Lady Harriette, page 2
What might she say? General knowledge of her misdeeds had arrived at her doorstep, and now she must face the consequences. She struggled to break free of his tight grip. He released her with enough force to land her on her backside. Annabelle stood and righted herself. She had suffered at the hands of a man before. What little pride she possessed would never allow her to endure such brutal treatment again.
As it had been all those years ago, she was without a home—cast into the cold harsh world, alone as the day she was born. She forged ahead into the darkness with nary a backwards glance and gathered what little she could carry in her arms. Tears laced with contrition and sorrow traced down her face. What am I to do now?
After dinner, the gentlemen sat in Richard’s study—Darcy behind the cluttered desk and Richard in a comfortable chair by the fire. Richard drew a long puff from his cigar. He blew out a lazy cloud of smoke. “Your mind has been elsewhere all evening, Darcy. Why did you insist we forgo an evening with our wives to return to these crusty old ledgers? Have we not exercised enough diligence for one day?”
“I simply cannot fight this feeling that something is terribly amiss with these account books.” He opened the ledger to the place he had left off before dinner.
After a while, he rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Richard, I fear the situation is grimmer than either of us suspected. I no longer wonder why the tenants are in an uproar.”
“What? Why do you say that?”
“Come; you must see this.”
Richard did as his cousin requested. For the longest time, he studied, he contemplated, and he worried. “My God! I have been robbed.”
Chapter 2 ~ When They Woo
Deft fingers combed through long, dark tresses. Widely known for his rakish behaviour and heedless, nonchalant disposition, Richard had always prided himself a connoisseur of beautiful women, only now he deemed but one woman worthy of his attentions—his lovely, young bride.
He smiled. Being married to her had its advantages. Ever since that late autumn night, whilst visiting his parents’ Matlock estate, when he had entered her bedroom, under questionable circumstances, the sight of her hair cascading over her satin pillow never failed to arouse him. After months of marriage, every day he still questioned his good fortune in having won her hand.
The great irony in all this was that Richard had never known love before Harriette. He had never even thought he wanted to know love—nay he was certain of it. How he enjoyed chiding his younger cousin Darcy and making light of his struggles over his love for Elizabeth. Richard never envisioned such romantic frailties for himself. Now he was also married. Yet, there had been no struggle, no heartache and pain. It was as though it had been too easily won—as though he had not earned his blissfulness, but had stolen it. He had seduced an innocent. Now his greatest fear was she might one day come to her senses and realise all she had given up. She might one day consider him unworthy of her sacrifice.
The first time she visited the Matlock estate with her parents, after her coming out, came to mind. Lady Harriette was strikingly tall and voluptuous, with facial features and hair colouring favouring those of Elizabeth. He recalled amusing himself at the time that his dear, match-making mother had intended her for Darcy. What was more, Harriette was in every way amenable to the scheme. Harriette had always been and likely would always be a great flirt. He knew that from the start. At first he had been diverted by her antics to win Darcy’s affections. For a time, Richard, Darcy, and Lady Harriette had been inseparable—her ladyship had made sure of it. What an uncanny threesome they had made when she insisted upon accompanying them for their morning rides.
Her antics were far less appealing during their second time in company in Matlock. By then, Darcy had chosen Elizabeth as the woman with whom he wished to spend his life. How fortuitous for Richard that his cousin had placed in his hands the means of securing his own future mere moments after his dear father had threatened to cut him off financially. It was a note that bore Lady Harriette’s seal, elegantly inscribed Fitzwilliam. His cousin had argued that although she had handed it to him, surely she must have intended it for Richard, for it was hardly appropriate for a young maiden to address a note to a married man. Accepting the unread missive, Richard had commented on the fortuitous turn of events. Nothing ventured is nothing gained.
Theirs was the hastiest courtship his family had ever seen—a little under a month to be precise. He traced his fingers along her jawline. She is exquisite. Do I truly deserve this goddess? Had his father not threatened to cut him off financially, Richard would still be the care-free bachelor who came and went as he pleased. The timing of his father’s threat in conjunction with the beautiful young heiress’ dowry of fifty thousand pounds had certainly been the impetus for his pursuit. In the dark of night, he had stolen into her room. How young and foolish she had been to suppose she could tempt his cousin Darcy. He cautioned her on the folly of her misguided wish to entice his cousin. He recalled their first kiss. The gentle insistence of his lips pressed against hers had offered a glimpse of their future. He vowed to court her, to win her heart, to marry her.
Not an unpleasant turn of events for the second son of an earl, in want of a sizeable fortune. Richard adjusted his position in bed, causing his wife’s lush lashes to flutter. He kissed the tip of her nose. “It is time you awaken, my beautiful wife.”
She opened her eyes. His heart skipped a beat. She smiled and turned away, trying her best to curl up closer just as she always did. It was her ardent endeavour to cling to the last vestiges of sleep in his arms.
He brushed her hair to the side. “I have plans for you, this morning.” He caressed her bosom, gently tracing tiny circles. Her soft moans proved his efforts were not in vain. Lowering his hand, he traced light kisses along her slender neckline. Her womanly scent intoxicated him. The prospect of exploring her body in that manner all day held infinite appeal. Her tiny waistline, her firm abdomen. Those long slender legs. The soft treasure within.
His wife turned her face to his and their lips met. Richard swept his tongue inside her warm, pliable mouth and met hers in a sweet swirl. Sensual kisses and ardent moans, in simultaneity with his long, engaging fingers, led to a thunderous quiver. He entered her with a deep, urgent thrust and remained still long enough for her body to settle before he brought her to that special place again. In due time, he found his own pleasure, ever cognizant of their mutual desire to avoid any unintended consequences despite their connubial situation.
Yes, married life definitely had its advantages.
Harriette sat in her oversize bathtub and breathed deeply, relishing the invigorating scent of sweet oranges, whilst her lady’s maid washed her hair. She sighed contentedly. It had taken her a while to get used to this new home. Her parents’ country estate in Staffordshire, with all its conveniences, was better than three times the size of Beaconwood. If she had not noticed the stark contrasts at first, she certainly had by the time her parents had visited. Her dear father made certain of it. Although he had given his blessing on her marriage, he had done so with utmost reluctance.
It had taken quite a bit of work to get Beaconwood up to par, and still she had a long list of things to complete. She did the best she could with the money she had. Harriette pursed her lips. Richard had taken more than a casual interest in the nature of her expenditures of late—a stark and sudden contrast to when they first arrived at Beaconwood. He encouraged her to do whatever and spend whatever she had deemed necessary to improve the manor house in order to see it become one of the finest homes in Derbyshire. What has brought about his sudden bout of frugality? What was more, she had not failed to notice how much time her husband and his cousin had spent huddled in his study during the Darcys’ last visit. Whatever was the matter, it had not affected the housekeeper’s ability to exact the funds she requested to hire additional staff.
“What do you think of Mrs. Donaldson, Becky?”
After an awkward moment, Becky said, “In what respect, my lady?”
Must I spell it out? The housekeeper’s insolence had been a source of great vexation since Harriette arrived at Beaconwood. She lamented that fact to her lady’s maid with alacrity. Becky had been Harriette’s maid since her ladyship reached the age of sixteen. It was her ladyship’s wont to seek Becky’s opinion whenever something bothered her. Mrs. Donaldson certainly bothered her. Replacing her as housekeeper was one of the first things on her list, but her husband had been adamant that Mrs. Donaldson keep her position. Harriette simply did not trust the elderly woman. Her loyalty did not quite suit Harriette, for she objected to most of her recommendations for improvement as though it were an effrontery. Harriette did not like having her decisions questioned, even tacitly. The housekeeper was too shrewd to be out right insubordinate. Harriette decided to take pleasure in vexing the old woman at every turn.
“Well,” Harriette said, “you spend quite a bit of time below stairs with the servants.”
Now finished washing her ladyship’s hair, Becky wrapped a towel around it. “Must I remind your ladyship that I am a servant?”
“You comprehend my meaning, Becky.” She stood and allowed her maid to wrap a large fluffy towel around her. Stepping out of the tub, she said, “Pray, how does Mrs. Donaldson get on with everyone?”
“Mrs. Donaldson is well respected by all the staff, my lady. She is fair and honest. If I may speak plainly, I fail to see why you doubt her abilities.”
It was more like Mrs. Donaldson doubted her ladyship’s abilities. The housekeeper was intent on undermining her authority. Am I to blame because the old woman does not fancy taking orders from someone young enough to be her great-granddaughter? “I do not question her abilities as much as I question her loyalties.”
“Her loyalties, your ladyship?”
“Indeed. She seems more devoted to my husband and his family, even to this house, than she does to me. At times, I wonder why I tolerate her.”
“I suppose you have a point, but I do not believe any of that has to do with her disloyalty to you, my lady. It is just that she has been a stalwart of Beaconwood since Lady Matlock resided here as a child. For years she kept this place going as though it was lived in. Now that you and Colonel Fitzwilliam have made it your home, it is taking a bit of time for her to accustom herself to the change.”
“I see you and my husband are of the same mind in this matter.” She shrugged. “Very well, I shall be patient a while longer.” In due time, she will reveal her true self to Richard. Then I shall know how to act.
Becky returned from the wardrobe with three day dresses. “Which shall you don this morning?”
“The blue one suits my mood.” By far her favourite colour, it reminded her of the wide open sky—of the freedom of being outdoors.
Becky smiled. “The blue one it is.”
Moments later, Harriette crumpled her brow. “On second thought, I think I shall ride out this morning to see what my husband is up to. He mentioned having trouble with some of the tenants. Will you fetch my blue riding habit, instead?”
“As you wish.”
“And will you inform Mrs. Donaldson that, upon my return, I would like to inspect the new scullery maids whom she recently hired.”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
He observed his young bride from a distance with a mixture of pride and consternation as she raced across the tricky landscape. She marshalled her high-spirited chestnut gelding through nature’s hurdles, which might have been avoided altogether had she stuck to the main road. For the sake of his equanimity, Richard mounted his steed and dashed off to meet her.
Espying her husband, she slowed her pace in anticipation of his approach.
Comforted she met with no harm, Richard feigned more seriousness than he truly suffered. “Where are you headed—with such reckless abandon, I might add?”
She leaned forward and petted her gelding’s neck in appreciation of their triumphant ride. “I decided I would head out here to see you.”
“Harriette, I told you that I needed to settle a matter with one of the tenants this morning. Haggling with irate farmers is the last thing I wish to expose you to.” His lovely wife did not need to know the tenants woes stemmed from the dilapidated state of affairs at Beaconwood. The dire straits of the estate’s near empty coffers rendered him unable to do anything to address their concerns. Good humour and well intentioned words would only carry him so far.
“I am simply curious is all. I would not have said a word.”
“Why do I have trouble believing that?”
She is young. She is beautiful. It would not do to burden her with the estate’s travails. Good intentions aside, what could she possibly do? Heaven forbid she should turn to her father, one of the wealthiest men in England, and solicit his help. No—I would never allow him the satisfaction of knowing of my troubles.
“Was it not you who said my place is the management of the household matters whilst your place is the management of everything else?”
Richard raised a quizzical brow.
Harriette bestowed a dazzlingly coquettish smile. “Well, dear husband, I assure you that I respect you in that regard, even if you do not adhere to your own rule.”
“Does this have anything to do with my insistence you do not remove Mrs. Donaldson from her position as housekeeper?”
“I have decided to stop questioning your decision in said regard. In fact, after visiting with you, I plan to meet with her to have a look at the new servants she hired. Do you care to join me?”
His eyes widened. “Hardly! What do I care about such matters? That, my dear, is your domain, just as managing the tenants is mine.” Finding and retaining good help had been rather difficult of late. Richard no longer questioned why, and whilst this was yet another expense, it was one that could not be avoided.
“Of course. Household affairs hold no interest to the Master of Beaconwood. The Master of Beaconwood can only be bothered with tenants and crops—and horses.”
Richard jumped down from his horse and dashed to Harriette’s. He slipped his hands around her slender waist. Lowering her whilst pressing her body against his, he eased her to the ground. Still holding her close, he swept one hand up, caressed her neck and claimed her lips. She shuddered against him. Trailing his fingers along her cheek, he spoke softly in her ear. “That all those things are important is true, but none as important as you.” Her hair smelled terrific, fragrant oranges; its essence was nearly his undoing. “What say you do not keep your appointment with Mrs. Donaldson and we return to our warm bed?”
She pressed her hands against his broad shoulders and shook her head. “You are incorrigible.”
He reclaimed her lips—sweet, luscious. “Incorrigible? I suppose that is one way to describe how I feel at this moment.”
“What if we compromise? I shall keep my appointment with the housekeeper, and whilst I am downstairs, I will have Cook prepare a basket. Meet me by the lake in an hour?”
Dressed in black from head to toe, save the white lace trim that adorned her collar and cuffs, Mrs. Donaldson stood in a line up with the three young women she had recently employed. Still wearing her riding habit, Harriette held her hat tucked under her arm as she towered over them. Only Mrs. Donaldson stood high enough to meet her eye to eye without straining her neck. Harriette no more cared about the household staff than her husband, but she would do anything to vex the housekeeper. After decades of running the house, Mrs. Donaldson did not appreciate having her household management responsibilities subjected to such scrutiny, and she made little attempt to hide it.
Her ladyship said, “It is my pleasure to welcome you all to Beaconwood. I imagine I shall see you around and about, and I should very much like to know your names. Please, introduce yourselves.”
After a nudge from Mrs. Donaldson, the young lady standing closest to Harriette stepped forward and curtsied. Refusing to make eye contact, she kept her head low and said, “Pleased to meet you, my lady. I am Sally.”
Buxom and blonde, Sally stepped back in line and a second woman stepped forward.
“I’m honoured to meet you, my lady.” She dipped a deferential curtsey. “My name is Maggie.”
Short and skinny, the girl looked rather young with her red hair and tiny freckles—certainly no more than eighteen. “Maggie—how lovely. You may take your place in line.” Harriette walked to the end of the row and stood directly before the third woman. Her hair, most of it neatly arranged under her cap, was as dark and full of lustre as her own. Although the slender built woman kept her head held low, her air was not that of a servant. She seemed a bit out of place in comparison to the other two. She did not look up to meet Harriette’s firm gaze.
“Who are you?” Harriette said. The servant shifted nervously, but failed to meet Harriette’s eyes or answer her question.
Her ladyship turned to Mrs. Donaldson, crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes. “Is she mute?”
Mrs. Donaldson leaned forward and peered at the maid. “Please answer her ladyship when she speaks to you.”
The young woman looked at Harriette. Her ladyship gasped aloud! Her heart pounded in her chest. “Who are you? What is your name?”
The young beauty with amazing dark eyes curtseyed deeply. “I beg your pardon, my lady. My name is Annabelle.”
Lady Harriette placed her hand to her chest to still her rattled nerves as piercing dark eyes looked back at her. “Very well,” said her ladyship, her demeanour once again calm and collected. “Again, it is my pleasure to welcome you all to my home. I trust you will be very happy here.” Harriette turned to face her housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Donaldson. May I trouble you to have Cook prepare a basket for my husband and me?”
