Chapter 1

Chapter 1

She walked to the window, staring out at the unfamiliar garden. This was supposed to be her home. And now, there was no telling what was going to happen.

Breathe, Hetty , she told herself, as panic began to rise in her breast, once again. Just breathe.

But it was becoming increasingly difficult to know how to do that most basic of functions. Ever since she had awoken this morning to find that her husband of less than twenty-four hours had abandoned her.

She walked back to the desk, where the hastily scrawled note was still lying. She had found it this morning when she had awoken. Frank had insisted last night when they had retired, that they stay in separate rooms. Just for the night, he had told her, his blue eyes creased with concern. She was tired after their wedding and would appreciate a good night's sleep by herself. She had not argued with him, being nervous about her wedding night and all that it would entail. She had felt as if she were being given a reprieve that she had never expected.

She picked up the note, staring down at it, her eyes skimming over it without taking in a word. He must have stolen into her chambers, either last night after she was asleep, or early this morning, and left it there. She had not heard him.

I am supposed to be a newly married woman , she thought, in wonder. The start of her married life, as Mrs Henrietta Blackmore. A new woman. She had thought that she was leaving Miss Henrietta Arnold behind, forever. And now, everything had been turned upside down, and she was reeling.

Focus , she told herself fiercely. Read it again. Perhaps it is not as bad as you think.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, she focused on the black ink, trying to turn it into words, rather than meaningless hieroglyphics. Frank's hand was not easy to read at the best of times, and this was the worst of them.

My Dear Hetty,

Sorry that I wasn't able to tell you this in person. I have discovered that I have changed my mind about being married. I simply cannot do it. I have grappled with a growing unease about our nuptials for months now but felt I was in too deep to back out of the arrangements.

Now, the reality of what we have done has sunk in, and I cannot keep on this path. I wish you the very best for the future. I truly do.

Frank

Her eyes blurred with tears as a fresh surge of pain stabbed at her heart. In fury, she screwed up the note, throwing it into the fire. She watched the parchment curling, blackening until it disappeared into ashes. She sank to the floor, the skirt of her gown spilling out around her, putting her face into her hands, as a low moan of pain forced its way out of her throat.

How could he have done this to me?

Desperately, she grappled to make sense of the situation. Frank Blackmore had given no indication of cold feet, despite what he said in the note. He had been an attentive, polite suitor. There had been no passion between them, but Hetty had not been raised to expect that, anyway. All that she had wanted was a good husband who would take care of her.

Frank had seemed to tick every box in that regard. He was moderately wealthy, charming, and pragmatic. He had purchased a new townhouse for them, in the village of Derrington, in her home county of Wiltshire. It wasn't that far from the country estate where she had been raised.

Hetty shuddered, her hands slowly falling away from her face, as she gazed around the room. The furniture, all newly purchased, for their life together. This was not a room she was familiar with at all. She had only been through the house once, before her wedding day, and Frank had dragged her quickly through it. It wasn't her home. Not yet. And now, she was all alone here amongst strangers. She wasn't even familiar with the servants, yet.

I am abandoned. I am an abandoned wife. What is to become of me? The shame of it. The scandal.

Hetty jumped at a sharp rap on the chamber door. Hastily wiping away the tears with the back of her hand, she quickly stood up, taking a deep breath. Her mother had taught her that no matter the situation, no matter how heavy the heart, one must never show it, especially not to the servants.

The door opened, and Dickinson, the butler, stood there, gazing at her impassively.

"Mrs Blackmore," he said, in a slightly gravelly voice. "There is a gentleman at the door, who says that he must speak with you urgently." The butler handed over a white card, stepping back.

Hetty stared down at the card. Mr Joseph Baldwin , it read. Solicitor.

Her heart clenched. Why was a solicitor at her door, asking to speak to her urgently? As she followed Dickinson down the stairs, her heart thumping painfully in her chest, she had a premonition that it wasn't about anything good.

***

Mr Joseph Baldwin was a portly man with a florid complexion and wiry white hair. Sitting on the edge of the green chaise longue in the drawing room, he balanced a cup of tea in one hand, staring at her with eagle sharp eyes.

"You are very silent, Mrs Blackmore," he said slowly. "Have you quite understood what I have just told you?"

Hetty felt as if she were going to faint. Desperately, she dug her nails into her forearm. She simply could not believe what he had just said.

Frank had sold the townhouse. Their newly purchased house that she had only spent one night in as its mistress was no longer her home. Not that it had ever been given a chance to be one. The speed of the events – Frank's abandonment of her, and now selling the house, without her knowledge or consent – was simply too much to take in.

She sat there, stunned, staring at the man who had just delivered the news.

"I … I understand, what you have told me," she said eventually. "What I do not understand is how this has happened. When it happened."

The solicitor cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Mr Blackmore, your husband approached my solicitor's office a week ago," he said, fidgeting on the edge of the longue. "He told me that he needed to sell this house urgently and would be open to offers. I was able to secure a buyer who wishes to take possession of the house immediately."

"Immediately?" she echoed, hearing her voice as if from far away. "What does that mean for me?"

The man's eyes boggled. "It means, madam, that you must vacate this house within fourteen days from today's date," he said, his mouth twisting. "Your husband has not intimated this to you at all?"

Hetty's face flushed painfully. "My husband has walked out on me, Mr Baldwin," she replied. "He left a note for me, informing me of his abandonment. I woke up this morning and found it." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "He did not tell me anything in this note, about the fact he had sold the house without my knowledge. He has not seen fit to tell me anything."

Mr Baldwin looked shocked. "I thought it odd that he wanted me to come here and tell you myself," he said. "Most irregular, but I agreed. You have the note, informing you that he has abandoned you?"

Hetty's heart sank, thinking of the note, which was now ashes in the fire. She had been too impetuous in doing that. She hadn't thought that perhaps she might need proof of what he had done to her. What he was still doing.

She shook her head. "I … I burnt it in a fit of passion," she said, appalled to hear the tremor in her voice. "I was not thinking clearly. Mr Baldwin, is there any way – any way at all – that this sale can be reversed?"

He shook his head slowly, his face creased in sympathy. "I am afraid not, Mrs Blackmore. The legalities have all been completed." He cleared his throat again. "Mr and Mrs Howe are now the legal owners of the property. I am afraid that you have no choice but to vacate as soon as possible."

Hetty was silent as she digested this. Not only was she an abandoned wife, but now she had no home, as well. He had taken everything away from her.

Why? Why has he done this to me?

"It is a pity that you burnt that note," continued the solicitor, shaking his head. "Even though your husband's abandonment is obvious, you do not have proof that was his intention, now … if you decide to appeal to the courts, to seek a divorce, that is …"

Hetty looked at him so horrified that for a moment she simply could not speak. The word hung in the air between them like a dirty piece of laundry. Divorce.

Her mind reeled once more. No, she could not do such a thing. Divorce was virtually unheard of amongst her class. The taint of it was so foul that she doubted any lady could recover from it. It was bad enough being abandoned, but divorced?

Her life was over. She would never recover from this scandal.

Mr Baldwin sighed heavily. "Of course, there is proof that your husband sought sale of this property prior to your wedding day," he said thoughtfully. "There may be just cause to claim that such an act shows that he intended to do this. That it was a calculated act …"

Hetty's colour deepened. The shame of it. Of course, it was all calculated. Frank had claimed in the note that he had only just realised he could not go through with the marriage – that even though he had been having cold feet in the lead up to it, that his decision to flee was spontaneous.

He had lied. He had been lying to her for quite a while.

He had planned this. He had calculatingly sold their house without her knowledge before they had even exchanged their vows. He had intended to desert her. He had just been waiting until they were legally wed, to do it.

Why? For the love of God … why?

She cast her mind back, desperately, searching for clues. Trying to piece together the puzzle. But there was simply nothing that she could think of. He had always acted as if he were thrilled to be marrying her, in a muted way, of course.

He had always been a proper gentleman, never trying to take liberties with her, as she had heard that some fiancés did. Frank had never even tried to kiss her. A dry peck on the cheek was the most intimate contact that they had ever had.

It had pleased her during their engagement that he was such a gentleman. She had thought that it showed how much respect he had for her, that he was unwilling to compromise her before their wedding. But now, it didn't seem that way at all. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, it seemed that Frank had no desire for her.

He had never cared for her. He had never intended to live alongside her, as husband and wife. This had all been part of a larger plan. He had been pretending all along.

Her humiliation was complete.

Quickly, she stood up. "Mr Baldwin, thank you for coming here," she said quietly. "But I am afraid that I must lie down now. I am sure you will understand the shock of what you have just told me, and what else has happened to me today." She took a deep breath. "I shall vacate the property within the fourteen days that you have specified."

The solicitor stood up hastily, almost spilling his cup as he placed it on a side table. "Of course, of course Mrs Blackmore," he said. "Quite understandable in the circumstances." He paused. "You have my sympathy. That Mr Blackmore could do such a thing to such a charming and lovely lady as yourself …"

Hetty took a deep breath. "Yes, well, it has happened, and I just have to deal with it now. Good day, Mr Baldwin. I am sure you have done everything that you must."

***

After the solicitor had taken his leave, Hetty wandered around the silent house, going into every room. She trailed a hand over the furniture. She was growing detached now; she had never had a chance to make any of this her own, and soon, it would all be gone, at any rate. Best that she had not grown attached. To be ripped out of this house at a later time would be even worse.

Eventually, she returned to her chamber, firmly shutting the door behind her. She was so weary; all that she wanted to do was lie down and drift into sleep. But she couldn't do that yet. First, she had to write a letter and inform her parents as to what had happened. She only had fourteen days before she had to leave this house.

She sat down at the desk, dipping the quill in the inkpot. Her bottom lip trembled as she began to write, her hand racing across the parchment.

Dear Papa and Mama,

I write to you with a heavy heart. Something most grievous has occurred, which I am still trying to process. I find that I need your help.

Frank, my husband, has deserted me. I woke up this morning to a brief note, saying that he could not stay married to me. More than that, a solicitor arrived on my doorstep, informing me that he sold the house a week ago. I have only fourteen days before I must vacate the premises before the new owners take possession.

To say that I am shocked by the brutality of these events is an understatement. That my new husband could have been so callous, so cruel, simply takes my breath away. I am trying very hard to keep functioning, but it is all becoming so very hard. I simply do not know what to do.

Please, can you come to me, and assist me?

Your loving daughter,

Henrietta

She folded the letter, sealing it. She would take it to Dickinson, soon, and he would make sure that it was sent. But she couldn't do it right now. Her limbs felt so heavy she didn't even know how she would walk to the bed.

She sat at the desk for a long time, staring at the wall before dragging herself across the room and collapsing on the bed.

She curled herself into a ball, her shoulders heaving. Hot, salty tears streamed down her face. She sobbed, piteously, letting out all of the pain and confusion of the morning. It felt cathartic, almost cleansing.

She couldn't deny the truth any longer. Frank had never wanted to marry her – or not for herself, at any rate. All of his charm had been a front. She recalled all the times he had complimented her, saying she was beautiful and so very clever. How much he was looking forward to making her his wife. All lies.

She sobbed harder, staring down at her hand, where her new wedding band gleamed gold. It was important to him that she was legally his wife. So, it had all been for her dowry. He had wanted her money, that was all.

The nest egg her father had been keeping for her to assure her protection throughout her life. She knew that it had already been released to Frank. As soon as he had it, he had enacted his plan, setting the wheels in motion.

She was disgraced, an abandoned wife, without even a roof over her head. A wave of pure anger swept through her. She hated him, more than she hated anyone in her life. Better that he had died than done this. Better that he had left her a widow, than this. At least there was honour in being a widow. At least she would have status, even if she would still have been an object of pity.

She sobbed, shaking with rage. She had trusted a man, a charming man, who had promised her the world. And now, her life was lying in ashes around her.

I will never trust a man again, she vowed, as another wave of anger threatened to choke her. I will never put my life in the hands of a man again except for my father.

She curled up into a tighter ball, repeating the vow to herself as if it were a prayer.