawford rolled the tea trolley into the room. Flo gazed at Hen, and she pondered her friend’s scheme. “Would you be so kind as to pour, Henrietta?”

  “Of course.” Curious, she nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”

  As she fulfilled her charge, she studied Florence, as the marchioness engaged the interlopers in casual conversation, with skill and ease Hen could only admire. When she passed out the refreshments, Mrs. Dudley arched a brow.

  “Must confess I adore your gown, Miss Graham. It really is remarkable, and I should commission a new wardrobe for my daughter, prior to our annual trip to London, for the Season, you know.” Mrs. Dudley stared down her nose and assessed Hen from top to toe. “Did you purchase it at a boutique in London or Chesterfield, because I would love to know the designer?”

  Unsure how to respond, Hen swallowed hard, because the dress was of her own making, and there was nothing like it in the immediate area. Then an idea came to mind. “I bought it at a little shop in Kent, but the store is no more, because the owner has since passed away.”

  “How unfortunate.” The nosy woman snapped to attention. “So you hail from Kent?”

  “Er—yes.” Was that not the narrative Ernest suggested? Henrietta bit her tongue and glanced at Flo for guidance.

  “What a coincidence.” With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, Mrs. Dudley lowered her chin. “My mother was born in Kent, and her family still resides there. Perhaps you know the Blands of Tunbridge Wells?”

  The world seemed to turn on its end.

  “I do not believe so.” Fighting panic and the urge to flee, Henrietta perched in a Hepplewhite chair near the window and rested her hands in her lap, because she only had to fool the intruders long enough for Flo to enact her hastily sketched plan. “But Kent is a rather large county, and I am but one person.”

  “What of your kin?” Druscilla, quiet until that instant, entered the fray, snatched a piece of shortbread from the tray, and shoved the confection none too delicately into her mouth. Then she mumbled, “Where were you born?”

  Silence fell on the chamber.

  In that instant, Florence sneezed.

  “Oh, dear.” The marchioness pressed a palm to her cheek. “But I am chilled, and that is not good for a lady in my delicate condition.”

  “Shall I fetch your shawl?” Henrietta inquired.

  “You are too kind to me.” Florence smiled. “What would I do without you?”

  “I am sure you would manage.” As she strolled into the foyer, Hen rolled her shoulders, hiked her skirts, and ran upstairs. On the second-floor, she located Flo’s lady’s maid. “Mead, Lady Ravenwood requires her shawl.”

  “Right away, Miss Graham.” The servant curtseyed and rushed toward the master suite. A few minutes later, she returned. “Shall I take it to her?”

  “I can do that.” Hen collected the knitted wrap. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Again, the maid made her obedience, which still disconcerted Henrietta, because she was one of them.

  Upon returning to the landing, she noted Florence standing in the foyer, as she held open the door for Mrs. Dudley and Druscilla, and Henrietta ducked into the hall. Peering past the edge of the wall, she hid in the shadows and waited until Florence ushered the Dudleys across the threshold.

  At last, the marchioness waved and then turned around. “You can come out now, as they are gone.”

  “Thank heavens.” Heaving a sigh of relief, Henrietta charged the stairs and descended to the first floor. “How did you get rid of them so quickly?”

  “I told them I felt faint, which is not necessarily untrue, given their odious company and my condition. Had they dawdled much longer, I might have been ill, in truth, and I wager they would not have enjoyed that.” With a sly smile, Florence patted her belly. “But their encroachment is most unfortunate, because Mrs. Dudley views you as competition for her daughter, and I gather Ernest will not be pleased by the inauspicious development.”

  “What inauspicious development?” As if on cue, Ernest strolled into the foyer, from the general direction of the study, with the marquess at the rear, and he immediately settled his gaze on Henrietta. “Did something happen?”

  Before Hen could respond, Barrington pulled his wife into his arms and gave her a vast deal more than thorough kiss, which brought the burn of a blush to Henrietta’s cheeks, and she wished Ernest welcomed her in similar fashion. Not because she coveted
the estimable nobleman, but because she longed for such reassurance from her beau. Could he not see the toll his plan exacted on her? Did he not understand that she died a little, every time she lied and denied her heritage?

  “That awful Mrs. Dudley and her horrible daughter paid call, and they posed numerous questions about my background, for which I was unready to answer.” Hen bit her bottom lip, as she prepared to deliver the ill tidings. “In my nervous state, I admitted I came from Kent, and Mrs. Dudley informed me that she has relations in Tunbridge Wells. Do you realize what that means?”

  “You did what?” With hands on hips, Ernest shifted his weight, and she gulped. “I warned you were not to share any details regarding your personal history until we devised a proper story, because our narratives must match. Indeed, we must be as one, else our endeavor is doomed to failure. Would you undermine our efforts from the start? Really, Hen, how could you be so careless?”

  “Yes, I know, and I apologize, but it was not my fault.” To her chagrin, tears formed, because she had never been the target of Ernest’s indignation, and she shuffled her slippered feet, in discomfit. “Can you not understand that I was anxious, and I knew not how to answer the woman without rousing suspicion?”

  “So instead, you revealed the truth, which could threaten our entire enterprise and future, because Mrs. Dudley has ties to Tunbridge Wells.” He sighed in unveiled frustration, and Henrietta wanted to crawl back to her father’s cottage, but that was not an option for her. Given the disagreement, she had no choice or escape. “Do you want us to fail? Are you not in favor of our scheme and what we hope to achieve?”

  “It could not be helped.” She splayed her arms in entreaty. Could he not see her distress? “Please, Ernest, I am sorry.” To her shock and embarrassment, he dismissed her without so much as a dip of his chin and skipped upstairs. Stock-still, and her mouth agape, she stared at Barrington and Florence. “Truly, I meant no harm, but I know not how to be something I am not.”