The Viscount’s Wife: Weddings & Scandals, page 1
The Viscount’s Wife
Weddings & Scandals
Joyce Alec
Contents
Love Light Faith
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
More Stories You’ll Love
Thank You!
Text Copyright © 2019 by Joyce Alec
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2019
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311
Love Light Faith
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1
Nineteenth Century, England
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Miss Henrietta Reapson turned towards her new husband, trying to smile against the pain in her heart. She felt nothing for Viscount Chaucer, who was at least fifteen years her senior, according to what her father had said. But she was now Lady Chaucer, she realized, no longer a part of her father’s household and certainly no longer free to make any sort of decisions.
Not that she had ever been able to make decisions before, given the tyrannical way her father, Baron Reapson, had run his household. Once, when Henrietta had been forced to endure yet another of his raging speeches directing his gaze and words at every fault she had, Henrietta’s father had told her that his own mother, her late grandmother, had been the most ridiculous creature who had shown little respect for her own husband. Apparently, she had bought whatever she wished, gone wherever she wanted and had behaved just as she had thought best. Her grandmother’s reckless ways almost caused her family to lose their fortune. The previous Baron Reapson, Henrietta’s grandfather, had been brought nothing but shame because of this – or so Henrietta’s father had told her.
It was because of this that she and her sister, Mary, had been treated in such a callous manner. She had never once been given the freedom to choose even the color of her gowns, for her father had insisted on approving every single garment she had ever purchased. Likewise, he had made sure that the books she read, the shoes she wore, and even the music she played were all to his satisfaction. Of course, she had argued, tried to stand up for herself, and had borne the consequences of such things. Nothing had changed, no matter how hard she had tried.
She had never really known freedom at all.
“Do hurry up.”
Glancing up at her new husband, Henrietta tried her best not to let tears fall, despite the fact that they were burning in her eyes. “I just wish to thank those who have come to witness our marriage, Lord Chaucer,” she said quietly, wincing as though she thought he might strike her for such insolence. “I shall not be more than a few minutes.” Silently, she thought that it was more than rude for a gentleman and his new wife to simply climb into their awaiting carriage and depart without so much as a single wave or a word of thanks to those who had come to join them at the church, but she did not dare say such a thing to Lord Chaucer. After the threats her father had laid on her shoulders of late, Henrietta was quite certain that Lord Chaucer would not hesitate to punish her—physically or otherwise—for any sort of insult he considered her to make. And yet, she could not simply turn her back on her guests, for that would make her out to be rude and entirely inconsiderate, and that was not the person she was.
“I shall give you three minutes only,” Lord Chaucer replied stiffly, not looking at her. “I will be in the carriage.”
Henrietta stared after her husband in dismay as he walked through the small gathering of guests towards the carriage, not looking to the left or right as he went. He was of small stature but rather portly, meaning that he walked slowly for a gentleman. She cared nothing for him, of course, but his behavior towards their guests was extremely embarrassing and Henrietta felt her face flare with color as she tried to maintain her own composure.
“Why are you not with your husband?”
Henrietta cringed as her father’s sharp words tumbled around her ears. “I am to thank the guests on his behalf,” she replied, as quietly as she could. “You are to join us for our wedding breakfast, I believe?” She had not had much to do with the preparations and plans for her wedding, but her husband had informed her that the wedding breakfast would be a small affair, comprising of her parents, her sister and her husband, Lord Preston, and some relations and associates of Viscount Chaucer himself. Not that she had any particular notion of whom these relations might be, given that she knew very little about her husband and his affairs.
Her father, tall, thin, with greying hair, a long, thin nose, and sharp, brown eyes, regarded her with an almost disgusted air, as though she were a constant source of displeasure in his life. Henrietta did not doubt that it was true, having become well used to the fact that, in her father’s eyes, she could do nothing of merit.
“You should know that we are to attend, Henrietta,” he sniffed, turning away from her. “These plans should be so firmly fixed in your mind that you need not even consider asking such a question as that. Now, do go on. I can see your husband is waiting for you and you know that I have warned you it would be best not to displease him.”
“I shall do so when I am quite ready, Father.” The words came from her mouth with a touch of sharpness, even though she was cringing inside. Her father glared at her, his mouth pulling into a thin line. She had displeased him yet again.
Henrietta heard a quiet whimper come from just behind her father and dared a quick glance in her mother’s direction. Her dear mama, who was as thin and as frail as Henrietta had ever seen her, was staring at Henrietta with those watery blue eyes of hers, evidently terrified that Henrietta would be punished in some despicable manner simply for being tardy. Not for the first time, Henrietta’s heart went out to her dear mother, who had been in this state of anxious frailty for a good many years. It was almost a reflection of the person Henrietta herself might become one day, given that her new husband, Viscount Chaucer, shared many qualities with her father.
“I shall be quite all right, Mama,” she promised quietly, seeing her father stride away. Reaching for her mother’s hand, she held it tightly, taking in her mother’s lined face, the weariness in her eyes, and the paleness of her skin. Her mother had never really been able to do much in her life other than obey the demands of her husband. Sometimes, Henrietta had wondered what her mother had been like before she had married, whether or not she had ever had spirit, or even allowed herself to speak her own opinions aloud. She could hardly imagine it. Part of her feared dreadfully what her mother’s future would be like, now that both she and her elder sister, Mary, were married. No longer would her mother have her there by her side, ready to bear the weight of Baron Reapson’s displeasure.
“Go, Henrietta,” her mother whispered urgently, her eyes rounding all the more. “Lord Chaucer will be most displeased with you if you do not go to the carriage at this very moment.”
Henrietta tried to smile, ignoring the weeping in her soul. This was the very first time she was to be alone with her husband and she was truly distressed at the thought. But there was no opportunity for her to delay any further, for she had said the briefest of thanks to as many guests as she could, and now it was time to return to her husband.
“I will see you again within the hour, Mama,” Henrietta promised, squeezing her mother’s hand again before letting it go. “You will sit with me at the wedding breakfast, I think.”
Her mother’s eyes dimmed. “I do not think that is your decision to make, Henrietta. Now, go. Please. Before you come to harm.”
Henrietta felt tears spring into her eyes at this remark and, in order to hide them from her mother, leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Then, knowing that she had nothing else to do and nowhere she could hide, Henrietta turned back towards the carriage, seeing Viscount Chaucer’s face glaring at her from the open carriage door.
Her stomach knotted as she made her way through the small crowd of guests, who were all talking cheerfully together. She knew very few of them by sight and certainly even less by name. There were more than a few whispers and Henrietta felt her stomach tighten as she slowly approached the carriage. Were they talking of her standing alone, unaccompanied by her husband? Would there be gossip spread throughout all of London with regard to their particular nuptials? It was not at all common for a husband to march straight to his carriage and wait there for his new bride to make her farewells, and Henrietta was well aware that it gave the impression that her husband was both selfish and unfeeling. That brought shame upon them both.
She was decidedly anxious as she was helped up into the carriage, thoughts of what was to come beginning to assail her. Lord Chaucer was now quite red in the face, sweat trickling down from his temples as he glared at her.
“You were tardy.”
Inclining her head, Henrietta tried to quieten her thudding heart, folding her hands together gently in her lap so that Lord Chaucer would not see her shake so. “Do forgive me, Lord Chaucer,” she said, her voice a touch tremulous. “My mother wished to give me some advice before I took my leave.” Without even lifting her head, she continued to speak. “And two of the guests wished to give me their very particular congratulations. I thought it rude not to accept them.”
The carriage jerked and Henrietta let out a quiet yelp of surprise, reaching for the strap to steady herself as the carriage began to make its way back through London.
“You were tardy,” Lord Chaucer said again, his voice considerably lower than before. “I was specific with my time, was I not?”
Fear crawled over her skin. “You were indeed, my lord,” she replied, dropping her head and feeling a deep depression flood her soul. Lord Chaucer was precisely like her father in almost every way, it seemed. He would demand and expect her absolute obedience. She was not to have even an ounce of freedom. Her life’s imprisonment was to continue.
A hard slap caught her unaware and she was thrown back in her seat, a gasp ripped from her mouth.
“We will begin this marriage with the understanding that you are to do as I ask without question,” Lord Chaucer said mildly, as though he had not just struck her across the face. “If you do not do as you are told, or if there are excuses, delays, or the like, then there shall be consequences for you.” A smug smile settled over his face, making him all the more repulsive to Henrietta. “Your father informed me that he has been able to train you very well in such matters, which is one of the main reasons I chose to take you as my bride.” He sniffed and looked out of the window, his small, blue eyes cold and hard, as though he found fault with everything he saw. “Although he did mention that you appear to have a desire to live as you please, which has not yet been quenched. I have every hope that I shall be able to rid you of it. I shall not have a wife who is headstrong, who believes herself to be my equal.” Looking back at her, he pinned her to her seat with the sharpness of his gaze, sending fear straight into her heart. “Do you understand me, Henrietta?”
“Yes, yes, I do.” Her words were whispered and faint, but immediate. She had nothing else to do, no other recourse to take, than to agree with her husband wholeheartedly. Her cheek stung from where he had struck her, but she blinked her tears away with the practiced art of someone who had endured such things before. Her father and Lord Chaucer could be the same man, given that they both behaved in such a similar manner. Her husband, however, could punish her in a good many more physical ways than her father, and such a thought struck fear into her heart. Her life stretched out before her as a dark and lonely path, where she walked, manacled, chained to Lord Chaucer, who walked freely before her, demanding she follow in his every step. Despair filled her, covering her like a cloud that enveloped her in its darkness.
“Very good,” Lord Chaucer murmured with a self-satisfied tone to his words. “You will learn quickly, Henrietta, I am quite sure, for your life with me shall simply be an extension of what your life has been under your father’s guidance. You have nothing to fear so long as you continue to behave as you ought.”
“I understand,” Henrietta said brokenly, looking at her husband and seeing only darkness there. His round face was smug, his small eyes half hidden by his lowered lids. Thick, bushy eyebrows hung low over his eyes, bringing attention to both them and his somewhat bulbous nose. His mouth was wide, long, and stretched in a sneer that revealed his broken and missing teeth, his second chin hanging over his cravat as though he had attempted to stuff it into his collar and had not quite succeeded in doing so.
Henrietta wanted to weep right there in the carriage, regardless of whatever consequences her husband thought fit to lay on her head for such a display of her emotions. This was not the life nor the future she had always allowed herself to dream about. Perhaps such dreams had been foolish, but they had been her only escape from her life of pain and struggle. She had thought that, mayhap, with her first visit to London and her first Season, she might be allowed to dance and to converse with the gentlemen of the ton. She had dreamed of courtship, of walks in the park, of afternoon tea together, of notes and gifts declaring fond affection for her.
Instead, she had not been allowed any such thing. Her debut had come at the age of twenty, which was the year her father had decided that she should go to London. She had begged to go each year previously, much to her father’s frustration, and why she had not been permitted to go before had been something of a mystery, especially since her elder sister, Mary, had already been married for two years. However, once she had arrived in London, everything had made sense.
Her father had been searching for the man he deemed to be the most suitable husband for her. And Viscount Chaucer had been the gentleman her father had settled on. Of course, Baron Reapson had spoken at length about the struggles he had endured in his attempts to find her a husband, given how quiet, how plain, and how unappealing she was. But Henrietta was quite certain that, whilst she might be plain, her father’s choice was more to do with the gentleman himself rather than anything else. Her father cared nothing for compassion, for affection, or even kindness, so he would not even have considered a gentleman who displayed such qualities. Little wonder, then, that he had found it quite trying to find her such a gentleman.
“Now, you are to speak when you are spoken to and not at any other time,” her husband began, interrupting her thoughts. “You are to sit by me and look as pleased as you can be. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her throat working painfully as she tried to garner the courage she needed to ask a simple question. “My lord, might my mother sit on my other side?” She looked over at her husband, fearing that he might strike her again. “It is the last opportunity she shall have to do so.” Where she had found the strength to even say such a thing, Henrietta was not quite sure. Perhaps it had been the look in her mother’s eyes that she could not forget. Perhaps it was that she truly longed for a little comfort before the night came and she would have to permit Lord Chaucer into her bed.
Lord Chaucer leaned forward, looking at her straight in the eye. “And yet again appears this stubbornness, the one your father could never quite stamp out,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes until they were nothing more than tiny slits in his large, red face. “Have no doubt, I shall be the one to remove it from you, my dear girl. You shall have no strength left within you by the time I am finished with you.”
Henrietta shuddered violently, which only brought delight to her husband’s face. He laughed raucously as the carriage began to slow, eventually coming to a stop directly outside his townhouse. The viscount continued to laugh as he dragged Henrietta out of the carriage, not even waiting for the footmen to escort her down the small steps that had been placed there. Henrietta’s hand lay cold in her husband’s grasp, her trembling taking a hold of her with an even greater intensity. She had no doubt that the viscount would do everything he had said, which left her fearing for her very life. The door swung open and she was half pulled, half dragged across the threshold, barely able to keep her balance as she stumbled after her husband.
This was the start of her torment. This was the start of her anguish—and there was nothing whatsoever that she could do about it.
2
