A Promise Given Read online

  As it turned out, Martha had been the main subject of Henrietta’s conversation with her grandfather. Upon arrival at the Lake Forest mansion, she had been shown into the drawing room and seated opposite Mr. Exley, who, in the morning light, seemed more frail than she had previously noticed. Mr. Exley was eager, it seemed, to want to set the record straight with Henrietta as to what exactly had happened between Martha and themselves, meaning he and his wife, Charity, of course, at least from his perspective. Henrietta found this curious and wondered why her opinion of him would matter in the slightest. Still, she dutifully listened as he proceeded to explain in his strong, determined voice what had happened between him and Ma all those years ago, noting, as he himself poured the tea, that his hand was a bit palsied. He was indeed a strange paradox—his body weak and failing and yet his mind and his will still as unbending as steel.

  Mr. Exley had begun by saying that he and his wife, Charity, had been delighted when their fourth and last child, who had come much later in life, had been a girl, but, much to their dismay, Martha had proved to be a rather difficult child from the very beginning, given to tantrums and fits of melancholy. They went through a steady string of nannies with her, which they found alarming considering they had always managed to keep the same nanny throughout the years for their three other children, despite the fact that they were boys and were more than occasionally given to mischief. Martha’s temper and disposition did not improve with age, much to their disappointment, and it was eventually decided that she should be sent away to a Swiss finishing school to try to reform her enough to marry well. Rather than improve her, however, her experience in Switzerland seemed to make her all the more surly, and when she did return home, she often lashed out at her mother in particular, who had nearly, at that point, all but washed her hands of the troubled girl. They had even begun, Mr. Exley said quietly, as he gripped the cane in front of him, to question her sanity, though naturally they did not openly discuss it. Instead, they began searching for a husband for her in earnest, but no young, or even older, man seemed willing to take on the sullen Exley girl who had neither beauty nor charm to recommend her, merely money.

  And then, Mr. Exley continued, out of nowhere, just as they were deliberating what to do next with her, Martha informed them that she was with child by the butcher’s delivery boy. Here Mr. Exley had stopped in his recounting of the story to rub his chin.

  Henrietta likewise shifted uncomfortably and tried her best to meet his eyes.

  Mr. Exley had gone on then, admitting that he and his wife were infuriated and beside themselves by what had seemed to be Martha’s almost cavalier announcement. They quickly began to make arrangements for her to go live in New York with one of Oldrich’s sisters, insisting that the baby be given up for adoption, much to Martha’s protests. “You must understand, my dear, we thought it for the best,” he said, looking directly at Henrietta now.

  Henrietta tried to respond with some sort of polite smile but found that indeed she could not.

  Mr. Exley had explained, then, how Martha had disappeared not long after, and had been eventually traced to a boarding house where she was living with her new husband, one Leslie Von Harmon, having married him just days before at the county clerk’s office. Her mother was understandably distraught, Mr. Exley went on, having spent so much time and money to see her well placed. “All of our efforts had come down to this sordid state of affairs,” he had said with deep regret in his voice. “Surely you can understand our disappointment, nay, angst, do you not?” he asked Henrietta.

  Henrietta, remembering Ma’s version of this story, was not so sure she did and remained silent.

  Mr. Exley let out a deep breath. “I may have forgiven her, you know,” he said. “I always did have a soft spot for her, but Charity was resolute. She shunned Martha from that moment on and refused to forgive what she saw as Martha’s ultimate betrayal. To her dying day, she never spoke her name again and told each of the boys that if they ever spoke to her or sought her out, they would be cut off from the will.

  “For my part, I had Martha followed from time to time by my agent, Bernstein, and I even wrote her a number of letters, begging her to give up Von Harmon and return to us. Predictably, I never received a reply. As it turned out, Charity eventually learned of my actions and promptly put an end to them. By then, however, I was beginning to give up hope anyway and was more than ready to abandon Martha of my own accord, my own bitter disappointment prevailing as well. I, too, began to harden my heart to Martha, convincing myself that she deserved everything she got and told myself from that point onward that she was dead to me. I know it sounds preposterous, but I think I half believed it.” Mr. Exley, who had been speaking into the empty fireplace, paused at this point and looked up at Henrietta now and managed a weary smile. “Who would have known, though, that the child Martha was carrying would have eventually made her way back to us through a marriage into the Howards? Simply extraordinary.”

  Henrietta, not knowing what to say, took a sip of her tea, which had since grown cool. Mr. Exley’s somewhat pained expression turned to one of appreciation as he continued to look at Henrietta. “Yes, my dear,” he murmured. “Well done. Well done, indeed,” he said, leaving the previous conversation hanging in the background. “The Howard boy is quite a catch, their blood running blue, as it were.”

  Henrietta looked worried. “Blue? What do you mean?”

  Mr. Exley mistook her confusion for pretense. “Don’t play the innocent with me, my dear,” he said with a knowing sort of smile. “I’m sure it was the very first thing Clive Howard told you.”

  Henrietta swallowed nervously at what her grandfather might possibly be referring to.

  “You must know that the Howards are part of the English aristocracy. Alcott’s brother is Lord Linley. Surely you knew that, did you not? Alcott, of course, is the second son, so not in line for the title, but aristocratic, nonetheless, of course, hence my referring to him as ‘blue.’ I sometimes forget that your education was so lacking.”

  Henrietta felt her chest tighten slightly at the revelation of yet another secret. Of course Clive had neglected to mention this. It was becoming expected with him now. He had told her that he had spent part of his summers with his father’s relatives in England, but he had failed to mention that they were lords or dukes or whatever they were called. At that moment, however, she was determined that her grandfather not know of this breach in confidence. “Yes, of course,” she said, demurely. “Yes, he told me that a long time ago,” she fibbed as she looked up at him. Something in his expression, however, told her that he suspected the truth.

  “Not to say that you’re not a catch as well, my dear,” Mr. Exley put in now, causing Henrietta to look away again. “You’re wonderfully beautiful and graceful, I’ll give you that, and you are an Exley,” he smiled at her proudly, “which holds its own weight, to be sure.”

  “I’m also a Von Harmon,” Henrietta ventured tentatively. “My … my father said that the Von Harmons were once a great family back in France, or maybe it was Germany; I’m not sure.”

  “Nonsense, my dear,” he said almost with a laugh. “I’ve never heard of them. Just fairy tales, I’m sure.” He smiled at her condescendingly. “An Exley is quite good enough, even for the Howards. And by the look of you, you’ll do your duty. Especially if you at all take after Martha. Who would have believed that she could birth ten children? No,” he almost chuckled, “it’s obvious what the Howards have in mind, and we don’t mind obliging them one bit, do we, my dear?”

  Henrietta had a pretty good idea what he was referring to, but she again chose not to respond.

  The tea had ended shortly after, with Fritz, having been gratefully reinstated as the Howard chauffer after the Jack Fletcher affair, bringing the car around to take her back to Highbury. Mr. Exley stood to kiss her hand before she left. She was not entirely sure how she felt about him, even now. He was definitely a man of extreme authority, not to be trifled with, a cu
nning old fox that could be domineering and even cruel, Henrietta had decided. But perhaps he was not entirely bad, she tried to convince herself, thinking of how, at least initially, he had tried to win Martha back and how, once upon a time, anyway, he had wanted to forgive her.

  She was still trying to figure him out, however, and warily watched him, seated across from her now at the dinner table as the conversation around her naturally turned to the subject of the upcoming wedding.

  “Yes,” Uncle John was saying. “It is rather unfortunate that poor Eugene will not be there, but at least we got to meet him at the party,” he said deferentially to Mrs. Howard, who was seated to his left. He obviously did not know, or, rather, perhaps pretended not to know, about the thefts.

  Mrs. Howard smiled falsely but did not verbally respond.

  Eugene had been in residence at Fishburne for nearly three months now, and he would consequently not be attending the wedding, as only the death of a parent, not the mere wedding of a sibling, constituted an acceptable reason to be granted leave to return home before the scheduled Christmas break. Henrietta had had to admit that she had breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the news from Mr. Exley Sr. earlier in the evening that Eugene would not be in attendance. Eugene had not written to them once since his exile, though Mr. Exley apparently received periodic reports on his progress from his commanding officers.

  “How are the wedding plans coming along, Henrietta?” Aunt Agatha asked, charitably changing the subject.

  All eyes turned to Henrietta now, and her stomach clenched in distress. “Fine, thank you, Aunt Agatha,” she answered, her eyes darting to Mrs. Howard for confirmation, who seemed, on her part, to be mentally willing Henrietta to perform well.

  Agatha continued to look at her as if expecting more information, so Henrietta carefully set her soupspoon down while she thought up something suitable to say.

  “We’ve only a few fittings left, I believe, and we’ve finalized the menu now,” she said, looking again at Mrs. Howard. “I couldn’t have done it all without Antonia’s help … and Julia’s, of course,” she said, looking down the table at her future sister-in-law, who flashed her a smile of encouragement.

  “Have you the final numbers, Antonia?” Agatha asked, turning her attention back to Mrs. Howard.

  “Two hundred and sixty-two, I believe,” Antonia answered, as she delicately wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

  There it was again. That number. Henrietta felt a wave of nausea pass over her. How did any one family know over two hundred people? She looked across to Clive, who had been seated kitty-corner to her, and he gave her a reassuring wink. At least she had him, she thought, trying to calm herself down. He seemed untouched by all of these trappings, and at this moment she loved him just for that. He had become her rock in the swirl of the wedding euphoria that had descended upon Highbury in the last few months.

  “Will Lord Linley attend?” Dorothy, Gerard’s wife, asked primly from where she sat next to Clive, her curiosity unmistakable despite the emotionless mask her face always wore.

  “I’m afraid not,” Antonia answered indifferently and managed a pleasant smile, despite the defeat in her answer. “Not with parliament in session just now. Isn’t that right, Alcott?”

  “What? What? Yes, quite so. Quite so,” Alcott agreed, despite the fact that Montague Howard, Lord Linley, had only minimally attended his parliamentary duties these last few years.

  “They’re to give a reception for Clive and Henrietta at Castle Linley when they stop there on their honeymoon,” Antonia went on.

  Henrietta felt yet another wave of nausea upon hearing “Castle Linley” again. Since her tea in the summer with her grandfather, Henrietta had of course asked Clive about his uncle being a lord, to which he had reluctantly, letting out a deep breath, replied in the affirmative, though in an offhand sort of way …

  “It’s really not what you’re thinking, darling. Not quite as impressive as it sounds. Honestly,” he had said, picking up on one of her favorite sayings in an attempt to soften the confession and forcing out an odd little laugh as he did so.

  When Henrietta merely looked at him dubiously, his face had become more serious. “You’ll see when we get there. Not quite as grand as it once was, I’m afraid. The war hit those massive estates hard; most of them are rambling old giants now, filled with more ghosts than people.”

  “That’s hardly comforting, Clive! I don’t know which is worse.”

  They had been sitting down by the boathouse on the dock when she had questioned him, her feet scandalously naked and dipped into the cold Lake Michigan water. She splashed a tiny bit of water at him now with her toe. When she had taken off her shoes and rolled down her stockings to put her feet in, Clive had been visibly shocked, watching her with an arched eyebrow. “That’s quite risqué, Miss Von Harmon,” he had said thickly, clearing his throat. “Hardly suitable as the mistress of Highbury.”

  “All the more reason to do it now before it becomes official,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Come join me,” she suggested, holding her hand up to him. He hesitated at first, glancing reactively toward the house before bending to untie his laces and strip off his shiny brown brogues and socks.

  “Billings is sure to turn up at any moment,” he said wryly.

  “Better enjoy it while you can, then,” she responded, and they had both laughed.

  “Have I told you that I love you?” he asked, as he eased himself down beside her and put his feet in next to hers.

  “Not yet today,” she responded, leaning against him and at that moment forgetting altogether the question of Castle Linley as he brushed a finger along her jawline and bent to kiss her neck.

  But now, as part of the dinner conversation at the Exleys’, the reference to the Howards’ aristocratic connection was making her uneasy all over again as no one present seemed inclined to refer to Castle Linley as a ghost-filled rambling barn of a place, as Clive had tried to imply, but rather as the impressive family seat she feared in her imaginings.

  “Sounds positively divine. Where are you going exactly, Clive?” Agatha asked him.

  “Four days after the wedding, we sail on the Queen Mary for Liverpool and then travel on to Castle Linley. We’ll spend the majority of our time there before travelling down to London. From there we go to Paris and then Venice.

  “Lovely,” Julia put in. “I’m sure Uncle Montague and Aunt Margaret will be delighted to have you.”

  “It’s a pity you won’t be there for the Season,” Aunt Dorothy said in a deep nasal voice. “This wedding was ill-timed is all I can say. More thought should have been put to attending the Season,” she added with a disgruntled sniff.

  “But people don’t go in for all those sorts of things these days, do they?” Julia tried to add helpfully. “Especially since the war.” Henrietta couldn’t help notice the resulting glare Julia’s two comments had earned from her husband.

  “There will always be a Season,” Dorothy quipped, “war or no war.”

  “I’m sure the Howards have the wedding plans well in hand,” Mr. Exley Sr. said abruptly, casting a warning look at his daughter-in-law Dorothy. She, in turn, did not say anything further but made sure he saw her scowl.

  Two footmen appeared then and began clearing the table in preparation for the next course, during which the discussion moved in a different direction yet again.

  “Perhaps you might tell us who will make up the wedding party,” Aunt Dorothy asked Henrietta somewhat coldly as the servants were putting the main course in front of them now.

  Henrietta cleared her throat and willed herself not to look at Mrs. Howard yet again in an obvious grasp for encouragement. “My sister, Elsie, is to be the maid of honor, of course,” Henrietta began, “and Julia has agreed to be my bridesmaid,” she said, sending a smile down the table to Julia, who returned it wholeheartedly. “Randolph is to be a groomsman, of course, and Clive has asked his commanding officer, Major Barnes-Smith, to
be his best man.”

  “How nice!” Aunt Agatha twittered. “You’ll make a lovely party.”

  “And your mother will be well enough to attend?” Dorothy asked archly.

  “I’m quite sure, yes,” Henrietta said, forcing herself to smile politely. “I’m hopeful, anyway. Thank you for asking after her,” she answered, with just a slight toss of her hair.

  “And with your poor father gone and your brother not being able to attend,” Aunt Dorothy continued, “have you given any thought as to who’s to walk you down the aisle?”

  Mr. Exley Sr. gave a cough. “Naturally that duty would fall to me, of course,” he said in an aggravated voice, glowering again at Dorothy; the two seemed always at odds. “And a very pleasant one it will be to execute,” he said, now bestowing a look of what could almost be called benevolence upon Henrietta.

  Henrietta stiffened a bit and nervously glanced at Clive. “Well, actually, grandfather, I … I’ve …”

  “We’ve,” Clive put in with quiet resolve, and Henrietta felt a fresh surge of love for him yet again and gave him a grateful smile before turning her gaze back to her grandfather.

  “We’ve already asked Mr. Hennessey, my … my old friend … to give me away. I’m sorry … I didn’t realize.”

  “No matter, my child, you’ll just have to tell him that the plans have altered,” Mr. Exley said, cutting into the thin, flaky pastry of his beef Wellington. “I’m sure he won’t mind once you explain.”

  Henrietta’s heart was racing, though no one else at the table seemed disturbed in any way and had indeed turned their attention to the food now placed in front of them. While it did actually make sense that her grandfather, as her most senior male relative, should give her away, how could she just rip that honor from Mr. Hennessey? He would be utterly crushed, given how moved he had been when she had asked him, if she told him now that he was not needed. Besides, it wasn’t just his feelings she was worried about. She wanted him there; needed him, actually. He had become a pseudo father to her, depending on him over the years, and Clive had even asked him for her hand in marriage. Of course he should be the one to walk her down the aisle and give her to Clive! He had always been there for her, as had Mrs. Hennessey, when her own mother and father had been woefully absent. And yet she understood what the expectation was in this enchanted land in which she now dwelt, with its lords and castles and the London Season looming. She saw that it would be so much more fitting, so much more a satisfying closure to the circle if Oldrich Exley gave his granddaughter in marriage to the Howards after he had been denied that pleasure, that social passage, with his own daughter. It would somehow wash all the sins of the past away, and besides, Mr. Exley in tails at the church would cut a decidedly more elegant picture than the rotund Mr. Hennessey puffing up the aisle with her and most assuredly blubbering the whole time. But that very image made her breath catch in her throat, and suddenly Henrietta felt in danger of crying herself. These last few months had been filled with so much pressure, so much expectation, and she had allowed herself to be led in everything.