The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) (17 page)

Henrietta, however, would not. Did not.

And never would.

The look of mortification that had settled across her features at her sister’s confession—he needn’t have had a full view of her profile to see their effects. His position outside of her sister’s room had afforded him enough of a vantage to know, despite his initial misgivings, that she was not as involved in the ruse as he believed her to be.

Perhaps even distant enough from her sister’s malevolence to reject him out of protection for his reputation.

His heart jumped at the possibility, momentarily dampening the crescendo of anguish in his head.

Was it possible she loved him? Enough to let her beloved Plumburn pass to another out of fear that her sister’s plot might ruin his chances of securing Miss Saxton’s hand?

His heart raced, his mood lifting at the small glimmer of hope…

He had to know, once and for all, if she held any affection toward him, if…if she loved him as his heart was determined to love her.

And he would do so, by offering her the one thing she wanted most—Plumburn. A manor that had unwillingly become his home. The bountiful pastures, the meticulously selected furniture, hell, even the carefully framed paintings had become familiar to him. To raise a family here, to live out his years with Henrietta at his side, walking through the halls together, hand in hand…was what he desired above all else.

A burst of light erupted behind his eyes, setting off an ache so intense he fell to his knees, his breath leaving his body before darkness pervaded and all went black.

Chapter Fifteen

The swaying of the coach, the dips of the washed road, and the sighs of Albina’s light snoring, were not enough to lull Henrietta into a dreamless slumber, no matter how hard she scrunched her eyes or willed her body to give in to the weariness wrought by a night spent at her sister’s side.

She had been unable to sleep. Not because her sister ailed, but because her mind refused to still, her thoughts continually drifting to Simon. To his pain-filled eyes, the look of betrayal on his handsome features…

Lifting the edge of the coach’s curtains, she peered at the diminishing outline of Plumburn’s stone chimneys, the first rays of dawn illuminating the curls of smoke rising from early morning fires.

Dropping the shade, she sat back into the coach’s cushions and sighed.

Plumburn belonged to Miss Saxton. As it should.

Heaven knew the girl did not have a family of miscreants poisoning others to obtain Simon’s hand. Goodness… the rumors that would abound after apologies were given and the story to win the title was made known would be catastrophic. As the marquess had been apt to point out, Henrietta was less than poised to return the earl’s reputation to favor. She was subconsciously determined to ruin it.

Simon’s marriage to Miss Saxton was for the best, for both him and her sisters, though Lord Rochester would have his work cut out for him, repairing the damage done to the Amhurst title by three conspiring relatives.

The viscount, however, was a powerful man, and if anyone in Society had the wherewithal to dampen the effects of this entire ordeal, it would be him and his numerous connections.

The Amhurst name would recover and Plumburn would be well looked after. Just as the pain would subside, her heart would heal, and she would recover from the anguish of having lost the man she loved.

God, she lied even to herself.

There was nothing for it. Life would continue. Simon would marry and she…she would likely do the same.
If
her reputation recovered after this incident. Though she knew full well
some
men cared more for the piles of pound notes promised by her generous dowry than whether she was competent enough to run a household.

Or poison a man in his sleep.

Dear heavens, a life of spinsterhood awaited her. No man would be foolish enough to marry her, what with her knowledge of herbs made known and the whispers of what had transpired over the past few weeks seeping into London drawing rooms.

She was an outcast, a social pariah. An educated woman bent on making dangerous concoctions to inflict harm. The likelihood of her being invited to a ball, let alone over the threshold of any respectable person’s house, was minimal at best.

Which was all the better. The only person she wished to see was engaged to another.

Her stomach twisted. Shutting her eyes against the wall of tears that threatened, she took a deep breath. She would get through this, force herself to forget all that she had lost…

A lifetime of happiness spent in the arms of the man she loved. Simon’s comforting presence filling Plumburn’s rooms. Squeals of children’s laughter—their children’s laughter—echoing in the courtyards…

Bile rose up her throat, the sour taste seeping onto her tongue.

Henrietta opened her eyes to find her mother staring at her with a scrutinizing glare. “You love him.”

A succinct observation, and one that could not have been more truthful. Yes, she loved him. Which was why she was here and he was in Plumburn, offering for Miss Saxton.

“Does he know?” her mother pressed, refusing to let up her gaze.

“Does it matter?” Henrietta asked. “He has obligations, Mother. Responsibilities to the earldom that are best addressed without the stigma attached to my name…or actions.”

Sarah turned her head to face Henrietta, her brow furrowing. “You love the earl?”

“Of course I love him, but that is hardly cause enough for me to marry him. He must consider his standing in Society and—”

“But you love him, Henrietta.” Her mother continued to stare at her.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. “He does not love me.” Like a knife to her heart, the sentiment stabbed at her insides, the truth of the words crushing her soul and closing her eyes against the onslaught of moisture trickling down her cheeks.

“Rubbish.” A warm hand settled atop her knee. Henrietta opened her eyes to see her mother’s concerned gaze peering into hers.

“You must tell him, Henrietta. He needs to know of your feelings. Perhaps he can be persuaded to look past—”

“There is nothing for it,” she said, hiccupping.

Sarah harrumphed, her face taking on a look of pompous righteousness. “Goodness, Henrietta. Remind me to refuse your play should you ever take an interest in cards. You would give your hand away, so obvious are your emotions splayed upon your face.”

“My emotions?”

“The ones clearly declaring you don’t believe yourself. There is everything for it, dear. He has a right to know of your interest.”

Henrietta sputtered, “But Miss Saxton—”

“Is a ninny,” Sarah finished. “A lackluster simpleton who does not deserve the title of countess.”

“She is his choice, Sarah. I will not interfere.”

“But you—”

“We have done enough interfering already. No.” Henrietta shook her head and clenched her hands into tight fists. “What is done is done. Things are all settled and everything is as it should be.”

“Henrietta dear,” their mother started, but Henrietta cut her off with a piercing glare.

“Allow me the courtesy of accepting my fate. Please.”

Exchanging glances with Sarah, their mother nodded. “Of course, dear.” She settled into the cushions, allowing Henrietta to close her eyes against the pain.

Henrietta woke with a start, the lurch of the coach catapulting her into her mother’s lap.

“Goodness,” her mother said, startled. “We must be at the inn.”

Righting herself, Henrietta nodded. The inn. Of course. The hours had somehow slipped by, a fact confirmed as the door opened and late afternoon sunlight poured into the dark interior.

“The Cock and Hen, my lady.” The footman held out his gloved hand, which her mother took as she alighted from the coach.

Henrietta awaited her turn, stifling a yawn as she stretched her arms. The neighs of horses and the deep shouts of men met her ears, the sounds of a busy inn yard mingling with the tantalizing smell of freshly cooked meat and bread. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, when the world had seemed full of promise and hope…and the idea of food hadn’t sent her stomach into her throat.

Hunger, at least at present, overwhelmed heartache. She clenched her middle and lifted her nose.

“Come along, Henrietta,” said her mother. “No need to dawdle.”

Gripping the footman’s hand, Henrietta stepped out of the coach and onto the well-packed earth of the yard.

“The last two rooms have been secured for us, dear.” Her mother gave her a wary look. “A bit of tea and a meal should make things a bit better.”

Tolerable, yes, but better? Henrietta gave a sigh.

“Come along.”

Stepping to the side, Henrietta dodged a fresh pile of horse manure. She did not however, see the child scampering at her feet. The small body collided with hers as a strong arm wrapped around her waist, preventing her fall.

The smell of sage sent her heart racing. Lifting her head, she saw the earl, a day’s worth of growth darkening his chin, his tousled hair falling forward across his eye.

“What the very devil?” breathed her mother.

“I need to speak with you, Henrietta.”

Shock filtered through her limbs, her lips rendered immobile, unwilling to comply with any rational thought she might have conjured.

Both her sisters and her mother stared at her wide-eyed, as the earl continued to hold her upright in the middle of the public inn yard.

“I have decided to offer you Plumburn.”

Henrietta blinked, her breath catching. “I-I-I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot give you ownership of the house, as the entails and law forbid it, of course, but I can vacate the home. Allow you to live in it while I take up residence elsewhere.”

“What?” She could hardly breathe. Nothing he said made any sense. That he was in the inn yard at all was an anomaly. He should be with Miss Saxton, not her. Not here. And certainly not now with her in his arms. “Th-th-that’s impossible,” she breathed. “Plumburn belongs to the Earl of Amhurst.”

Simon nodded, his gaze intensifying. “That it does. And as the earl, I have a say as to who has access to the estate…and who does not.”

“But, but, Plumburn is the Amhurst seat. All of the earls have lived there since the title was given. You cannot simply vacate the premises and allow me residence.” Could he? She frowned, her mind trying to wrap around the insanity of being in Simon’s arms while he offered her that which she had long hoped to have… All while an inn yard of people stood witness to their intimacy.

“I can. Plumburn has not been my residence for the past five years, and I doubt it will mind if I continue to live elsewhere, especially if I leave her in more capable hands.”

Her heart raced as though she had run from the west pasture to Plumburn’s doors. She squirmed in his firm grasp, but to no avail. He held her tight within the confines of his arms.

“And what if…what if I should take a husband? He will have his own estates. He will not wish to be burdened with mine.”

He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze to the ground. “I shall stipulate that your dowry is to be used toward Plumburn’s upkeep.”

Henrietta’s heart stopped. “You would do that? For me?”

His gaze lifted, his brown eye boring into hers. “For the woman I love, yes.”

Her pulse beat loud in her ears and what air remained in her lungs left them in a swift rush. “I-I-I don’t understand.”

He took her hand in his. “Your sister poisoned others to make certain you had your heart’s desire, Henrietta. I know how much you love the estate. And I…I also know Satterfield offered you his hand. You have a choice. I do not want Plumburn to be the deciding factor in your decision to marry. I am vain enough to be wanted for myself, and not the estates I hold.”

She shook her head, her lips moving, but with no sounds coming out. He
loved
her. He loved
her.

No. She had misheard. Or worse, he was playing the role of gentleman and offering because it was expected, and not because he desired to do so. “If you are intending to press your suit after the other evening—”

“Of course I would offer for you after the other evening, Henrietta.” Her chest heaved, her heart plummeting. “But I regret I did not offer for you before then.”

The world spun. She could hardly believe the words she was hearing. “But what of Miss Saxton? Her reputation exceeds mine, Simon. Her elocution alone will endear you to Society.”

“I do not doubt it would. But I think it unkind to marry the poor girl when my heart belongs to another.”

He knelt down on one knee, his buff-colored breeches sinking to the earth-packed yard. He reached behind his head and tugged on a string. The eye patch fell to the ground and with two eyes he peered up at her. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Lady Henrietta?”

She lowered herself to the worn earth, her vision blurring behind a fall of tears. “But your reputation, your name—”

“Is nothing without you. It is you whom I wish to marry.”

Henrietta let out a breath. “And I you. I care naught for Plumburn without
you
beside me Simon. Just you.”

Simon pulled her into his arms and kissed her as the future Countess of Amhurst had never been kissed before.

Epilogue

Several months later…

Henrietta sipped her ratafia, the sweet punch sating her thirst as the next strains of music floated over the crowd gathered in Plumburn’s ballroom. Fanning her face to disperse the unusually warm spring air, she scanned the throng of neighbors, friends, and family, for a dark swath of hair.

“Excuse me,” a neighbor brushed past her, knocking her elbow, and sending her punch dribbling down her chin.

And laughter erupting from her mouth.

“Thank heavens you chose the ruby sateen,” said Albina, coming to stand beside her. “And not that lemon yellow confection you were considering.”

“But Simon’s favorite color is yellow.” Henrietta set down the glass on a nearby table and snatched up the linen her sister held in her outstretched hand.

“And your favorite drink would have appeared quite obvious on such a light colored gown. The ruby hides the ratafia nicely. Why, I don’t even notice the spill.”

“That would be because your eyes are drawn to the large ruby resting on her chest,” Sarah said with a hint of laughter. “She could spill half the bowl down her dress and no one would notice.”

Henrietta’s hand flew to the heavy gem resting between her breasts. “You think it too much?”

“I think it a perfectly adequate gift from a doting husband. Especially one who has transformed under your administrations.”

“You’ve noticed? I do think the salve I blended has done wonders for his scar.”

“His scar? I was referring to his cheerful disposition and exuberant confidence. The man has not stopped smiling since the two of you entered the ballroom.”

“Oh, nonsense.” Henrietta’s cheeks warmed. “He is simply enjoying the entertainment.”

“And you,” said Albina. She nodded toward Henrietta’s mid-section. “How much longer before you make the announcement?”

Henrietta instinctively rested her hand on the slight swell of her abdomen. “I did not think it was obvious.”

“It isn’t,” said Sarah. “We simply had our suspicions. You merely confirmed them, dear.” Her cherry-red lips spread wide with a grin. Albina joined her, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Henrietta smacked Sarah on the arm with her folded fan. “Atrocious. I expected better from you,” she hissed, her own lips lifting.

“I didn’t,” Albina said between giggles. “She is referring to the
Black Earl
after all. His wickedness was bound to rub off on you sooner or later.”

Henrietta cheeks blazed. Sarah rubbed her arm and gave her a perturbed look. “We were beginning to worry his moniker was not true and we would never be gifted with a niece or nephew to spoil.”

“He is not wicked,” Henrietta hissed. “He is…”
Perfect.

“The earl,” said Sarah. She coughed into her hand.

“Well, yes, he is that, and—”

“Everything you imagined, I hope,” said a deep voice behind her.

Whirling around, Henrietta found her husband smiling down at her. She returned his affectionate gaze, her heart swelling.

“I could not have said it better,” she breathed.

“No, I don’t think you could have,” said Albina. “You stutter has completely disappeared. Even Lord Satterfield was remarking upon its absence at dinner.”

“Did he?” asked Simon. “I could have sworn I heard him inquiring after you.”

Albina’s face brightened. “Is that so? Well, I must—please excuse me.” She lifted the edge of her gown and slipped into the crush.

Simon lifted Henrietta’s gloved hand and settled it on his arm. “I was just telling the Duke of Waverly about your exquisite healing teas. It seems his son has a cough and the duchess is quite beside herself with worry.”

“You know I am not a healer,” she said, lowering her voice.

“I know nothing of the sort. You’ve done nothing but heal me, my dear. On both the inside…and out.”

She peered up at him, at the smooth, shiny skin of his scar, exposed for all to see. Even the red and angry indentions along his temple had faded beyond her expectations.

Her talents had flourished under Simon’s encouragement, more so than she first believed. Perhaps her skills had advanced beyond that of a hobby…but that her cousin’s husband, the Duke of Waverly, a very busy man with an even busier schedule, should notice her administrations…was quite telling of her skills.

She caught Simon’s gaze and offered him a small smile, her heart racing. “I will help in whatever way I can and to the best of my abilities. But I cannot promise a miracle.”

“You already have.” He lowered his gaze to her mid-section and spun her into his arms, leading her into the first steps of the waltz…and their happily ever after.