The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) (14 page)

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I suppose I am. The swirl of guests, Lady Georgiana, Lady Isabella, and Miss Saxton’s illnesses, the earl—they have my mind running in all different directions. I am sorry, dear. I did not mean to cause you any concern.”

Henrietta stiffened. “The earl?”

Sarah nodded, covering her mouth with her hand as she let out a little yawn. “Yes. Albina, Mother, and I have been working hard to ensure the silly man selects you as his bride. The very thought of Miss Saxton stealing away that victory, well, I won’t allow it.
You
will be the Countess of Amhurst. So help me God, I will—”

“Sarah.” Henrietta grabbed her sister’s arm and stared into her frantic eyes. “What has gotten into you? Have you slept at all?”

She wrenched her arm from Henrietta’s grasp. “Yes, of course.” She lifted her head. “I simply do not appreciate your flippant air on a matter of grave seriousness.”

“Grave seriousness?”

“Goodness, Henrietta, have you forgotten? Plumburn. You yourself said it must remain in the family. That it was essential you champion for her by sacrificing yourself to the earl.”

She had forgotten. Plumburn had somehow slipped in its importance, falling from its treasured spot on the top shelf to somewhere on the floor….though she couldn’t recall when it had occurred. The stone and mortar of her father’s beloved estate no longer held the same allure as the man who currently possessed them.

“The earl,” Henrietta whispered.

“Yes, the earl,” Sarah exclaimed. “I should think you would be much more interested in acquiring his hand than concerning yourself with some missing chamomile flowers. The earl is not a man easily impressed. We need to make certain you appear in the best possible light.”

Henrietta blinked, shaking herself out of her reverie. “You do not think I am capable of attracting the earl?”

“Attracting his attention, no. Doing so in a dignified and distinguished manner without calling question to your character, yes.”

Henrietta’s mouth fell open. “What the devil has gotten into you?” What sort of temper had taken hold of her mild-mannered sister?

“I should ask the same of you. For a woman looking to secure her father’s home, you have a poor way of showing it. I realize your inclination for clumsiness, but really, Henrietta you have outdone yourself this week.”

“You know very well I-I-I did not choose for the vase to spill onto my gown,” Henrietta sputtered. “Or, or to be pulled into the mud, or for the silly horse to go afield.”

“No, just as you do not choose to utilize your tongue to form complete words.”

Henrietta gasped. “My stutter is not a choice. It is an impediment, and one I work hard to overcome. Every. Single. Day. I can’t believe you think I-I-I am incapable, that you think me s-s-slow.” Dammit. Her tongue was as thick and incompetent as Sarah claimed.

“I did not mean to insinuate—”

Henrietta shook her head, her heart racing. She shoved past her sister and toward the staircase leading up to the house. She had to leave before any more insults could be hurled in her direction. She did not need Sarah’s help. Or Albina’s. Or her mother’s. She had earned the earl’s affections without their assistance. Her knowledge of plants had garnered his attention, not the cut of her gown, the placement of her ribbons, or any other frippery.

Her skirt went taut against her legs, a firm tug on the muslin jolting her to a halt.

“Henrietta,” Sarah breathed. A sheepish smile on her face, she released Henrietta’s gown. “I am sorry. I should not have called attention to a matter that, as you stated, you have no control over. I am simply concerned and overwrought, and…tired.”

She sighed. Her sister’s anxiety, while misplaced and no longer warranted, was her fault. Had she been more dexterous, or poised in social settings, her family’s assistance would not have been required in the first place.

She had been so focused on Simon she had thought little of the burden she had placed on her family’s shoulders.

She turned around and pulled Sarah into a hug. “It is I who should offer my apologies. I-I-I did not mean to encumber you with the fate of my future. It is my future, not yours.”

Sarah gripped her harder. “I just want you to be happy, dear. And if Plumburn is what you want, then I will do everything I can to be sure you obtain it.”

But Plumburn was longer what she wanted. Yes, she wished to remain in its comforting rooms, with its familiar paintings and furniture, but they were things, relics, and could not offer her any love in return. Without Simon to share them with…they were simply reminders of a time long past.

“I appreciate everything you have done for me, my dear, but Plumburn is no—”

“You can thank me when the earl offers for you, Henrietta. Though, I do hope it is before the marquess.”

“The marquess?” Henrietta frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Come now, Henrietta. It is no secret the marquess fancies you, despite Albina’s objections to the contrary. He, in fact, seems quite besotted and can offer you a large estate in Surrey. But I know you have your heart set on Plumburn, so I did not think to encourage the marquess’s advances toward you, despite his persistence.”

Henrietta blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lord Satterfield. He seeks your hand.”

What nonsense was this? The marquess had shown some signs of interest, but she had credited them to his rakish reputation. Surely he hadn’t seriously considered her for the position of the marchioness. It was common knowledge the marquess was set against the very idea of marriage, a man devoted to the pursuits of the flesh, not the filling of his nursery.

Henrietta gave a firm shake of her head. “The man is a rake. If he were to be with anyone, he would be with Albina. As she has said more than once.”

“In her mind, perhaps, but one would have to blind to dismiss Lord Satterfield’s interest in you.”

“Then I shall have to politely and firmly refuse him. I did not mean to mislead him.”

“I don’t believe you did, but with Miss Saxton so certain of her claim on the earl’s hand—”

“You’ve heard that as well?”

A look of sympathy settled over Sarah’s face. “Yes. Only this morning. But the race has yet to be won. The earl has not made any offers. Though, if you are not his selection, the marquess is an option, Henrietta.”

“An option I will not consider, and I suggest you never let Albina hear you recommend otherwise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find the marquess and settle things with him quietly. I do not wish him any humiliation should he plan on making a public declaration.”

She lifted her gown to her ankles, hastening her steps in her rush to find not only Lord Satterfield, but Simon. Declarations were being made, and she wanted to know to whom they would be given.

Chapter Twelve

Pulling a handkerchief from his waist coat pocket, Simon swiped it across his brow, the linen square soaking up an afternoon’s worth of sweat. Satterfield joined him under the shade of a sprawling tree, lifting a ladle of water to his lips.

“I wager another few beams and the wall will be shored up and finished.” Simon folded the handkerchief, placing it back into his pocket.

Satterfield offered him the ladle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, and another few beams and I’ll be on my back, dead from exhaustion, too tired for even a massage from one of the
locals
.” He eyed the comely, buxom daughter of the tenant farmer whom they were assisting. No more than fifteen, the girl caught Satterfield’s hot gaze and flushed.

Simon let out a bark of laughter, thankful Satterfield’s wandering was, for once, not settled on Henrietta. “Come now, I’m certain you’ll find the strength to sit up at dinner and replete your lost stores of nourishment.”

“Undoubtedly, especially with your cook sending up dishes finer than those served at Polcrave. I may steal her away with me when I leave Plumburn, dear chap.”

So long as the cook was the only thing Satterfield intended to steal. He could live without the mouth-watering pies and stews the cook sent up from the kitchens. He could not, however, live without Henrietta.

He’d fallen captive to her charms, enthralled by both her beauty and winsome personality. Simon had never met a woman so giving, so selfless and caring as the woman he wished to take as his wife.

He adjusted his sleeves, rolling up the muslin that had worked itself loose after hours of physical labor spent repairing the stone wall of a tenement farmer. While thankful for the distraction the task had provided, he was eager to return to Henrietta and make his intentions known.

But first he had his obligations to the farmer. And Henrietta’s mother.

Blood pounded in his ears. While certain the matriarch would give her blessings to the match, he was anxious all the same. What if, despite his kinship and wealth, she refused him for her daughter, his past too much for their name to bear?

“If you wish to make dinner and gorge yourself on Cook’s offerings, we better finish up here.” Simon motioned his head to the remaining stack of lumber and the broad-shouldered farmer who was making his way toward the pile.

Taking out his handkerchief, Satterfield mopped at his brow. “We wouldn’t want to miss the delicacies…both food and otherwise.” He shot Simon a wicked grin. “Have you given consideration to your selection of bride, Amhurst?”

“I have,” Simon said, his voice curt.

“And?” Satterfield prodded.

“And I shall make an announcement once I make my offer.”

Satterfield eyed him warily. “I can only advise that is soon. This morning’s rags were not complimentary.”

“Oh?” He hadn’t had time to read them today, so distracted by Henrietta, he’d barely made it back to his room before his valet entered to inform him of the farmer’s plea for help.

“Despite our efforts to affirm your innocence, the
ton
continues to think otherwise.”

A few days prior, and the news would have unsettled him. This afternoon, however, he didn’t give a damn what the
ton
thought of his past. Only what one woman thought of his present.

“There is one,” Satterfield prattled on, “who has been outspoken against the
ton’s
harsh censure.”

“And who is that, Satterfield?” Outside of Satterfield and Mr. Livingston, he had no allies, no one in the House of Lords who would be willing to risk their name for the sake of his.

“The Viscount Rochester.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Saxton’s father?”

“Indeed. He has taken quite a stance in your favor.”

“For a price.”

“He has powerful allies, Amhurst. Lord, even I know not to trifle with the man. That he had a bit of bad luck with his finances is easily overlooked.”

“And you think marrying his daughter will buy back the good graces of the
ton
.”

“Yes. She is a comely girl, if a bit plain. You could do worse, Amhurst.”

“And I could do better.” Would do better. With Henrietta at his side.

“Don’t tell me you are still considering Lady Henrietta. Why, only last evening at dinner, she stumbled over her words.”

“Her nerves got the better of her,” Simon said, defensively.

“And her hand the better of her spoon. Her mother tried to hide the stain with her napkin, but cream sauce still darkens muslin. The girl requires a firm hand. And a tutor to refine her manners.”

“Both of which I am more than willing to provide.”

Satterfield shoved his handkerchief into his pocket. “Your reputation does not afford you to take on a social blight, Amhurst. Society may overlook an unrefined girl under tutelage, they may even be persuaded to forget about a long dead mistress. They will not however, be so obliging to overlook both.”

“My lords.”

Simon lifted his head at the soft voice. The tenant farmer’s daughter stood before them, her skin flushed, her hands clasped tight together in a knot in front of her. “My father would like to know if you have finished today, or if you would be willing to stay for one of my mother’s mincemeat pies. They are nice and hot, and just out of the oven.”

Giving the girl a smile, he nodded. “A pie sounds most excellent. Please tell your mother I would be delighted to take part in your meal.” It would behoove him, as the Earl of Amhurst, and owner of the land on which they farmed, to better acquaint himself with his tenants. His reputation needed reparation not only with those of the
ton
, but those living on the estate as well.

The girl beamed, turning her hopeful eyes to the marquess. “And you, my lord? Will you be joining us?”

“I am afraid I have some matters I must attend. Please forgive me.” He gave a stiff bow.

The girl’s smile faded, her hopeful eyes turning downcast. “I’ll tell Mother, then.” She curtsied and made her way back to the house.

“Amhurst.” Satterfield bent into another bow. “It’s been a pleasure as always, but I’m afraid I am spent. A short nap is needed before we regroup for this evening’s entertainments.”

Entertainments, indeed. Henrietta and her fetching dresses begging to be unbuttoned, awaited him…after a good meal with a grateful farmer.

…

Early morning haste did nothing but bring Henrietta the news that Lord Satterfield and Simon were out assisting a tenant farmer and would not return until dinner.

Wishing to avoid the overwhelming temptation to scream, if only to silence Miss Saxton’s incessant gloating, Henrietta removed herself to her private alcove.

With its calming scents and familiar bunches of drying herbs, the room provided a small measure of comfort to soothe her anxiety-riddled mind. It also provided her a distraction. With the herbs remaining in her possession, and those she had gathered earlier in the morning, she had enough to concoct a healing salve—and one that would, with any luck, ease Simon’s headaches, as well as smooth his scars.

Her most ambitious project to be sure—and one that had not yet yielded the desired results. The salve wasn’t so much the calming balm that she required as it was an irritating paste that produced small welts on her flesh whenever she had the misfortune of dipping her finger into the blend. Her misfortune, however, was also a blessing. Had the salve whipped together quickly, she would not have the excuse to remain in her alcove, escaping her mother’s tears and her sister’s looks of sympathy. She wasn’t certain which annoyed her most, the idea her sisters thought her incapable of capturing the earl’s interests, or their faith in Miss Saxton’s claim for his wife.

But beyond confessing her indiscretion and admitting the earl had declared his interest in her before dawn, Henrietta had been unable to convince them otherwise.

She slapped her palm down on the table, a cloud of dust rising with her frustration. Waving away the swirl of motes, she settled her gaze on her scribbled notes detailing her blend, though reading them was absolutely pointless. She had read the last few lines at least ten times and still could not remember the words. Her mind was with Simon and Lord Satterfield, her lips smiling at the first and grimacing at the second.

For the life of her, she could not understand how the marquess had found her actions encouraging or in any way displaying her interest in him as a spouse. She had to speak with him in a firm manner, relaying her preference for Simon at the earliest possible moment to avoid any further misinterpretation.

“Lady Henrietta?”

She spun around, her heart pounding. “Lord Satterfield?”

What the devil was he doing here? Now?

Of course she wanted him here, to dispel his notions of her affection, but she had spent the better part of the day working on her salve—she had not actually spent much needed time determining the precise words to say to him.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smoothed her skirts. Heaven only knew how she appeared, her hands covered in hastily wrapped bandages, the apron protecting her gown sporting a collection of smears. And while she did not want his attentions, she did not want to appear flustered or worse, affected by them.

“At last. You are a difficult woman to find, my dear. I must have visited every room in the estate.”

“Oh?” she asked, her voice far more frantic than she wished for it to sound. “Yes, well, this is where I go to…think.”

“Think?” His eyebrows lifted.

Dear heavens. Would she ever learn to mind her tongue?

“I was informed you inquired after me,” he continued, peering at her with open curiosity. Taller than Simon, the marquess filled the doorway, his gray eyes centered intently upon her.

Her stomach flipped.

“Yes, I did,” she said, willing a sternness into her voice. “There is something of grave concern that I wished to discuss.”

“As do I.” Lord Satterfield entered the room and crossed the small space separating them, his large hands grasping hers.

Henrietta gulped, her tongue weighing heavy in her mouth. She couldn’t afford for it to seize up, not now.

“Your hands. You are wounded.” He gingerly ran his thumb over a bandage, his eyes having left her face to stare at the crisscross of bandages across her palms and fingers.

“I-I-I—”

“Are you in need of assistance? Would you like me to have the physician summoned? He is still in the area, what with Miss Saxton and—”

“Thank you, but no. I-I-I do not require his services. I will heal fine on my own.”

He eyed her warily. “Lady Henrietta, I—”

“Have you spoken with Lord Amhurst this morning?” she asked, pulling her hands from his.

He frowned, his thick brows furrowing together. “I have.”

“And?”

“And he is in good health and high spirits. Indeed, he appeared more jovial than I have him seen him in quite some time.”

She swallowed, willing the heat in her cheeks to dissipate. “Did he mention his plans for the evening?”

“He did.”

“And you approve of his selection?”

“Of pork over fish? No. I was rather upset he gave away this morning’s catch to the tenants, but then I suppose they need it more than you or I.”

“What? No,” she said, her words rushed.

“Have no fear, my dear,” he assured. He placed his hands on her wrists. “I can catch some more on the morrow.”

“No, I-I-I—” Henrietta swallowed, willing her mouth to form the words she needed to speak. “You misunderstand, my lord. I-I-I wished to know if the earl mentioned if he had selected his bride.”

Lord Satterfield’s lips lifted into a smile. “Ah, that he did. He said he would make his choice known at dinner this evening, though one would have to be blind not to know whom he has selected as his countess.”

“Is it that obvious?” she asked. Her entire body warmed with the memory of Simon’s hands on her skin, his lips on her—

“Why, yes, I suppose it is.” He gave a short laugh. “He has chosen well. Miss Saxton will make an excellent bride—as soon as she recovers, that is. Though, I must confess, Miss Saxton admitted to me this very morning that with the earl’s impending declaration, her health has vastly improved. I would wager my entire fortune her presence at dinner is assured.”
The room started to spin, the air that had been in abundance only a few moments before, now in short supply.

“Lady Henrietta? Are you well, my dear?” The marquess led her to a chair. “You have lost a touch of color.”

She had misheard. Had somehow been misinformed. She placed a hand on the top of the chair but did not sit, her mind too busy trying to comprehend the marquess’s words to make her limbs relax.

“The earl…I…”

The marquess stared at her expectantly, but she could not will her tongue to move. She dropped her gaze to the floor.

Lowering his voice, the marquess said, “The earl is a man changed since I met him last. Were it not for his desire to enter into Society, he would not have arranged this party at all. Though, I am thankful for his effort. For without which, I would not have had the pleasure of getting to know you.” He placed his hand over hers.

Her gaze flitted from his hands to his face. “My lord, I-I-I—”

He lowered his head and captured her lips with his.

Her breath caught in her throat, his kiss silencing her protest. Squirming, she pressed her hands into his chest and shoved.

“My lord,” she hissed, her heart pounding. “You presume too much.”

“I don’t understand.” His forehead creased. “I thought you were aware of my intentions.”