Chapter Thirteen

 

The next day Henrietta rose at nine to a gray London morning. She’d spent a fitful night, waking frequently, and worrying Lady Mawbly would realize her new ring was paste.

She was equally concerned about the rift between Lady Fuddlesby and the colonel, and was anxious to see how her aunt fared this morning after all the wine the lady had consumed the evening before. Realizing Lady Fuddlesby would probably benefit most from sleeping late, she vowed to visit her bedchamber later in the day.

After breakfasting, Henrietta spent the remainder of the morning curled up in a window seat in the drawing room, reading the copy of Lady of the Lake Winterton had been obliged to give her.

Chuffley surprised her by announcing she had a caller.

“Who is it, Chuffley?” Henrietta asked eagerly, hoping it might be the duke with news of the ring.

“Lady Clorinda Eden, miss.”

Lady Clorinda! Why would she be calling? They were hardly first oars with one another. “Show her in, please, Chuffley.”

Henrietta seated herself on the brocade sofa, and smoothed the skirts of her powder-blue morning gown.

Lady Clorinda walked into the room, a vision in a red and white striped gown with a matching red spencer. “Miss Lanford, how good you are to receive me.”

“Please sit down, Lady Clorinda. Shall I ring for tea?”

Lady Clorinda sat in a chair opposite the sofa, and lowered her gaze to the carpet. She spoke in a quiet voice. “No, I don’t think I could swallow anything just now.”

Henrietta felt her body tense at the strained tone of Clorinda’s voice. “Is there something wrong?”

Clorinda’s emerald eyes filled with tears. She produced a dainty lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at the wetness. “Yes, there is something dreadfully wrong, Miss Lanford. May I call you Henrietta?”

At Henrietta’s nod she went on. “I hardly know how to approach you about such a delicate matter, so you must forgive me if I am forthright.”

Henrietta’s heart starting beating hard. She did not know what it was Lady Clorinda was about to say, but felt a sudden acute sense of dread. “I believe in plain speaking, Lady Clorinda, and pray you come to the point.”

“Very well. I was on my way to the ladies’ withdrawing room last evening at the Duke of Winterton’s town house and passed by the library. The door stood open and I ... I saw you and the duke—”

A sob escaped Lady Clorinda’s lips and it took her a moment to regain her composure.

Henrietta sat very still.

“Henrietta, I saw you holding a jewel box. I saw the duke kiss you in the crease of your arm. Oh, fie, I wish I had never witnessed anything,” Clorinda exclaimed. She flung out her hands in a display of despair.

Two crimson stains appeared on Henrietta’s cheeks. “Go on.”

“I know what that jewel box contains,” Clorinda asserted.

A new anguish seared Henrietta’s heart. Not only had an intimate moment between her and the duke been observed, but Lady Clorinda knew of the pink tourmaline ring. Was that why she was here? To tell her she would inform Lady Mawbly of Lady Fuddlesby’s folly?

Henrietta opened her mouth to beg for Lady Clorinda’s discretion, but the lady’s next words caused the sentiment to die unspoken on her lips.

“An expensive piece of jewelry often precedes a... er, business arrangement between a gentleman and a female.”

Henrietta’s eyes opened wide and Clorinda rushed on. “A life as a mistress is not a happy one, dear Henrietta. It may seem attractive now, while you are young, and of course, the duke is a handsome, wealthy gentleman. No doubt he would satisfy your every desire, for a while.”

Henrietta listened with bewilderment. She struggled to comprehend Clorinda’s words. “You think the Duke of Winterton means to set me up as his m-mistress?”

Clorinda’s eyes held an understanding warmth. “It is only natural to deny it, but you won’t be able to keep the secret long.”

Henrietta hesitated, unable to speak, torn by conflicting emotions. Lady Clorinda did not know about the ring being paste, and for that she must be grateful. But Clorinda’s assumption that she would consent to being the duke’s light-skirt filled her with an anger that took her breath away in its intensity. She sat mute, struggling to control her emotions.

Clorinda spoke softly, in a pitying voice. “I can only imagine how painful it must be, Henrietta. I feel sure you are in love with the duke, because you are not the type of girl to accept the fate of a member of the Fashionable Impure. Why, I’m certain there are any number of gentlemen in the landed gentry or the clergy, even a wealthy gentleman of the merchant class, who would be proud to call you wife.”

A heated denial of the accusation rose to Henrietta’s lips. And what was all this talk of clergymen and merchants? She would ring for Chuffley and have the woman thrown out for her insolence.

But what explanation would she give for the scene Lady Clorinda witnessed? To speak the truth about the jewel case Lady Clorinda saw would expose Lady Fuddlesby to the very scandal Henrietta was trying to avoid. With a quiet dignity she said, “Thank you for your concern, Lady Clorinda, and now I must ask you to leave.”

Lady Clorinda reached a hand out to touch Henrietta’s arm, but immediately drew it back at Henrietta’s look of distaste.

Her voice pleading, Lady Clorinda begged, “Do not think my coming here was motivated by selfishness, I beseech you. Naturally, as Winterton’s chosen bride, I do not care to begin my marriage knowing my husband has recently acquired a new mistress.”

Henrietta quickly dropped her gaze to the floor, concealing her reaction to this statement. Her head ached with pain. So the duke was to wed another after all that had passed between herself and

Winterton. After the kiss they shared the night of Lord Baddick’s attack. After that burning embrace in his curricle when they were out in the country looking for Knight. After the way he had pulled her glove down, just last evening, kissing her arm in such a way as to cause her to feel a yearning need she could not even define.

Then, through her distress, a little voice inside her head reminded her no notice of the engagement had appeared in the newspaper. No mention of any betrothal had ever been made by the duke. Only Lady Clorinda had said it was so. Maybe Clorinda was lying.

Rising shakily to her feet, Henrietta said, “Good day to you, Lady Clorinda.”

Clorinda rose. “I am thinking of your welfare as well, I assure you. Just because Winterton cannot marry you does not mean you will remain unwed should you resist the duke’s offer of protection.”

A furrow appeared between Henrietta’s brows. “What do you mean Winterton cannot marry me?”

Clorinda stared at her. “Are you so innocent of the ways of Society? Gentlemen of Winterton’s wealth and rank never marry beneath them. If he had lost his fortune and you were a wealthy heiress, then he might consider lowering himself to align his name with that of a squire’s daughter. But such is not the case.”

Studying Henrietta’s stricken face, Lady Clorinda nodded and said, “Ask anyone, and they will tell you what I have said is true. Think of your future, Henrietta.”

With those words, Lady Clorinda took her leave in a flurry of silks.

She walked down the steps of the town house, maintaining a rigid composure. She allowed a footman to assist her inside her carriage and they pulled away. Only then did she give way to gales of laughter. Eventually a stitch formed in her side, forcing her to wipe her streaming eyes and content herself with a smug smile.

Back inside Lady Fuddlesby’s town house, Henrietta was far from amused. She stood in the drawing room, her mind reeling. Her initial distress regarding Clorinda’s claim the duke meant to make her his mistress faded away, in light of the lady’s statement that someone like the duke would never marry beneath him in Society. Clorinda had said she might ask anyone and her beliefs would be confirmed.

Henrietta glanced at the clock on the mantel and saw it was one of the clock. Lady Fuddlesby might be awake. If anyone would tell her the truth, surely it would be her aunt. Besides, Henrietta was concerned about the rift between Lady Fuddlesby and the colonel and was anxious to see how the lady had fared this morning.

In the hall outside Lady Fuddlesby’s bedchamber, Henrietta met Felice. “Good morning, mees. I hope you are feeling better than her ladyship today.”

In a low voice Henrietta asked, “Is her ladyship poorly?”

Felice’s lips folded into a disapproving line before she said, “Yes, mees. She ees suffering from the effects of too much wine. If you weesh to speak to her, you will have to get past her guard.”

Henrietta looked after the maid’s retreating back and frowned. Guard? What guard? She knocked softly and opened the door.

The curtains were drawn tightly closed against the gray light of day. It was too warm for a fire, and no candles were lit. Henrietta heard moans coming from the bed and walked forward toward the bedside.

Knight appeared out of the darkness in front of her as if to block her way. Even though they had long ago cried friends, his twitching tail and unblinking stare plainly told her she was not wanted at the moment.

She hesitated, venturing a quiet “Aunt, are you all right?”

Lady Fuddlesby called out, “Oh, my dear Henrietta, I fancy the grapes were sour. Knight! Let Henrietta pass. You must forgive my darling boy, he is only being protective.”

Henrietta reached down to scratch behind Knight’s ears before coming to stand at her aunt’s bedside. “I know he is. You are looking sadly pulled, my lady. May I get you anything? Some tea, perhaps?”

Lady Fuddlesby pressed a hand to her stomach and grimaced. “No, thank you, dear. I had a cup already.”

She looked at Henrietta through tear-filled eyes. “It has happened again. All these years later. Matilda has taken my beau away from me. You might well stare. You see, I was being courted by the seventh Duke of Winterton before Matilda set her cap for him. He chose her, rather than me, because she was an earl’s daughter and I was only a miss.”

Henrietta froze. As casually as she could she asked, “Is rank so important then?”

Lady Fuddlesby wiped her eyes. Her expression stiffened and she spoke with a hint of bitterness. “Oh, yes, dear. Very important. A man of high rank would have to be deeply in love, indeed, to marry a lady not of his station. Even then, he might not do so out of respect to his name and consequence.”

A flash of wild grief tore at Henrietta’s heart. Clorinda had spoken the truth. The duke would never marry her. She marveled at her own arrogance in thinking he would. Other than his kisses, he had given her no indication he held her in affection, no less that he loved her. And kisses were easily given, she thought with newfound cynicism.

Trying to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat, Henrietta turned her attention to her aunt’s feelings. “My lady, I do not know about the previous Duke of Winterton, but you are wrong about Colonel Colchester. The gentleman cares for you deeply. It is plain to anyone who knows the two of you. I am certain last night was simply a misunderstanding, one that will be cleared when next you meet.”

Lady Fuddlesby’s mouth was set in a stubborn line. She reached out and patted Henrietta’s hand. “No, dear, I fear not. Besides, my unladylike behavior was probably enough in itself to give him a disgust of me.”

When Henrietta might have protested, her aunt stopped her before she could begin. Pressing her fingers to her temples, Lady Fuddlesby moaned, “Please leave me now, dear. My head aches dreadfully.”

“If there is anything I can do for you, my lady, you have only to let me know,” Henrietta assured her. She squeezed her aunt’s hand, and turned and fled the room for the sanctuary of her own bedchamber.

Closing the door, she went to stand in front of one of the tall windows in the room. Pulling the curtain aside, she looked out over the Mayfair scene, and remembered the dreams she had the snowy afternoon she had arrived in London.

Well, she had matured since that day, she believed. Certainly she’d had the veils of illusion stripped from her eyes. First by Lord Baddick, and now by the conventions of a Society that considered it wrong to marry beneath one’s social rank.

Turning away from the window, Henrietta’s gaze fell on the handkerchief the duke had lent her that day in the park when she had first learned of the misfortune with Lady Fuddlesby’s ring. Freshly laundered, it lay on her dressing table, ready to be returned to its owner.

Picking up the square of fine lawn, she carried it with her to the bed. She lay down, holding it to her cheek. Feeling as if she were bleeding from every pore, she stared at the bed hangings dry-eyed. Her sense of loss was beyond tears.

* * * *

The three days before the ball were spent in despondency by both women. Colonel Colchester called on Lady Fuddlesby late in the day after the duke’s dinner party. Feeling she could not face him, her ladyship had instructed a surprised Chuffley she was not at home to callers.

This insult exasperated the colonel enough to keep him away until the very day of the ball. It also left him time to reflect on his relationship with the lady, and to pay a call at Rundell and Bridge.

At approximately four of the clock on the day of the ball, Lady Fuddlesby was supervising the placement of flowers about the ballroom when Chuffley came into the room holding a card on a silver tray.

Her ladyship picked it up and peered at it inquisitively. Mr. Edmund Shire, it read, and one corner was bent down, indicating Mr. Shire was calling in person. What could he have to say that could not wait until this evening? Lady Fuddlesby wondered. “Tell him I am busy, but will spare him ten minutes. Show him to the drawing room.”

In the drawing room a few minutes later, Mr. Shire appeared in the doorway clad in a walnut-colored coat and buckskins. He bowed before Lady Fuddlesby, who sat on the brocade sofa. “My lady, thank you for seeing me. Forgive me for calling on the day of your ball, but I felt it fitting you should know my plans.”

Lady Fuddlesby eyed him curiously. “Sit down, Mr. Shire. May I offer you tea?”

Settling into a chair, Mr. Shire said, “No, I’ll come right to the point. I’ve been out to Hamilton Cross to see Squire Lanford. By George, he’s got a stable full of pretty fillies out there.”

Puzzled, Lady Fuddlesby said, “Really, Mr. Shire, Henrietta is an only child.”

Mr. Shire guffawed. “I meant mares, my lady. And three of them recently foaled. If I weren’t forking out the blunt on putting in a new fountain at my country house, I’d be sorely tempted to strike a bargain with the squire. As it is, I’ve reached another sort of agreement with Squire Lanford.”

Lady Fuddlesby’s expression remained blank. Mr. Shire beamed and explained. “I have the squire’s permission to ask Miss Lanford to marry me. He’s no end of a good fellow. Agreed right off when I told him about my estates. We talked horses mostly.”

Mr. Shire rose. “I won’t keep you. Just thought it proper to let you know I’d be putting the question to Miss Lanford tonight. She’ll probably want to announce the betrothal at the ball. I have a mind to arrive early to settle everything, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Yes, yes, of course you may,” Lady Fuddlesby replied faintly. Mr. Shire took his leave, and her ladyship sat thinking.

Edmund Shire was all that was suitable. He was a wealthy landowner and had a mild-mannered personality. Life with him for Henrietta would be comfortable and predictable.

Lady Fuddlesby’s mouth turned down at the corners. Henrietta would be bored with the country gentleman in a week. The girl was too high-spirited to settle for such a colorless man. More important, she was sure her niece was in love with the Duke of Winterton.

Her ladyship was so lost in thought, a growing noise outside the doorway startled her into rising to her feet. Recognition of the owners of the voices caused her heart to pound.

“I tell you, Chuffley, I shall see her. Go back downstairs and leave us alone,” Colonel Colchester ordered sharply. He entered the drawing room and closed the double doors in Chuffley’s dismayed face with a snap.

Lady Fuddlesby stared at the military man’s determined face. Finding her voice, she uttered, “Good afternoon, Colonel. What brings you here before the ball?”

Colonel Colchester came to her side, pulling her down to sit next to him on the sofa. “This damned quarrel between us brought me here. I apologize for letting Matilda play her tricks the other night. Should have sent her on her way with a flea in her ear. But for God’s sake, Clara, I thought you trusted me.”

Lady Fuddlesby’s face brightened when she looked into the colonel’s dear brown eyes. She reached over and clasped his hand warmly. “Oh, Owen, can you forgive me for being so silly? I let an

incident from my youth cloud my judgment. Of course I trust you.”

The colonel continued to hold her hand while dropping neatly to one knee on the floor in front of her. “Clara, you must know what is in my heart. I love you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife? Er, with Knight’s permission, of course,” he added with a tender smile.

Lady Fuddlesby’s mouth dropped open. Then tears of joy formed in her eyes. Her lips curved into a wide grin. “Yes, Owen. Oh, yes, I shall, and Knight will not have anything to say about it.”

A smile broke out on the colonel’s face, and he rose from his kneeling position to press his lips to Lady Fuddlesby’s. Drawing back a minute later, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small jewel box.

Lady Fuddlesby gasped aloud at the sight of the ruby surrounded by diamonds sparkling up at her. “How lovely,” she breathed, when the colonel slipped the ring onto her finger.

The colonel proceeded to show her how lovely he thought she was, which took up quite a quarter of an hour. By the time the colonel left to go home to change for the ball, Lady Fuddlesby’s head was in such a whirl of happiness, she had entirely forgotten about Mr. Shire’s plans to offer for her niece.

* * * *

Henrietta, sitting listlessly while Felice fussed over a few finishing touches to her hair, was therefore surprised when Sally entered the room saying, “Mr. Edmund Shire is in the drawin’ room wantin’ to see you, miss.”

“Thank you, Sally.” Henrietta dismissed the housemaid, thinking Mr. Shire wanted a few minutes before the ball to tell her about his trip to the country. “I believe I must be ready, Felice.”

Felice’s gaze ran over her. With a nod she said, “Yes, mees. You will break the gentlemen’s hearts tonight.”

Impulsively Henrietta gave the Frenchwoman a quick hug. “Thank you, Felice. Hopefully, by the end of the evening we will have the paste ring in Lady Fuddlesby’s jewel box and the real stone on Lady Mawbly’s hand.”

Henrietta hurried down the stairs without another glance at her reflection, not wanting to see if the lack of sleep over the past few nights had resulted in shadows under her eyes.

She did not know the faint shadows only added to the ethereal sight she presented. She wore a white silk gown with a white lace overdress. The bodice of the dress was low, and trimmed with pearls. Pearls marched up the front closure of the short puffed sleeves, beneath which her arms were encased in long white kid gloves. Lady Fuddlesby had been true to her word and had sent Felice to Henrietta’s room with a delicate diamond necklet and matching earbobs that twinkled in the candlelight.

Henrietta entered the drawing room, properly leaving the door open behind her. Mr. Shire, dressed in a sadly out-of-fashion evening coat of a mustard color, rose from his seat, a smile of greeting on his face. “You look well, Miss Lanford, if a trifle pale.”

Ignoring this dubious flattery, Henrietta inquired politely, “How was your trip to the country, Mr. Shire?”

“Everything went just as I had hoped,” he replied, his manner enigmatic.

Indicating that he should be seated, Henrietta thought it was unlike the open, friendly Mr. Shire to be mysterious. Her feelings heightened to nothing short of shock when she seated herself and found Mr. Shire on one knee in front of her.

“Miss Lanford, I have been to see your father, and he has given me his permission to ask for your hand in marriage. What do you say? Shall we announce the betrothal tonight?”

She merely stared at him, tongue-tied. He had taken her completely by surprise. That should not have been true, she considered, when many betrothals were announced by couples less acquainted. And Mr. Shire had shown her marked attention from the first time they’d met.

How happy Papa would be if she made a match of it with Mr. Shire. She could well imagine her father eagerly giving the country man his permission to ask for her hand. How disappointed Papa would be if she refused Mr. Shire’s offer, and came home at the end of the Season unwed.

Pushing such thoughts from her mind, Henrietta said, “Please do get up, sir. It cannot be a comfortable position.”

“That’s one of the qualities I admire about you, Miss Lanford. You’re so practical,” he praised her.

Henrietta turned her head away, a sad smile on her lips. She did not want to be practical. She wanted her fantasies to come true. She wanted the duke.

Accept him, you silly gudgeon, screamed her brain. One more evening with the duke, demanded her heart.

At the moment she turned back to Mr. Shire and opened her mouth to speak, Lady Fuddlesby floated into the room on a cloud of happiness—pink no doubt, as was her gown.

Lady Fuddlesby held her breath for a moment, waiting for the couple to make an announcement, and when they didn’t, let out a sigh of relief. Smiling broadly, she exclaimed, “Oh, my dear Henrietta, I have the most exciting news. You are to wish me happy. The colonel has proposed and I have accepted him.”

Forgetting Mr. Shire, Henrietta rushed forward to embrace Lady Fuddlesby. “Aunt! I am so very pleased. Of course, I wish you many years of happiness together.”

Mr. Shire glared at her ladyship over Henrietta’s head, feeling Lady Fuddlesby should not have barged in on them, knowing the nature of their conversation. His annoyance only grew when he heard the lady’s next statement.

“Come with me now, dear. The guests will be arriving at any moment, and you must be beside me to greet them. You will excuse us, Mr. Shire,” she said, bustling Henrietta from the room.

When they were safely in the hall, Henrietta turned to her aunt, informing her, “My lady, you saved me from answering a proposal of marriage from Mr. Shire.”

“Did I get there in time?”

“You knew then? He had asked me and I was about to give him an answer.” Henrietta chuckled wryly. “What the answer was, I confess I do not know.”

Lady Fuddlesby nodded wisely. “That is quite all right, my dear. Mr. Shire will keep while you mull the matter over. He came to me earlier in the day to tell me he had your father’s permission to

approach you, and in the joy of Owen’s proposal, I forgot to tell you.”

Her ladyship failed to mention how, when Felice had let fall the information that Mr. Shire was downstairs requesting an interview with Henrietta, the purpose of his visit came rushing back to her. She decided she would try to interrupt the proceedings before her niece could accept or refuse the man. That way, her ladyship reasoned, she could put it about at the ball her niece had received an offer but had not yet accepted. Tongues would wag, and the Duke of Winterton would be certain to hear of it. Perhaps the information would jar the impossible duke into coming up to scratch. Oftentimes men had to be prodded a bit before they knew what was right in front of them.

The two ladies made their way to the hall, where they spent the next half hour greeting the guests. Henrietta stiffened when Lady Clorinda arrived with Lord and Lady Mawbly.

“Good evening, Henrietta,” Clorinda said in a condescending sort of way.

Henrietta raised her chin. She reflected Lady Clorinda was the one who looked like Haymarket Ware in her gown of seafoam-green gauze. The bodice was designed in such a way as to give the appearance the gown might fall from the lady’s shoulder at the least provocation. A diamond necklace of considerable worth circled Clorinda’s neck, making the one Henrietta wore appear an ornament for a child.

Returning Clorinda’s superior gaze, Henrietta asked sweetly, “Lady Clorinda, it appears you have forgotten your shawl. May I have a servant fetch one for you?”

Clorinda glared at her, then flounced away without answering. At least we are open about our animosity, Henrietta thought.

Finally the moment she had unconsciously been waiting for was upon her. The Duke of Winterton arrived with his godfather. Henrietta thought no matter what happened in her life, she would never forget a single detail of the duke’s magnificent, aristocratic face.

Her heart pounded in her chest when his tall figure, faultlessly dressed in Spanish blue, turned away from Lady Fuddlesby and strolled to her side. There was a spark of some indefinable emotion in his gray eyes while his gaze took in her ensemble. “Miss Lanford, no angel can be as divine as you appear this evening,” he said smoothly, raising her gloved hand to his lips.

Henrietta’s bearing was stiff and proud, but her spirit was in chaos. Somehow she must contrive not to let him know the effect he had on her. She had to conquer her involuntary reactions to that captivating look of his.

Curtsying, Henrietta managed to smile brightly. “If anyone is of the cosmos this evening, it is surely my aunt. She has been in heaven since she and the colonel decided their future.”

Glancing toward where his godfather and the lady stood with their heads together, the duke nodded with satisfaction. “I am happy for them. They are well suited.”

Unlike the two of us, a nasty voice sneered in Henrietta’s head.

The duke lowered his voice for just her ears. “Speaking of Lady Fuddlesby, I must tell you Lord Mawbly has been unsuccessful in obtaining the paste ring.”

Henrietta nodded her head. “I surmised as much when Lord Mawbly arrived earlier. It seems as if his nerves can no longer stand the strain.”

“You may very well be right. Lord Mawbly even bribed his wife’s abigail attempting to retrieve the ring, but according to the woman, Lady Mawbly has not once removed the blasted thing from her finger.”

“What are we going to do?” Henrietta asked, her ivory brow creased with concern.

The duke inclined his head at Sir Tommy and Lord Sebastian, who had appeared in the doorway, waiting their turn to go through the line. “We will contrive something, Miss Lanford. Promise me a waltz?”

“Yes, your grace.”

He made his way up the stairs, leaving Henrietta to stare after him sadly. A waltz. It would most likely be their last. If she married Mr. Shire, she doubted they would be likely to come to Town often. And if she returned home unwed, her father would not give her another Season.

Pinning a welcoming smile on her face, Henrietta greeted Sir Tommy and Lord Sebastian, a heaviness centered in her chest.