Chapter 18
Although I managed somewhat to reconcile my mind to my future husband, my heart refused to be tamed. I knew I did not love Mr Humbleton in the slightest, and I mourned the loss of Mr Fitzroy after Jane’s unwelcome news. Thinking of him wed to Rosalind, even though she was logically a better match for him, was too much to bear. I shed quiet tears alone in my room and louder, more ferocious ones when I took George out for a ride. At least the rain had eased off, allowing me to escape from the house; and if my red eyes and runny nose were commented upon when I returned, I would say I had been caught in a rogue shower. I hoped that, in time, I would come to accept my destiny and the myriad benefits that being married to Mr Humbleton offered me. But I knew I had a hard road ahead of me to reach that place.
Unfortunately, almost as if he had some uncanny foresight, my cousin sensed that I was struggling; and Papa received a lengthy letter from him not long after Jane visited. He relayed the contents to me at breakfast, and I listened with mounting horror .
‘It seems Percival has arranged everything for your wedding more speedily than he thought he could. It will take place next week.’
I sucked in a sharp breath. What?
Papa continued reading, oblivious to my reaction. ‘He has already set off and will be arriving in Steventon to collect us in two days’ time. The wedding will be a small affair with just our family and a few of his good friends and neighbours ... Well, this is all happening rather fast! But I suppose it is a good thing, Felicity, as you will be settled in Hertfordshire before winter sets in,’ Papa said, blinking at the letter.
‘But what about a wedding dress?’ I lamented. ‘I haven’t even picked out the material.’ Understandably, I had been dragging my heels on that account!
‘Ah, he has mentioned that too. Here, this bit at the end says he does not wish any fuss on that matter as he knows it is an extra expense and that any good white dress will do. He suggests you wear the one you wore to the ball at Ashbury Manor as you looked very pretty in it. It is really quite thoughtful of him.’
Harriet and I looked at each other, and my blood began to boil. Not even to have a wedding dress! Oh, he was a horrible man! And to think I had to live with him under the same roof for decades until one of us died! How would I ever cope?
Another letter arrived from him in the afternoon post; this one was addressed to me.
My dearest cousin Felicity,
By now you should have received the news that our wedding is to be much sooner than expected and that I am travelling with haste to Steventon. All arrangements, such as they are, have been made. So there is no reason to delay. God has blessed us as there was an unexpected opening in the church schedule for next week—a bride eloped with the groom’s brother, a most distasteful business. But you need not concern yourself with that!
Rest assured that you will have a few days to acquaint yourself with your surroundings and accommodation before the ceremony. I have asked the housekeeper to have all the rooms thoroughly cleaned and aired (even the rugs beaten and curtains shaken out of doors), and the small parlour downstairs is being made ready for your own particular use. It is a pretty room, with a pleasing pastel decor, a fireplace, and a view out to the garden. You must tell me what flowers are your favourites, and I will tell the gardener to plant them. I will make a note for us to discuss it in the carriage on the return journey.
Your fiancé,
P. Humbleton
I groaned inwardly and cursed the bride that had eloped with the groom’s brother. If she had not, I would have had another three months of freedom. As it was, I had barely a day and a half as my fiancé was on his way! I had a vision of him yelling out the carriage window to the driver, urging him to travel at breakneck speed.
It was not like Mr Humbleton to be so reckless. Was it pre-wedding jitters brought on by the errant bride? I did not know, but something had lit a fire under his heels.
I went to bed that night feeling disgruntled and out of sorts (Sue could not even tempt me with a slice of my favourite custard tart for dessert).
Yet despite lying there for many hours, sleep evaded me. I kept thinking of Mr Fitzroy and wondering if he had proposed to Rosalind and what sort of wedding dress she would have. It would be much more extravagant than my tired muslin. There was no doubt about that.
Even though my wish for a love match has not been fulfilled, surely, Harriet will have better luck? I thought, attempting to be philosophical. Possibly not with Mr Pringle, though, for I knew her hope of ever being engaged to him was stretching rather thin by now.
My wandering thoughts turned to the bride who had eloped with the groom’s brother. She had made things difficult for me, but how positively daring and brave of her at the same time. It was obviously a love match as she would not have risked her reputation otherwise.
As I mused upon this event and my impending wedding, an idea popped into my head: What if I ran away myself? It was so shocking a thought that my stomach flipped, and a hot flush of excitement came over me. Surely, I would not be so bold?
But the more I chewed on it, the more it seemed like a brilliant solution. Mr Fitzroy’s banknote would enable me to rent a cheap room in London for a number of months, and I could look for work or offer my services as a dressmaker. It had been some years since I had actually made a dress, and my skills were rusty. But Papa had taught both Harriet and me, so we had the knowledge. A solid plan started to take shape—I could send for Harriet when I was set up, and we could start our own business as her dressmaking skills were far superior than mine! Of course we could not tell Papa because he would come and get us immediately. But I could send word to him via Jane that we were safe and well. And she and Cassie could even come and visit us if they wished. It would be a hard life, and we might be poor, but we would be free and independent of any man.
It was certainly better than being married to someone I did not love and sitting in a small parlour looking out the window for the rest of my life. How boring was that! My idea was risky, but a much more thrilling way to live.
But if I was to do it, it had to be now as it would be light shortly; and if Mr Humbleton was ‘travelling with haste’, he could arrive at any moment. If so, I would have no chance of escape. Throwing back the covers, I got out of bed, lit a candle, and dressed quickly in my warmest dress and coat. Plucking the rest of my day dresses from the wardrobe, along with all my petticoats and chemises, I thrust them into a canvas bag and added wool stockings, gloves, my best bonnet, and a scarf. In my reticule, I placed a comb, a few pieces of jewellery, and, most importantly, Mr Fitzroy’s banknote. I left my hair in its bedtime plait as I did not have time to fuss with it.
Slinging my (now rather heavy) bundle over my shoulder, I took the candle, inched open the door of my room, and slipped out. Stealing along the corridor, I hesitated outside Harriet’s room. The chance of her trying to stop me was great, but I could not leave without telling her what I was doing. Besides, as I did not have time to write a note to Papa, she would have to be the messenger.
I stood by her bed and looked down at her sleeping form.
‘Harriet dearest,’ I whispered. ‘Wake up.’
Harriet stirred and groggily opened her eyes. Then as her gaze focused and landed on my bundle, she sat up abruptly, now fully awake.
‘Fliss, what on earth ...?’
‘Shhh,’ I said, sitting on the side of the bed. ‘Just listen, for I do not have much time.’
Quickly, I outlined my plan, telling her that George and I would ride to London—it should take three days at most—and that we would stay at inns along the way. And that I had a little money so I could rent a room when I reached London and I would look for seamstress work.
To give her credit, Harriet did not immediately protest but listened quietly. Encouraged, I went on.
‘When I have set myself up, I will send word, and you can come and visit me or live in London too permanently. It will be difficult, but we must be brave and depend on ourselves for once. I am determined to prove that a woman does not need a man to survive.’
Harriet shuddered and glanced at Fanny Hill on her bedside table .
‘And I forbid you to read that book while I am gone. I promise you I will not end up like Fanny. Can you please just let Papa know? Sorry to give you the job of being the bearer of bad news.’
‘All right,’ said Harriet smoothly. ‘I will tell him in the morning. He will be upset, and our cousin will be livid, but he has no one to blame but himself.’
I was shocked that she was so agreeable to my idea. ‘You are not going to stop me?’
She shook her head. ‘I can see you are determined, and it is mostly a foolproof plan.’
‘Mostly?’
‘Yes. Well, George may refuse to travel that far, and you could get stranded halfway to London. Or you might get robbed and freeze to death by the roadside. If you do make it, there is the poverty you will no doubt face in London when your money runs out if you cannot get work. You may indeed end up selling your body on the street so you can buy a loaf of bread. Despite all that, I think it is a solid alternative to a loveless marriage.’
I gulped. But it was too late to back out now—I had made up my mind.
George was most surprised at being woken at such an early hour but happily munched on a nosebag of oats while I saddled him up.
Dawn was breaking when—after my own hasty breakfast of yesterday’s rolls, butter, and honey—I led him out of the stable and mounted. By my reckoning, we would reach Reading in four to five hours, including pauses to drink from streams and for George to eat some more oats. At Reading, we would stop for the night, and I would take a room at a roadside inn so I could eat a decent meal and George could bed down in their stable.
Depending on the weather and how George was feeling, we would continue on to Maidenhead the next day and then reach the outskirts of London the day after that. The roads would be muddy from the rain, so I would have to pay close attention to where George was stepping so he did not slip over. But at least the morning sky was showing streaks of blue and rose rather than the uniform grey of the past week, and I was hopeful for some sunshine along the way. This was going to be the longest ride of my life, but even with all the risks involved, I was determined to embrace my freedom.
After a long glance at my silent house, I clicked to George, and we set off up the lane at a slow trot. Despite setting out with reasonably high spirits, after ten minutes, I was missing Harriet; and after twenty minutes, I was regretting my hasty decision to leave. The road was not in too bad a condition, but it seemed never-ending, and I was already getting saddle sore. My bundle of clothing, which I had slung over my neck and rested on the pommel, kept sliding off and nearly choking me. George had also started fussing with his bit, which was irritating. ‘George, stop it!’ I tapped him with the end of the reins, but he chose not to respond and continued jerking his head.
This would not do; we were barely half an hour into the journey, and there were many hours and days to go. Perhaps I should have taken the buggy , I thought. At least it would have been more comfortable.
I was pondering this when a thunderous gallop was heard approaching from up ahead. Someone was in a hurry. It was probably just a mail messenger, but in case it was Mr Humbleton, I decided it would be best to leave the path and head into an adjoining field and hide behind a thicket of trees. Of course, George chose this moment to misbehave and would not move because he liked being on the drier path, and the field was waterlogged. He planted his hooves and refused to budge an inch, no matter how much I kicked my heels.
In desperation, I gave him a slap on the rump and screeched at him, and he grudgingly walked off the path into the field and picked his way over the boggy ground to the trees. If he could talk, I knew he would be cursing me. But at this point, my escape was more important than him having clean hooves!
By this time, the rider was all but upon us, and I attempted to coerce George to move faster. But it was too late—there came a faint ‘Whoa, boy’, and I knew we had been seen. There was silence; then the sound of squelching came to my ears as the rider started to follow me into the field on their horse. Blast! I did not turn around. If it was Mr Humbleton, he may not have recognised me yet. But the squelching increased in pace, and panicking, I kicked George into a fast trot and then a canter. He resisted at first but then thankfully, for whatever reason, decided to acquiesce; and we took off across the field, mud and water spraying up behind us. My aim was to rejoin the path ahead and neatly evade the rider, but it was lined for quite a way by a tall hedge, so I could do nothing but urge George ever onwards. To my dismay, I heard a snort from behind, and then the rider began cantering too and encroaching; whoever they were, their horse’s speed was much superior to mine!
A deep male voice cried out behind me, ‘Halt, Miss Blackburn!’
Damn and double blast!
‘Faster, George!’ I cried, spurring him into a gallop, determined not to let Mr Humbleton catch me .
‘Felicity! Stop!’
A jolt went through me. Oh, that was not Mr Humbleton’s voice; it was another infinitely more dear! I turned in the saddle to check, but at that moment, another event occurred. A brown rabbit had decided to seek drier ground, and it hopped across the field right in front of George. He reared up in a panic, and I screamed and clung on to his neck. That may have been the end of the matter. But when he came down, he planted his forefeet on the ground and threw his hindquarters into the air, effectively bucking me off. Sailing in slow motion over his head, my life briefly flashed before my eyes before I landed with a resounding splash on my back in a large puddle of muddy water.