by Kelly Boyce
“Did he respond to her claim?”
Patience sat back and smiled. “Indeed he did and this is when I learned you’ve been holding out on me.”
“Oh?” Heat crept up her neck.
“Yes, oh! Why, I have been bursting at the seams waiting for you to tell me, but you’ve said not a single word on the matter.”
“Which matter might that be?”
“That Lord Walkerton is courting you! It took us all by surprise, though no one more so than Lady Susan, if the look of shock upon her pinched face was any indication. Oh, you should have seen her. She was fit to be tied. She all but stormed away in a rage, though not before announcing he would rue such an unwise decision and she hoped it would result in untold amounts of unhappiness in the future, bring ruin upon his family and, oh yes, that he should be delivered of nothing but daughters. And possibly the pox.”
Hen swallowed. This was not good. Not good at all. “How awful for Lord Walkerton to be attacked so.”
Patience waved off her concern. “Nonsense. He weathered it quite well, suggesting that her current behavior made him thankful he had not pursued his courtship with her, as clearly if he had hoped for a happy future, marriage to her would have been a strict remedy to ensure such did not happen. It was quite the deserving set down, although politely delivered in tone. I did not see her for the rest of the night after that.”
“Oh, dear. I can imagine this will put her in quite a temper.”
“Pish, she brought it on herself. But enough about Lady Susan. This is such great news about you and Lord Walkerton! Why, he is one of the most handsome lords in all of London and said to be in possession of a very comfortable fortune. But why did you not tell me?”
“Oh…well…that is, I—” Oh dear. She’d had no idea Lord Walkerton had planned on making their courtship public before they had reached a mutual decision as to whether they were suited. How had he come to such a determination without telling her? And so swiftly? They had shared only a few dances and while he and his mother had come by for a visit several days earlier, the conversation was polite and unrevealing of any hint of feeling on his part. They had discussed the weather—yes, it has been lovely—and the upcoming fete that the Duke and Duchess of Franklyn had announced to celebrate the return of Lord Rothbury to London for an extended stay. That was all.
Lord Rothbury.
Hen closed her eyes and let out a long breath. She barely recalled the conversations she’d had with Lord Walkerton in any detail, but she could recall every second she’d spent in Alexander’s company with startling clarity. His touch, his taste, the feel of his body pressed into hers.
And now she must face him once again. How could she not? No one would dare turn down an invitation from the Duke and Duchess of Franklyn. Certainly not the Harrows, given James’s close association with Alexander. Surely, Lord Walkerton would attend as well. To say having both men in the same room would be the height of awkwardness would be a gross understatement. One courted her and the other had kissed her.
Sweetly. Passionately. Completely.
“Hen, you are blushing like a schoolgirl. Why, you must be head over heels for Lord Walkerton. How lovely. I am so pleased to see you so happy. He’s a mite too strict and stuffy for my tastes, but I think the two of you will get along quite well.”
“Thank you.” She managed a smile, but inside she was anything but happy. Inside, she was a mass of confusion and uncertainty. Had she made a huge mistake? And if so, which was the mistake—kissing Lord Rothbury, or proposing to Lord Walkerton?
“I am so pleased I came for a visit.” Patience picked up her tangled needlepoint and shoved it unceremoniously into her reticule. “But I must be off. I promised Mother I would not wear out my welcome. I don’t know why she always assumes I will do so.”
“I can’t imagine.” Hen stood and this time her smile came easy as she walked her friend toward the front hall. She quite enjoyed Patience’s company. She did not have many close friends and Patience’s companionship was light and easy. The young woman was always filled with energy and good humor, reminding Hen of a light breeze on a warm summer’s day.
When they reached the front hall, both ladies stopped as Cleveland turned to announce the visitor standing just feet from him. “My lady, Lord Walkerton has arrived.”
Lord Walkerton executed a shallow bow, his hat and gloves having already been passed off to their butler. “Lady Henrietta, Miss Elmsley. I hope the day finds you well.”
“It does indeed, Lord Walkerton,” Hen said, her slippers rooted to the floor. She had not been expecting him and Patience’s words drifted back to her as she stood there. Lord Walkerton was indeed a very handsome man with thick dark hair and a firm set to his shoulders. Lean and trim, it was obvious he was not a man given to excesses in either food or drink. In addition, his smile was quite lovely, though well controlled. Hen suspected he kept his true emotions hidden somewhere far beneath it. “Are you here to see James?”
“Indeed, I am not.” He gave a sheepish grin and tilted his head to one side. “And I hope you will forgive my intrusion. I realize this is rather impromptu, but I was on my way to the park and thought perhaps you might care to accompany me. Would you do me the honor? It is a lovely afternoon and there is a matter I feel I should discuss with you.”
Hen hesitated a beat and waited to feel the rush of expectation and excitement that always followed whenever she laid eyes upon Alexander but it did not come. Lord Walkerton was pleasant and lovely and kind but Lord Rothbury—Alexander—he was…
What was he?
Remote. Contrary. Exciting.
Patience nudged her.
“Oh, yes. Of course. A ride in the park would be a fine idea.” In the way stripping down to her chemise and running through Mayfair would be fine. At this time of day everyone who was anyone would be there.
“You will need to change, of course,” Patience pointed out and Hen looked down at her day dress. One did not go to Hyde Park in a plain day dress. Oh, bother.
“I do not mind waiting, my lady.”
A smile wavered on her lips. “I shall be swift about it then,” she told him and turned to Cleveland. “Perhaps you could you show his lordship to the receiving room while I ready myself. Then if you might fetch Lydia to accompany us.”
“Very well, my lady.
“And, of course, Miss Elmsley, you are welcome to join us as well.”
“How lovely of you to ask, my lord, but I have promised Mother to return home promptly following my visit with Lady Henrietta and I fear if I do not she will think I have gotten up to no good.”
Patience’s light laugh filled the front hall as she accepted her shawl from Cleveland but Hen did not miss the apprehensive expression that crossed Lord Walkerton’s face at the mention of no good. Heavens, the poor man really did worry too much about attracting even the smallest hint of scandal. If they were to marry, would she always be on her guard for such? Or would he eventually relax his ways in this regard when he realized he would not constantly be judged based on his late father’s past actions? She hoped for the latter. After all, sometimes a little bit of scandal could be quite delicious.
Especially when it resulted in a stolen kiss on a dark night with a gentleman who was every bit as dangerous to her heart as Lord Walkerton was…not.
Oh dear.
* * *
“Do you come to the park very often, Lady Henrietta?” Lord Walkerton asked as he steered their curricle through the wide pathway that led to Rotten Row. The closer they drew, the thicker the crowd became. It was a lovely spring day with flowers in early bloom and the beginning of the Season created an excitement for those newly returned from their country estates ready for another round of parties and teas and dinners and theatre outings. Whatever it took to get their daughters married, have their sons find proper brides, and to partake in the latest gossip, whether true or not.
The very thought of what awaited Hen for the next few months made her in
sides clench.
“No, my lord. I cannot say that I do. I much prefer to find a good book and curl up near the fire than venture out into public.”
“Books?”
“Yes. You know, those things in the library filled with pages and words.” She winced. Drat. She did not mean to come off so caustic. The closer they came to the crowds on Rotten Row the more taut her nerves became. “I’m sorry—”
Lord Walkerton laughed and shook his head, surprising her with the pleasantness of the sound, not one she had heard from him before. “No, you were quite right to take me to task on that one. I’m afraid most of the ladies of my acquaintance do not spend much time in the library and I forget there are those that do. It is pleasing to know you are one of them. Do you have a particular favorite?”
“I suppose I am partial to Miss Austen. Persuasion, the most dear to me. I find I am quite taken with the idea of love being given a second chance. James tells me if I continue to re-read the book I will wear out the pages, but I cannot help myself. Miss Elliot and Captain Wentworth have captivated my imagination and refuse to let it go. I don’t think I shall ever tire of their story, my lord.”
She glanced over and caught Lord Walkerton smiling at her, surprise brightening his hazel eyes that were unexpectedly warm, even if they lacked the underlying heat present in Alexander’s. Oh drat. She’d promised herself she was not going to think about him.
“I don’t believe I have ever seen you quite so animated,” Lord Walkerton said, though she detected no censure in his claim.
Heat rose to her cheeks. “Forgive me. I suppose I do go on.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I should like to hear more about Miss Elliot and Captain Wentworth.” His smile tightened somewhat. “I suppose I am not a stranger to second chances.”
Before Hen could respond, Lord Walkerton pulled up on the reins, slowing the carriage as the foot traffic along the pathway thickened with ladies dressed in their finest, holding fancy parasols to keep the sun from touching upon their fair complexions and gentlemen resplendent in their suits and top hats. It was quite a sight to behold. Perhaps if the faces of said lord and ladies did not then turn to fixate upon her with expressions of shock and surprise, she might have enjoyed the spectacle more. As it was, all she wanted to do was crawl beneath her seat and instruct Lord Walkerton to take her home immediately. At least when stuck in a ballroom with unwanted attention she could seek out a dark corner, or hide behind the nearest palm frond.
“Would you care to disembark and walk for a bit, Lady Henrietta? The crowd grows rather dense and we might enjoy ourselves more if we had the freedom to move about.”
“Oh.” Hen looked about them. Indeed the lovely weather and fashionable time of day conspired against her, leaving few choices. If she stayed in the carriage, she was above those on the ground, making her presence in the park more noticeable. Perhaps on the ground, she could keep her head down, her parasol turned just so and escape notice. “Yes, I think that would be quite agreeable, my lord.”
“Very well, then.” Lord Walkerton jumped down and then assisted her, his hands upon her waist creating none of the havoc Lord Rothbury’s had when he pulled her to him. Would such feelings grow between her and Lord Walkerton in time? Or would they simply become more familiar, like a couple of bosom bows? In many ways, such would not be so bad, except that if one could have the other—the tingling and the anticipation and the sense that something bigger than oneself was at work—well, wouldn’t one prefer that?
Not that she could have the other. Or she could, if she had allowed Alexander to speak to James about what had happened, but that seemed a rather mercenary way to go about things, forcing a man’s hand so that he felt compelled to do something out of a sense of duty rather than personal desire. If such an event was not a foundation for the imbalance of feelings she had spoken of with Alexander the night before, she did not know what was. And then how long would it be before such a lopsided arrangement became a torment to them both?
Not long, she would imagine.
Hen shook away the disconcerting thoughts. As it stood, she and Lord Walkerton were not even promised to one another, so counting her chicks before they hatched was a foolish endeavor. The earl could still determine they were ill suited to one another and that a lifetime of staring at her scars was more than he wished to bear. Though Lord Rothbury had not appeared to notice her scars the other evening. Not that he didn’t know they were there, but unlike most, he treated them as if they were of no consequence.
Even James did not do that. When her brother glanced at them, his gaze became riddled with guilt, as if he were somehow at fault for not being there when the fire occurred. Hen, on the other hand, was forever thankful. Knowing James, likely he would have dashed back into the house with Father in an effort to find their mother who had not come back out. And then she would have lost everyone.
“Are you quite all right, Lady Henrietta?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, pushing back the dark memories. “Forgive me. Woolgathering appears to be a bad habit of mine.”
“I suppose that is to be expected, having spent so many years away from Society. I imagine when one keeps to themselves they make close acquaintance with their thoughts to such a point they become like old friends one likes to visit with on a frequent basis.”
Lord Walkerton’s astute assessment of the situation surprised her. “You sound as if you have some experience in that regard, my lord.”
“I suppose I do,” he said with a small smile, but he did not elaborate beyond that and Hen did not want to pry into what was obviously a subject he did not care to speak further on. They fell silent for a few moments, save for the obligatory greetings required as they passed acquaintances. Hen could not claim it a comfortable silence. It seemed as if once their conversation came to a halt, neither could find a benign topic to start it up again. It was clear that the more interesting topics, the ones that would allow Hen to plumb whatever depths Lord Walkerton hid behind his polite manners, were not an area he cared to ruminate upon out loud.
Unfortunately, the longer the silence lasted, the deeper and more awkward it grew and in the silence she could not help but notice the stares they received from those they passed. Nor did the sudden snap of a fan opening, or the sound of murmured whispers behind it go unheard until the sound buzzed like insects over her skin. If she thought to make less of a spectacle of herself by going to ground, the intense scrutiny she received there quickly proved her assumption incorrect.
“It appears we are drawing a certain amount of attention, my lord,” she said, unable to avoid the conversation any longer as no one appeared capable of hiding their interest to such a degree it could be construed as anything else.
“Indeed.” He did not sound pleased. Lord Walkerton was not the type of man who cared to have attention drawn to him. If anything, he went out of his way to avoid such. Had bringing her here today, at an hour when there could be no doubt they would run into many of their peers, been some type of test to determine if courting her would be more bother than it was worth?
If so, this may be the last outing they shared together and then the ton would have something else to whisper about behind their fans as they told the tale of poor little Lady Henrietta, whose scars made it impossible for her to catch a husband despite the embarrassingly large dowry settled upon her by her brother.
“Well, look who has come out from behind the walls of Harrow House to grace us with her presence this fine day.”
Hen closed her eyes, uttering a prayer that the sound of Lady Susan’s voice was nothing but a hallucination brought on the distress of being stared at. Unfortunately, the fact Lord Walkerton had stopped walking—because it was the proper thing to do when addressed by a lady, even if that lady was like a serpent dressed in pretty muslin—destroyed such hope.
“Lord Rothbury. Lady Susan.” This, she had not been expecting. Her eyes snapped open. It was a well known truth that there was no love los
t between the two half siblings, so to find Lady Susan hanging on her brother’s arm with a self-satisfied smirk was a shock indeed.
“Lady Henrietta. Walkerton.” Alexander appeared as surprised to see her as she him, but his composure quickly resettled. Doubtful anyone else had witnessed the ripple of surprise that crossed his handsome features. But she had, even if she did not fully understand the meaning behind it.
Lord Walkerton nodded. “Lord Rothbury. I hope your stay in London is going well.”
“Well enough.” Though Lord Rothbury spoke to Lord Walkerton, his assessing gaze continued to slide toward her, traveling over her until the skin beneath her muslin dress tingled and burned and ached for his touch.
“I understand you will be staying for the Season?”
“Indeed he will. His lordship is in search of a new marchioness,” Lady Susan said, her smile tight, dripping with insincerity. Did the woman not have a kind bone in her body?
Next to her, Lord Walkerton stiffened. “Is that so?”
Lady Susan’s smile—if one could call it that—thinned. “Given that your cousin did not live long enough to secure a proper heir to the title, he’s left with little choice, I suppose.”
“That is enough,” Alexander said, a dark warning laced around his words, but if Lady Susan heard it, she paid little heed.
“I did not know Lady Rothbury was a cousin, my lord,” Hen said, hoping to steer the conversation in a more positive direction. If speaking of the deceased could be considered positive, but surely it was better than whatever would come out of Lady Susan’s hateful mouth.
“Yes. A second cousin on my mother’s side,” he answered, his gaze remaining fixed on Alexander.
“So tragic, her sudden and early demise,” Lady Susan said, though she did not sound the least bit affected by the other woman’s death. Did she possess no heart at all? “And now my dear brother must once again enter the marriage mart. Though I doubt it will take much to entice any of the young ladies to attach themselves to a future duke, will it, Brother?”
