Lady Henrietta's Dilemma: Regency Suspense Romance Book 2 (Lords of Sussex) (13 page)

Waiting outside the small bedroom, as Henrietta saw to her toilette, Ambros heard her voice, light considering the turmoil she must be suffering. To know her husband sold her to him, must be a heart wrenching experience. Beneath that hesitation in her manner, she was a brave girl But still, there was something decidedly wrong; even before he apprised her of her husband’s treachery, she would clamp down so swiftly on any flirtatious behaviour. She was definitely in a dilemma when it came to anything sexual.  Had she experienced something terrible at a man’s hands?  Alternatively, had her mother fed her horrific stories? Many women had the attitude that sex was to be endured, to lie on their backs and think of the heir to the estate. Having done their duty, they could return to the frippery of their wardrobes, the gowns, lace and hairstyles, soirees and splendid balls. However, he knew intimately of others who live for the sex, who yearned for the strength of a man’s arms, and all that followed from the first kiss. 

He determined to fathom it out, but it would take time.  For the time being, he must protect her from that brute of a husband. Had she not seen a glint of the man’s true nature when they courted? Or, had he appeared all smiles and charm?   Did she have no idea? No idea he could and did sell her
, knowing it could ruin her? If Bruges lost too many card games, she could end up at one of the gaming hells, sold to the highest bidder for the night. Of course, she was Vaughan’s property to do with as he wished, but even so, she was not a chattel to be swapped around gratifying men’s sexual needs; for that would surely happen if she remained with the man.  His gambling was in excess; at present, he was clever enough in his deceit at cards, but how long would that continue? Yes, action was necessary but first he had to get her to Brussels.

His heart almost stopped, as she emerged wearing an exquisite pale blue satin gown with a top skirt of the finest gauze embroidered with pale blue flowers. The flowers and feathers woven into her hair were of the palest eggshell blue and cream.  He tried to stop his eyes roving to the magnificent bosoms. In the flickering candlelight, the pale orbs glowed, swelling with the intake of her breath.
‘My pet, my darling girl, what beauty – unparalleled. Surely, I am the most fortunate of men to be at your side this night.

Henrietta flushed at his ardour, seeing the piercing blue eyes gaze at the low décolletage.  Despite her anger with Vaughan, she responded to his unspoken desire. She wanted to be held by him, and feel his mouth on her skin.

The murmur of voices outside the tent alerted them to the first of their guests, a rotund martinet, short in stature, with a florid face above a high cravat.  As he moved, the gold epaulettes and buttons on his immaculate uniform glittered.  His companion, a young woman in her late teens with a froth of white blonde curls in the top knot on her head, giggled, the empire line of her gown emphasized her slender body, whilst her low décolletage revealed a hint of pink aureoles.

Ambros stepped forward, giving a light bow, ‘Denby – good to see you.  The little man bowed elegantly, pointing his toe. ‘Your Grace, let me introduce Mistress Amelia Watson.’

‘Charmed my lady’ Ambros murmured, taking her proffered hand and kissing the air above her gloved knuckles. ‘What a pleasure to behold such beauty gracing my tent.

Henrietta winced at the velvet tones of his voice, that hint of heat in his eyes; he really was a rake. He professed his love for her, and here he was flaunting himself before a young chit.

Taking Henrietta’s hand, he led her towards the Earl, ‘Let me introduce Lady Henrietta Bruges, Marchioness of Courres. Her husband the Marquess could not be with us, as he is up ahead at the first camp.’

‘Bruges hey – what?
  Hmm.’ An embarrassing silence followed, but then the man straightened his shoulders, as if gathering himself together. ‘So you’re the young lady who rescued Wiltshire here and a young child.’ The martinet bowed with a flourish of his hands, ‘A heroine no less and yet such a sylphide.  You showed great presence of mind and courage in the face of such adversity.’

As he took her hand, his lips dribbled over her satin glove. She retrieved her hand, trying not to show her repugnance at the sliver of spit on her knuckles; she wanted to rip the glove off, but instead gave a short curtsey to his companion. It was obvious the girl was his mistress. However, she knew she would have to get used to meeting the courtesans at close quarters. Few wives visited the battlefields of Belgium.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘Will you spare us a moment Denby old chap?’ Ambros said. ‘Come my lady, I need a moment with you.’ Leading her to the back of the tent, he clicked his fingers at Milly, who followed them into the small bedroom.  ‘Come my pet; let us remove those gloves – the dratted man dribbles for England.’ As he pulled off the gloves from Henrietta’s hands, he said, ‘Milly bring us a warm wet cloth if you please.’ Bending his head to Henrietta, he said, ‘Now my sweet, did the river spare you another pair of gloves?’

‘
Ambros, that man was quite off when you introduced me as Vaughan’s wife. Is there any reason?’

Ambros pursed his lips; Bruges had a reputation in the gaming
hells. ‘My dear, take no notice, men have grievances. It will pass.’ He turned at the sound of more voices at the entrance to the tent.  ‘I have to greet more guests m’dear, so join us when you are ready.’

Henrietta caught her breath;
was her husband so unpopular? Something was wrong, but he was hesitant to explain. Sighing, her thoughts turned to Ambros’s care as he made certain she had the opportunity to discretely change her gloves. She was grateful for his chivalrous behaviour, like a knight protecting his lady.  Even though he’d actually bought her, his behaviour towards her was impeccable, nevertheless she warmed to him; it was if he stepped out from the page of one of her medieval romances.  She knew her friend Phillipa laughed at her penchant for the age of chivalrous knights and their ladies, but neither did she appreciate Phillipa’s passion for the romances of the dreadful romantic writers.

Stepping into the main tent, she saw a small crowed assembling. 
She managed to smile, as she walked forward to Ambros’s side to be introduced, first to a Baronet who looked decidedly flustered, as did his plump wife. Yet even so, he carried himself with aplomb. It appeared the baronet was a hero amongst the officers, not only did he acquit himself on the battlefield, but also saved the lives of his fellow officers. His wife also, was a paragon of virtue and charity, along with other ladies; she helped drag the wounded officers off the battlefield; the hems of their dresses caked in mud and blood.

She well knew herself how vital it was
they removed the wounded officers from the field immediately, as the camp followers came along looking for jewels, rings and any other articles of clothing that would fetch money. The women were known to cut off the fingers of the wounded officers even cutting their throats if they thought the officers might remember them.  It was indeed a perilous situation for any fallen soldier. The scavengers even searched the officers’ mouths for gold teeth, pulling them out with lethal pliers. Only a few of the wounded lived to tell the tale.  

A tall lanky
officer, entered the tent, somewhere in his mid-forties with an elderly woman hunched almost double.  Ambros smiled warmly, ‘Ah, Captain Aldridge and your lovely mother, Lady Aldridge. How glad I am to see you. How fare you my lady?’

‘Well, there’s nothing better than a tent and fresh air my lad?’ the old lady held up a lorgnette, staring up at him through cataract filled eyes. Ambros was well aware her tent would be luxurious, offering every comfort.

The elderly matron poked him with her silver-topped cane, ‘Have to support our gallant boys.  Hmm.’ she brought the lorgnette closer to her eye peering at Henrietta. ‘So this is your bit of muslin then?’

Scandalized, Henrietta raised her eyebrows, why did she use an expression attributed to prostitutes or easy women? Why would the woman insult her so?’

The lady continued, ‘Young chit should be in short skirts and pantaloons; she's too young. Hmm.’

‘Come now my lady, ‘Ambros spluttered laughing, ‘anyone under thirty-five is a young chit to you.’

‘La, they’re marrying off children nowadays.  These young girls should know their place. But then, I admire any bit of muslin that accompanies her husband into battle. Not the swooning sort are you miss?’ The old crone enquired, her eagle eyes upon Henrietta.

‘No milady, I must admit to being somewhat afeared of the battles, but I aim to be at my husband’s side, well watching from the edge of the field anyway.’ 

‘Plucky bit of muslin you have here Wiltshire. Didn’t know you married?’

‘I wish it was so my lady, but alack I am just this young lady’s escort and protector.  Her husband is with the lead column. After the fracas at the river, the cavalry decided to plough on. We shall meet up within the next day or so. ‘May I introduce, Lady Henrietta Bruges, Marchioness de Courres.’

A booming voice echoed behind and they turned to see a short pot-bellied man with a fuzz of red hair. ‘Wiltshire – there you are.  Let me introduce Lady Partington.’ A lady even shorter than him with an equally large belly, curtseyed, her hazel eyes dancing impishly in an extremely pretty face, ‘Ah, if it is not the dashing cavalier.’

‘Hortense, how lovely to see you again, and as beautiful as ever.’

As the lady giggled, she brought out her fan, waving it furiously. ‘You are such a cake. But you please the ladies – you and your rakish ways.’ With that, she reached up and tweaked his cheek.  Her infectious laugh amused them, lifting the strain of Henrietta’s fears.

‘Hah,
Wiltshire, sorry if we’re late. A tall broad-shouldered young man entered, his receding grey hair balanced by a huge walrus moustache covering most of his thin face.

‘Never too late Colonel.’
Ambros went over to shake his hand, waving for Henrietta to follow him.

‘Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Mary Stafford.’ The Colonel brought forward a pale
, but exquisitely dressed lady in her late fifties.

The lady bowed slightly, wincing. ‘Forgive me your Grace, tis the gout, cannot bend the back too well.’

Ambros kissed the air above her knuckles. ‘Please do not apologise my dear lady. Come let me get you a chair.’ Without further ado, he clicked his fingers to a hovering footman. ‘Jacob, get this lady a seat.’ Seeing the lady seated, he beckoned to Henrietta, ‘Lady Stafford, may I introduce Lady Henrietta Bruges.’ 

Henrietta saw the woman frown, ‘Bruges? Oh … yes.’ She raised a hand, the fingers bent and crooked with her affliction and looked up. Henrietta flinched as she saw the pity in the woman’s eyes. What was it? Why would she look at her so?  This was the second time someone hesitated on hearing Vaughan’s name.

Brussels

Henrietta mounted the steps in trepidation, although she trembled at the thought of seeing him, she drew on her experience of courage the other day. Breathing deeply determined to quell her fears
; she would face him, and she would demand the truth from his lips. The house was beautiful, so modern with the white columned portico and large windows.  The huge mahogany doors opened, as the butler stood bowing, welcoming them both. Ambros took her arm, realizing how heart breaking this was for her.

Vaughan appeared behind the butler, his smile tight and eyes clouded.  ‘Come in my dear.’ He took Henrietta’s hand
, and kissed the air above her knuckles, before turning to Ambros. ‘Afternoon. Good of you to look after her old chap.’ His words were pleasant enough, but the tone was clipped.

Following them into a spacious reception room, he waved them to brocade Queen Anne high back chairs.   ‘You’ll have tea of course?’

Henrietta nodded. She could not confront him now, not in front of Ambros. ‘Yes, I need to change from these clothes. Mine were destroyed in the river, but the duchess kindly leant me three dresses. However, two of them they are now bedraggled after the journey.’ She stopped short, realizing she was babbling.

‘Nonsense my dear, you look charming.’ His eyes roved over her body.

Ambros stiffened; there was a certain menace in the man's eyes.  Maybe it was better he stayed for tea.  He intended initially just seeing her through the door, but now he felt it wiser to stay.

Standing by the fireplace, his arm resting on the white marble mantelpiece, Vaughan said, ‘I hear you are quite the heroine m’dear. It seems you are to receive a medal of commendation. 
‘Egad, quite the thing hey?’ He snickered, watching the butler enter, and walk over to Henrietta to present a card. ‘Came for you this morning, my lady.’

‘So soon?’
Opening it, she saw it was an invitation from Isabella, to attend a soiree that very evening with supper afterwards. Thank God, if what Ambros said was true, she need not spend another night in this house.

After carrying in the tray of tea and cakes, the butler retreated, closing the door quietly behind him. Henrietta rose and poured the tea. 

Coming to Ambros first, she handed him the cup, and then went for the sugar bowl.  ‘Sugar, Your Grace?’

It seemed she returned to addressing him formally, perhaps it was just as well; too much familiarity at present would just cause resentment. Yet, Ambros felt it simmering just below the surface.

‘My wife knows you well then, old chap.’ He said snidely, nodding his head, as Henrietta spooned two teaspoons of sugar into his cup.

‘Ah thank you, something we had to do without in camp.’  Ambros stirred the tea, ignoring the veiled ill will.

Sensing Vaughan's mood, Henrietta poured a cup and then gave it to him. ‘Hah, she remembers I don’t take sugar. Haven’t forgotten completely then my love?’

They drank the tea in painful silence.  Putting his empty cup down on the table, Ambros rose and bowed to Henrietta. ‘With your permission my lady, I will take my leave.’ Surreptitiously, he pushed his gloves
down the side of the seat. He turned to Vaughan, giving a perfunctory nod, before striding from the room.  Henrietta could not help, but admire the grace of his body, the dignity of his speech. 

As the door closed, she turned on Vaughan. ‘Is there something wrong my lord? Have we offended you in some way?’

‘Certainly not, whatever gave you that impression? Have you something to feel guilty about?’

‘Of course not,’ Henrietta said wearily. ‘I
have to change, then we must talk.’ She wanted to freshen up before she confronted him.

‘So you bedded him then?’

She stopped in mid-stride, looking at him in amazement, her eyes wide and lips parted. ‘What? Did I hear you correctly?’

‘I said, have you bedded him?’
You seemed close enough, right down to the two lumps of sugar.’

Anger rippled through her body. ‘How dare you – we have just returned from a gruelling journey
. You have the audacity to accuse me of indecent behaviour, when you….’ She stopped, not now, she needed to gather her wits, to be in control. ‘He was my protector Sir.’

‘
Do l need to call him out?’

‘Will you stop it?’ Henrietta shouted, stamping her foot. ‘If you persist in this atrocious behaviour, I shall leave this house immediately.’

‘Oh yes, and where will you go pray? Back to him?’

Henrietta felt her fists close; she wanted to hit him. Never in her life, had she had such inclinations.  ‘You act like a child, get back to the nursery.’

As she went towards the door, he stood in front of her, his eyes narrowed, ‘You will sit madam, and answer my questions. Don’t make me use force.’

Courage surged through her, as she rose to defy him, but he bodily lifted her, pushed her onto the couch, and slapped her face, shouting, ‘You will obey me madam.’ 

Feeling her heart beating rapidly, Henrietta’s eyes narrowed, her fists readied.  ‘How dare you insult me?’

Her jaw worked, as she stepped past him
, and made for the door, but his arm came around her, again lifting her off the floor. ‘I said sit madam, and I mean it.’ Depositing her back on the couch, he towered over her. ‘Now tell me, confess. Did you bed him?’

‘I refuse to answer that.’
He was violent, she needed to get out of the room.

He smiled, his
eyes almost slits, ‘Then I shall beat it out of you. You’ve had this coming.’ Unbuttoning his jacket, he pulled off his belt. Resentment turned to raging; Wiltshire thought he owned her, well whilst she was in this house; he could do what he damn well pleased. No chit of a girl crossed him.  He would show the doxy who was master.  Henrietta rushed from the settee, her fist thumping into his stomach, as she made for the door. Winded, he bent over, gasping, ‘By God, you will pay for that, you little hussy.’ Struggling up, he raised his belt above her head, as the door opened.

She looked up into Ambros’s face; his face incensed. ‘What? What the deuce is going on in here?’

‘He thinks I have – I have – oh Ambros.’

‘You cur.’
Ambros swept her behind him, and approached Vaughan, now stepping back, his belt trailing from his hand. ‘You lay one finger on her Bruges, and you’ll answer to me.' Turning to Henrietta, he said, ‘Leave us; this is not for your ears.’

Mutely, Henrietta lowered her eyes; she no longer feared the brute, but she could see it was a dangerous situation. She acquiesced and left the room; spine straightened; her head held high. Damn Vaughan, she would not cry, would not. Even as she shook, she felt that courage strengthen her steps, as she climbed up the central staircase. Where was her room? A maid met her at the top of the stairs, her eyes full of concern, obviously she heard the altercations,
‘Can I be of service my lady?’

‘Yes – take me to my room … please.’ Henrietta followed her, as she took the left hand landing.  Showing her into a large pleasant room, with rose brocade curtains and a pink coloured silk eiderdown, the maid went to the trunks deposited by the footmen. ‘Leave me please.  I’ll ring for you later.’

Henrietta watched her go, before collapsing on the bed. In the privacy of the room, she sobbed, not from fear, but for a lost love, torn dreams and a longing for her family. She raised her eyes towards the nets billowing at the windows.  Such a fine prison, gauze replacing iron bars, but she refused to be a victim; she would escape.  Confidence, a gift she never thought to own, seeped through her veins, as she began to make plans.

As she went to the trunk, she heard a sort tap on the door. Her heart lifted, was it Ambros? She would gladly go with him. However, it was Vaughan his face abashed, eyes pleading, ‘Fellow forgot his gloves. Forgive me please. I – I was jealous – jealous of seeing him with you.’

He walked past her silent figure, and sat on the bed, his hands in his face, ‘I could not bear the picture of you both together, couldn’t get it out of my mind. I know you shared a tent with him, I just – just could not take it.’

Anger flooded her body. Damn the man bartered her and then pleads jealousy?

Henrietta said coldly, ‘You deceived me – sold me. I can never forgive you that. If my papa knew, he would kill you. You are lucky I love him too much to bring ruin upon my family, a duke’s daughter sold. We could never enter society again.’

‘It was a gentleman’s agreement. I needed to make more money. I wanted to give you so much.’

‘I despise your lies. I know you have money; you also have my dowry, thank God papa made sure I had my own allowance. At least, you cannot gamble that away.’

Rising from the bed, he approached her, his arms wide, ‘Please forgive me Henrietta,
forgive me this one mistake. I knew you would be safe with Ambros, please believe me. He promised he would not touch you. He just wanted a few dances with you.’

‘Safe? How can I ever be safe with you again?’

Vaughan searched for words; he had to placate the little doxy; Wiltshire was sure for a few more thousand yet.