An Earl for the desperate bride (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 1) (3 page)

When Eliza awoke the next morning, she was buoyant with a sense of hope, having gone to sleep with thoughts of Stephen enticing her into dreams. When she realized where she was, in Lord Sevile’s home, her optimism faded for a moment. Two days, Stephen had said.
Trust him
.

But when the maid who came in to help her dress saw her wardrobe, her contempt was obvious. “Mademoiselle has not brought her clothing with her?” she inquired.

“As a matter of fact,” Eliza said, “I did.”

“Perhaps you will be going to the dressmaker’s?”

“Perhaps.” Her mother had intimated as much and it was certain that after word got out that the Stanton girl would do Lord Savile no credit among the smart set with the frocks she’d brought form the country, Eliza suspected that a visit to the dressmaker, chaperoned by the overbearing Mrs. Clemens, was in store.

Two days. What did it matter if one of them was to be wasted shopping for dresses she would never wear? She would be in exile, living wherever Stephen Croft chose to take her. She wondered what would happen to her parents when she fled the fate they had prepared for her to marry a stable groom? Financial ruin, she supposed. And Harry? What about his need to marry an heiress? Was it her role in the family to pave the way for their security at the expense of her own happiness?

She was discomfited at the thought of how her plans would affect them. She had, in a sense, grown up outside of the family’s stylish circle, content to rusticate, as Harry put it, in the country while they made a place for themselves in the city. Had it changed her, growing up outside of their influence? When they returned to the country at the end of the London social season, they were forever lamenting the lack of entertainment and deriding the provincial manners of the country squires. Eliza, a stranger to London with no wish to become familiar, enjoyed the local dances, the company of their neighbours and the pleasures of the outdoors. If her dresses were out of season, what did it matter? That she had no beaux with whom to flirt did not trouble her. She had given little thought to her future until this spring, when her mother had presented her with the news that she was to come to London and marry Lord Sevile.

Two days. She docilely followed in Mrs. Clemens’ wake to the shops on Bond Street, where her chaperone announced in a loud voice that the young lady was to be the bride of Lord Savile and that only the very best and most fashionable frocks, hats, gloves, shoes, chemisettes, and pelisses would do. And there was no time to waste. Lord Savile expected the best quality, Mrs. Clemens warned, and he knew counterfeit when he saw it. Eliza allowed Mrs. Clemens to rule the conversation. The clothes were for the bride of Lord Sevile. She was to be the bride of Stephen Croft and as such, she would have no need of pelerines or parasols.

As Mrs. Clemens negotiated with the shopkeepers over the price of the rosewater which was guaranteed to keep a lady’s skin as ivory-toned as a marble statue, Eliza wondered if she would get quite brown and freckled as the wife of a stable groom… no
head groom
, surely her Stephen was ambitious enough for that.

All her life she’d been scolded for going outside without proper covering, even though she quite liked the feel of the sun upon her skin. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Stephen spent his days out-of-doors and he looked much more handsome and fit than any of the pale, foppish young men she’d seen in the city, with their ridiculous cravats and outrageously tight breeches.

By the time they returned to Savile House, Eliza’s head ached and she said that she would take a tray in her room. As Lord Savile had not yet returned, Mrs. Clemens had no objection. Eliza ate listlessly; she was not hungry. She wondered if Mrs. Clemens would object if, on the morrow, they went to call on Lady Amelia Ashford. She was one of the few people Eliza was acquainted with. More importantly, her family had a huge library.

Eliza knew very little about keeping a house, and when she was married to Stephen, they would not be able to afford servants. She would need to be able to cook and sew and clean; her awareness of how the working class managed their household affairs was vague, but she would need to do her part. She would not be able to be an idle girl any longer. Accomplishments such as French and playing the pianoforte would be of no use.

Eliza sighed. She had no doubt that she was making the right choice, but it was not likely to be an easy one. To leave everything she knew and venture into an unknown world—

“Stop it!” she told herself. The known world meant marriage to Lord Sevile. What security and joy was there in that?

Eliza went to the window and opened it. The tree was empty of all but its branches and leaves, with no genial, handsome stable hand waiting there. There was no relief from the heat, which seemed to have increased since yesterday. She wished it would rain. She missed the pleasant, soaking rains in the country. When the rain fell in London, it simply created puddles through which the carriages drove, splashing passers-by.

Would Stephen be amenable to moving to the country to find work? Was he city-born? There was so much that she didn’t know about him. It might be difficult for him to find work after word got out that he had stolen Lord Sevile’s bride away. Would it be safe for Stephen to stay in London at all? Perhaps they would have to leave England. She knew French, but France was not a promising destination now, even though Napoleon had been defeated and exiled to Elba. Perhaps they would have to flee to America and make their fortunes in a country where no one would know who they were. Mother was convinced that America was occupied by ruffians and convicts, and perhaps it was, but in America, she and Stephen could begin anew. She resolved to present this option to him when he returned. One more day.

Eliza had never adopted the fashionable habit of lying abed in the morning. Used to early rising, she was eating toast and drinking tea the next day long before Mrs. Clemens could be expected to appear. Her maid, Lisette, was unimpressed with a lady who rose at almost the same hour as servants. Eliza was accustomed to dressing herself and she had sent Lisette away, the maid mollified by the news that before week’s end, the purchases from Worth’s would arrive for her to attend to.

She was alone in the breakfast room, a small chamber which should have been inviting but was instead, to Eliza’s mind, crowded with more proof of Lord Sevile’s affluence. Every corner, every table, every niche was occupied by vases, porcelain bowls, and curious statues. The effect was to make the room seem too small to contain people and Eliza was relieved when she had finished eating. With no one to prevent her, she decided to take a morning walk to the library and procure a book of recipes so that she would know how to cook when the time came that she was Stephen’s wife and the kitchen was hers to manage.

Although it was only morning, the heat was already rising. Donning her bonnet, she stole out the front door of the house as if she were escaping. Soon, she hoped to be doing just that. One more day.

The streets were busy, despite the early hour, but not with the
Beau Mond
e, who were still abed. She passed household servants, shopgirls, vendors, and other people who worked for a living. She would be among them soon, if Stephen kept his promise. Miss Eliza Stanton, part of the
gentry
.

They all walked with a brisk stride, nothing like the languor of the members of the ton who would never been seen showing haste. She wondered if she would ever belong anywhere—

“What the devil are you doing out on the street at this hour, unchaperoned!”

Startled, she saw that Lord Savile had alighted from his carriage and was standing at her side, his face red with anger, his hand gripping her arm so tightly that she knew she would have bruises to show for it.

“I’m going—I want to go to call on Lady Amelia Ashford. The Ashford’s have a library—I—”

“I’m not marrying a bluestocking. You have no business that requires you to read a book or go gallivanting about town,” he hissed, his small, cold blue eyes pinioning her with his rage. “Return home. Stives, take Lady Eliza back home,” he ordered the carriage driver before turning his attention back to her. “I won’t have my future wife talked about, do you hear me? Out on a public street with no one in attendance like a common strumpet—”

“Sir, I am not—”

“Do not defy me or it will be the worse for you, I promise.” At the continued look of defiance on her face, Lord Sevile pressed in closer. She could smell his foul breath.

“Do you hear me, girl? You and your family are fortunate that I chose to overlook the deficiencies in your background and do you the honour of making you my wife.”

Although they were on a public street, in full view of people going by, Lord Savile seemed oblivious to their presence. “You are nothing,” he hissed at her. They were nearly of a height; he was barely an inch taller than she was and his eyes bored into hers. His hair, long and oily beneath his fashionable beaver hat, hung down around his jowly face in greasy tendrils. His skin was surprisingly smooth and pasty, as if he avoided sunlight. She supposed he did. An image of Stephen, his golden brown skin alive with energy and strength, invaded her mind and with it came some of his courage.

“Lord Sevile,” she said firmly. “I don’t know what you are implying but you have no right to cast aspersions on my character in a public setting.”

“Public?” he sneered. “These are servants, they are nothing. They don’t signify. But you will return home before you are observed by anyone of consequence, do you hear me? And you will not leave my residence unattended again. Do you comprehend? I am spending a small fortune to see that you are attired as befits my wife. Do you have any idea what it costs to dress a woman of fashion so that she can take her place in society?”

“I’m very well aware of how much you are spending. I was there when the cost was tallied!” she retorted, irked at his assumption that she should be grateful for the money he was spending, when it was to suit his own purposes that he had sent her with his sister to Bond Street in the first place.

“You are an insolent girl and I will not tolerate such impudence. When we are wed, you will recognize that you have a master who must be obeyed. Stives will take you home. You are not to leave the house today. I will tell you when you may leave. In the carriage! Now!”

The people passing by her may not have significant to Lord Sevile, but Eliza was well aware of their interest and her cheeks were burning when she entered the carriage. As the carriage bore her through the streets, she realized that she was shaking from anger that she could not vent and fear that she could not disregard. Lord Savile was worse than she had imagined, and she would rather scrub dirty floors the rest of her days as long as she was free to speak her mind rather than live in the gilded captivity that would be her fate as Lady Sevile.

One more day.

She did not see Lord Savile the rest of the day, but she knew that he had communicated his displeasure to his sister because Mrs. Clemens delivered a second lecture that lost none of its vitriol for being spoken in the privacy of the morning room.

“My brother will soon have you brought to heel,” Mrs. Clemens crowed. “You’ll dance to a different tune then, just as the others did.”

“The dead ones?” Eliza couldn’t help asking.

Mrs. Clemens’ eyes narrowed. “How dare you? You have a lot to learn, my girl, and my brother is just the man to teach you.”

Eliza smiled. One more day. Just one more to endure this harridan and her vile brother.

But the next day passed with no sign of Stephen. Eliza, with no way of knowing where he had gone or what his plan was, began to feel despair.

What if he had changed his mind? What if he had realized the enormity of what he had proposed and had fled? What if he had been caught by the authorities doing something forbidden by law as part of his intention to rescue her? She passed her that day and the next in her room, uninterested in either food or company.

Mrs. Clemens, convinced that it was apprehension at having displeased Lord Savile that accounted for Eliza’s withdrawal to her room, was triumphant. Two days after the altercation in the street, Mrs. Clemens entered Eliza’s room without knocking. “Your dresses have arrived,” she announced. “My brother has directed me to inform you that the wedding will take place in two days. There will be talk at the haste, of course, but when the bridegroom is as wealthy as my brother, your marriage will be the social event of the season. He has planned a honeymoon on the Continent; when you return, you will be obedient to his will. Do you hear me?”

Eliza had not seen Stephen since he had left earlier that week on the promise to return in two days. Her wedding loomed with no hope of rescue.

“Do you hear me, girl?”

“I hear you.”

“Perhaps you should see a doctor,” Mrs. Clemens said uncertainly. The girl was very pale and wan. She had not lost her beauty, but her spirit had been quelled. Which was as it should be; matrimony was not for a girl who refused to recognize her obligations. Still, Mrs. Clemens wondered if something more was amiss. It would not serve her brother well if, after having lost three previous wives in childbirth, he should lose his fiancée before the wedding vows were taken.

Lord Savile was opposed to the suggestion that his intended needed a doctor. Instead, he summoned Lady Stanton, who went to her daughter at once.

“You should be out making calls,” Lady Stanton chided, sitting at her daughter’s bedside. “What bride lies abed so long when she’s not ill? Your wedding is the day after tomorrow and you look quite frail. You need colour in your cheeks. Lord Sevile’s sister tells me that you are not eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You must eat, Eliza,” her mother urged. “You’ll be too weak to wed, and that will set tongues wagging. Lord Savile is averse to gossip.”

“Then perhaps he should not have chosen the daughter of a gambler for his wife,” Eliza replied without emotion.

Her mother’s eyes revealed shock and surprise at Eliza’s revelation. “Who told you?” she asked in a low voice, as if someone would overhear although there was no one else in the room but Eliza.

“It doesn’t matter. I know that you and Father decided to marry me to Lord Savile so that he would not demand payment for Father’s gambling debts, and so that Harry will be able to marry an heiress with a fortune. I was merely the means by which the family will escape financial ruin. My opinion of Lord Savile is of no consequence.”

“You don’t understand,” her mother pleaded. “If Lord Savile called in those debts, we would be disgraced. We would have to sell everything to pay them, and then we would be penniless. Would you prefer that?”

“If I were to have a daughter, I would never allow her to be sold off in exchange for my own sins,” Eliza answered. “If this marriage is to take place, you must pay for your share of my wretched fate. You must stop Father from gambling anymore.”

“Yes, yes, certainly. He hasn’t so much as touched a card since your engagement was decided,” Lady Stanton told her.

“Neither has Harry. You must believe me, Eliza; we truly mean to mend our ways.”

She probably meant it or believed that she spoke the truth. But Eliza was doubtful that her family would change their ways.

That night, her sleep was troubled. The summer heat which had dominated the weather all week was unsettled; storms broke out through the night, waking her from troubled dreams in which she and Lord Savile stood before the bishop who was unaccountably dressed as a stable groom. He repeated the vows but each time she tried to make her response, Lord Savile began berating her. She awoke before dawn, groggy but strangely determined. She dressed quickly and quietly, and went down the stairs and out the front door, unseen by anyone. No one was likely to notice that she was gone until late in the day.

There was only one chance left. Perhaps Stephen was still at her parent’s house; perhaps his plan had included returning to the place where they had first become acquainted with each other.

She could not have asked her mother whether Stephen Croft had returned to his former place of employment; it was unlikely that Lady Stanton even remembered that she had hired him as a stable hand earlier in the summer. But Eliza he realized that she had to at least try to find him, and she had nowhere else to look.

She could not take a horse from the stables or the hands would report the absence to Lord Sevile. She could do nothing that would attract attention. So she began to walk. She was weak from having gone without food for too long, but she continued walking nonetheless, her shoes sinking in the mud as she made her way out of the city.

The rain began to fall again as thunder rumbled overhead and lightning illuminated the sullen grey skies. Her clothing was soaked, her bonnet drooped and she could feel her hair coming undone, the long, blonde locks saturated.

She kept walking, oblivious to anything. Even when she found herself in familiar surroundings and realized that she had reached her parents’ home, she did not stop to speak to any of the neighbours, although someone would certainly have taken her inside or given her a ride in the family carriage. She continued to walk. Finally, ahead, she saw the family home. She moved faster, forcing her tired feet to continue to advance. She went, not to the doors of the house, but to the stables behind the structure. She heard voices which sounded familiar; rough-hewn tones of the stable hands, but she didn’t hear Stephen. She wandered into the stable, following the sound of voices, but she didn’t see Stephen. She saw Marquessa, and heard the mare nicker in recognition. She went closer to the stall. Someone called out, “Lady Eliza!” as if something were wrong, but Eliza ignored the voice. She could ride Marquessa; Marquessa would be able to find Stephen. For some reason, she was unable to enter the stall; the ground beneath her felt as though it was rising and as her body spiralled to meet it, she heard Marquessa again, her soft nickering the first welcome that Eliza had been given in days.