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Elizabeth's Escape

By B Anderson

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Elizabeth peered at Papa, astride his gelding, and shook her head. Grinding his jaws again. She wanted to grind more than her teeth. Sighing, she patted Thunder’s neck and turned to check the large conveyance following them. Clarissa, her maid, seemed to be enjoying the ride.
Papa’s voice jarred her musings, “Look ahead. There is your new home. Its aspect is magnificent.”
Sheffield House. Several stories and at least two wings, Gainesboro gray stones with an excess of windows. Indeed, as grand as the deer park surrounding it. As they approached the mansion, she twisted again to check the overloaded wagon. It turned toward the service entrance.
She and Thunder followed Papa to the portico.
No one appeared. Papa dismounted, moved to the closed door and rapped. He waited, cocked his head to the side and turned, knocking a second time.
After several minutes, the door opened a few inches. Papa said something, and the door closed. She could see Papa’s jaw working from where she still perched atop Thunder.
The door, at last, reopened and a servant in livery motioned Papa inside. She rubbed her gloved hands down the front of her riding habit. She swallowed and sighed, patted Thunder’s neck again, and breathed in and out, struggling to calm.
Papa rushed to her and helped her dismount.
“Did they not expect us, Papa?” She straightened her skirt as Papa straightened his frock and smoothed his hair.
“No matter, my girl,” he took her arm and ushered her to the entry. “Baron Sheffield is here. We meet with him now, and you wed in the morning. He expects me to leave without delay following the ceremony.”
“Mama will be anxious until you return,” and did not need a setback to her ill health.
The Butler opened the door as they moved forward and she followed Papa through an extraordinary entrance, down a hallway and then stopped before a door. The Butler knocked, entered and then returned to lead them into an enormous library. Elizabeth stifled more than a twinge of disappointment at the abundance of bare shelves. The Butler motioned to two chairs in front of a massive desk.
The first glimpse of her betrothed. The man’s head bent so she could not see his face, but his hair darker than expected, so, younger than anticipated? A silver streak at the temple indicated maturity. Her imaginations conjured a kindhearted older gentleman, helping Papa out of ruin. The Baron did not stand upon their entrance. Kind, but not polite. Or infirm? Her gloves were wet with perspiration. She hoped he would not offer his hand. She nibbled her lip to prevent smiling at the absurd thought. She did not want to give him her hand. Either in polite society or marriage. It will save her parent’s place in society and their home. She sighed.
Baron Sheffield seemed to steal a quick look at her, but eyeballed Papa, “You understand the terms of the contract, I assume.”
Papa cleared his throat and shifted in the chair, “We cannot thank you enough, and I assure you Elizabeth is excellent at managing the household.”
“She will not manage my household,” the man behind the desk sucked in a breath.
“What?” Papa’s voice squeaked.
“My mother, the Baroness, manages the household,” he sneered and pointed, “She will have no, absolutely no, responsibilities in that quarter.”
“But,” Papa leaned forward, “Once you marry, of course, my daughter becomes Baroness.”
“No,” the man gave an exasperated sigh, “She will become my wife. My mother remains Baroness.” He shook his head, “As I informed you in our correspondence, Coventry.”
Elizabeth sucked in a reprimand. Papa should be addressed Lord Coventry by someone younger, even if a higher rank. How can he affront Papa so? She clenched her teeth and regarded Papa, not her future husband, who continued.
“My first wife died during childbirth four months’ past, and I require an heir. Providing that is the one expectation of your daughter.” He turned and squinted at her, “She is passably pretty and should provide an acceptable heir.”
Four months since his wife passed away and to marry again? How many wives does he expect to have in his lifetime?
A tap on the door broke the exchange. The Butler poked his head around the door. The Baron nodded. The servant moved behind the desk, bent and whispered. The Baron huffed a sigh, shook his head, “It will have to be.” He motioned the servant away, “Carter tells me you have brought,” he ground his teeth, seemed unable to come up with a word. He nodded to the Butler again, “They delivered her things to her room. Coventry, you occupy the room next to hers. Carter will take you there now.”
Elizabeth remained seated, “Milord, please,” she opened her reticule and pulled out the folded parchment. “Could I ask a few questions?”
She perceived barely contained annoyance. The Baron, like Papa, ground his teeth. Then he leaned forward a little, steepled his fingers, “Please.”
Staring down, she straightened the parchment several times.
His voice growled, “Is that necessary?”
“I do not wish to omit anything.” She struggled to smile, but his scowl made her swallow it, “First, will I be allowed to ride?”
He frowned, “I suppose we can find a mount for you.”
“We brought my horse, thank you.” She inclined her head, “Will it be allowed?” If not, Thunder would return home with Papa.
“I suppose it permissible until you are with child. I will not tolerate you putting my heir at risk.”
The parchment dampened where her fingers clasped it, “Will I be expected to attend many social functions with you?”
His voice pierced, “Unequivocally not.”
She almost smiled with relief.
“Allow me to be frank,” his dark eyes turned into slits. “I made a contract for our marriage with your father to provide me an heir and provide him an escape from financial ruin.” He snarled, “The only time we need interact is during conjugal duties.”
She nibbled her lip, hoping to hide embarrassment.
He stood, “Just what is so amusing?”
A tremble in her hands, she swallowed, “I apologize, milord. Perhaps other questions should wait.” She rose, curtsied and rushed toward the door, “If you please, Carter, show us to our rooms.” She wanted to get away from this man. However, an important question came to mind. She put up her hand, snapped her fingers and turned, “I do beg pardon, but one final question.”
“What?”
“How am I to address you?”
“Baron Sheffield.”
She lowered her face and tightened her lips. It is preposterous to call a husband by his title.
“You think everything is a joke?” He stormed toward her and towered over her. “My mother will be addressed as Baroness Sheffield. My oldest sister as Lady Sheffield and my younger sister as Lady Katherine. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Baron Sheffield.” She straightened her shoulders and tried to leave the room with the little dignity she could muster. The marriage solved Papa’s financial worries.
She peered up at Papa’s raised voice, “The wife always occupies the bedroom adjacent to her husband.”
Not always, Papa and Mama shared a room, even with her illness.
Carter’s voice conveyed contempt, “The Baroness has always occupied those chambers and will until she passes, which, Sir, will not be for a long time. The ladies have grown up in those rooms and have every right to keep them.” The man sneered, his eyes slits and teeth bared, “Your daughter is marrying far above her station and should be honored to have a room on this floor. If not for the Baron, she would be stationed on the above floor.”
The quarters for servants. “Let us take a look, Papa.” She took his arm and smiled, hoping to appease him.
Carter marched to the end of the long corridor and opened a door.
They walked into a dark, cold room smelling of misuse. “Where is Clarissa?”
“Your maid is in the servant’s quarters until she and your father leave tomorrow.” The snobbish man nodded his head.
“But I need her.” She scanned several trunks strewn around the room. She knows where things are.
“Baroness Sheffield does not wish an outside servant disrupting the household operations. You will have to do without your lady’s maid.”
“I will go speak to the Baron,” Papa turned to the door.
“No, Papa.” That odious man might renege on the agreement and then where would Papa be? Perhaps in Newgate. “I understand the Baroness needing to maintain order. I could never keep her busy.” Clarissa assisted with projects not considered maid’s duties. “I will write a letter of reference and write a letter to Caroline to see if she is acquainted with someone needing a qualified maid. Go rest a while before we dine this evening.” She turned to the Butler, “Does the family dress for dinner?” Many in the country did not adhere to that constraint.
“Of course, they dress for the evening meal.”
“Would you be kind enough to send a man to assist with my father’s clothing? It needs to be pressed.” She sighed and turned, thinking the man gone. She whispered, “Poor Papa. First Mama’s illness and now this,” she let out a huff, “arrangement. Lord, please help me.”
A voice cleared behind her. She whirled to see Carter with hands behind his back.
“I apologize, Miss, you had not dismissed me.”
Her face heated, “I apologize, Carter. You caught me talking to myself.” She stifled a grin, “I do not do it often.”
The man showed no emotion, “With your leave, Miss.”
She nodded. The man curtly turned and left the room. The door clicked closed. She exhaled, “I thought you dismissed me.”
This room, not much larger than her room at home but would hold all her belongings. Papa insisted on bringing her pianoforte, and her writing desk. She brought one small trunk of books, hoping for a well-stocked library at Sheffield. Disappointing. She limited the number of canvases to save space but brought all her paints. One trunk filled with fabric. She shook her head at the trunks. Being involved in so many other preparations, she had Clarissa pack. She had no idea which trunks held what.
An open door showed a sizable dressing room. Clarissa must have been here for a little while. A dress for dinner and her wedding outfit, already pressed, hung with a few other items. A room separate from the dressing room housed a water closet and permanent tub. At least it afforded privacy. All in need of a decent cleaning. She walked back into the main room. She turned and surveyed the space. It can work. Heavy draperies darkened one corner. She pulled them back, coughed at the dust, and grinned at glassed doors leading onto a balcony. What a magnificent view. A picturesque field filled with every shade of umber, mixed with yellows and golds. Trees lined the horizon. She eyed the tones. Moss, myrtle, pine. A sight to be sure. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Fresh air. She identified the song of a goldfinch, a skylark, and a hawk. She walked to the edge of the balcony. Plenty of room for the easel and maybe for the chair she saw in the chamber. It would be pleasant to sit and read here. Thunder to ride, music, art and a child to love. It could be worse.
A creak. The sound when Carter showed them in, the door, so she walked in from the balcony, leaving the doors open to air the room.
A dark, austere lady, who could be no other than her prospective mother-in-law, yapped, “What is all this?”
Elizabeth curtsied, “Baroness Sheffield, I assume. I am pleased to meet you.”
“I asked what this disarray is. This room is,” the woman scrunched her nose, “was well-appointed. What have you done?”
Elizabeth stammered, “Well, you see, all my things were placed here, and,”
“You were not to bring things. Return them at once. I will not have them in my home.” The woman stepped forward, side-stepping two trunks occupying the center of the room.
Elizabeth stepped back as someone else entered the room without knocking.
Papa peered at the woman, “What goes here?”
She skirted the Baroness and grabbed Papa’s arm, “Papa, this is Baroness Sheffield.”
They scowled at each other and her, but she forged ahead, “Baroness Sheffield, I am pleased to introduce you to my father, Lord Charles Coventry.”
The woman examined them as though they were insects, “I did not realize you own a title.”
Papa growled, “I may have fallen on hard times, Baroness, but I have not lost my title or lands.”
Thanks to this marriage, which the woman surely knows. “Papa, Baroness Sheffield is concerned about all my trunks here,” she swept the room with her arm.
The woman grew in stature, becoming even more arrogant, “These things have to return to your house. They will not be in my home.”
Papa ground his teeth, “I will take care of this, my dear.” He pivoted and strode from the room, slamming the door. What now? She stared at the floor and held her breath. The woman shared her son’s severe appearance. Not altogether as dark. No silver streak, although the woman’s hair had flecks of gray in its austere style. Finely dressed even if out of fashion.
A stamped foot and the Baroness pranced around the room, “Whatever possessed you to think you could bring your paltry belongings into my home?”
“I apologize, Baroness Sheffield, I believed I would be joining a welcoming home.” That is what Papa told her, the Baron a kind soul, helping him.

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