What a Lady Craves

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  At the mention, two small bodies pressed against Henrietta’s skirts. She rested her hands on their shoulders, hoping the gesture communicated what she’d like to say aloud. She wasn’t about to let the old dragon breathe her fire on them. “It’ll be all right.”

  Head high, she chivvied the girls into the sitting room, Lady Epperley on her heels.

  “I’m afraid I must go over Albemarle’s expectations once again,” Lady Epperley pronounced when they were all seated. “I hope by including these … children in the conversation they might understand what is required.”

  “I’ve been keeping them out of your sight,” Henrietta argued. Not an easy trick when the girls’ father wanted them kept in the manor under close watch.

  “You have, indeed. However, they are still causing disorder. My cook has lodged a complaint.”

  Henrietta fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I merely thought I could keep them diverted and out of your path if we took on a small project.”

  “I cannot have you disrupting the preparation of Albemarle’s meals.” Lady Epperley paused and pressed her fingers to her throat. “His digestion, if you must know, is quite delicate.”

  Albemarle lay curled in a tight ball on her usual silk cushion. Lady Epperley, on the other hand, covered her mouth, and her shoulders hitched. It may have been a small burp for the sake of the cat, but one did not mention such things. Francesca let out a giggle, which earned her a glare. The girl’s laughter quickly turned into a choking sound.

  “Young lady, do you know what was expected of children when I was your age?” Lady Epperley snapped out her lorgnette, the better to inspect her grandnieces. “My governess took me in hand, and I did not see my elders and betters until I knew how to behave around them.”

  Next to Henrietta, Francesca squirmed in her seat. Helena, however, was bolder. “It must have been a very long time ago.”

  Good heavens, had the girl just defended Francesca? Henrietta’s heart warmed at the thought. She might win Helena over yet.

  Henrietta waited for an explosion of temper that never came. “Yes, I daresay,” Lady Epperley said. “Things have changed and not for the better. One should not realize children are in residence, and yet I find the evidence strewn all about the place. Scraps of paper with letters—such horrendous penmanship—and rumpled embroidery. Books from my library. Various … toys. If my staff begins to resign over this, I do not know what I shall do.”

  Henrietta cleared her throat. “Might I remind you, my lady, that these girls are not only related to you, they are guests.”

  Lady Epperley turned her lorgnette-magnified eyes on Henrietta. “I am aware of that fact. You, on the other hand, are not a guest.”

  Henrietta drew herself up straighter. “Should you require my resignation, I shall tender you a letter within the hour.”

  Lady Epperley blinked and blinked again. Henrietta suppressed a smile. Whatever the old lady might threaten, she wasn’t about to turn her governess out as long as the girls resided under her roof. “I do not think we need to carry matters so far. I merely wished to remind you of your duty.”

  “And what of yours?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What of your duty?” Heaven help her, she may have gone too far now, but she refused to stand for Lady Epperley’s bullying any longer. “These girls are your family, and until their father’s affairs are settled, they’ve nowhere to go. What would people say about you if you turned them out?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Odd, but Lady Epperley hardly seemed put out over Henrietta’s breach of propriety. Her tone was downright mild. Perhaps one might go so far as to call it approving. “Besides, no one of any import would listen to you.”

  “Do you think so? How many have remained as your guest for so long?” She caught herself before adding and lived to tell the tale. “I imagine I could find a few willing ears if I put forth the effort.”

  “Humph,” Lady Epperley sniffed. “If I’d known you were prone to gossip, George, I’d never have hired you.”

  “Strangely, I wasn’t prone to gossip before I came to live here. And George is my brother. My name is Henrietta. If you insist on giving me a man’s name, at least call me Henry.”

  Lady Epperley let out a cackle. “Very well, although I see no earthly reason to deform such a lovely name as Henrietta. Just … What is it, Hirsch? Can’t you see I’m occupied?”

  Hovering in the entryway, the butler bowed. “Forgive the interruption, but more guests have arrived.”

  “More guests, is it?” She pressed on the arms of her chair and wobbled to her feet. “Isn’t it a wonder how many guests we have all of a sudden when we haven’t invited even one of them? Who is it now?”

  “Your grandniece Miss Cecelia Sanford, and her mother.”

  Alexander’s family. Henrietta should have expected them to turn up as soon as they heard he was back in the country. But what did the presence of these two mean for her? They might be potential allies as much as a sort of unwanted scrutiny and reminders of a painful past.

  “Good heavens.” She turned to Henrietta. “Don’t you dare move. I’m going to need your help.”

  Before Henrietta could say what she thought of that idea, Lady Epperley toddled from the room in the butler’s wake.

  Francesca tugged at her sleeve. “Is she going to make you leave? I don’t want you to leave.”

  “Of course not. She’s just said she needs me more than ever.” Henrietta smiled. “There’s a secret to dealing with your great-grandaunt. Do you want to know what it is?”

  Both girls nodded, and Henrietta pulled them closer as if she were whispering a confidence. “Never listen to a thing she says, because the next thing you know, she’ll have changed her mind. Come now, let’s go meet your real aunt and your grandmama.”

  “Will they be old like Lady Epperley?” Helena asked.

  “No, indeed. Nobody is as old as Lady Epperley. And your aunt Cecelia is younger than I am. You’ll like her, I promise. She’s your papa’s sister.”

  She led the girls to the foyer, where two newcomers stood talking to Lady Epperley. Alexander’s mother was tall, slender, and older, but still retained her beauty. The younger woman, Cecelia, looked nothing like her mother or her brother. She was beautiful in her own vivacious way, but dark-haired and brown-eyed, where her brother was fair. Her complexion was pale where Alexander’s was ruddy. When she talked, her hands followed the cadence of her speech like dancing puppets.

  After a moment, she turned and caught Henrietta’s eye. “My goodness. Henrietta Upperton.”

  “The last place you expected to see me, isn’t it?” Henrietta supplied for her.

  “Well, yes, after my brother—”

  Henrietta cut her off with a slight shake of her head. “He’s here, returned from India.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why we’ve come—Mama and I, that is. Poor Jane was too ill to travel.” Cecelia leaned in. “Increasing, you know. The mere idea of spending hours in a bouncing carriage made her queasy.”

  “And these young ladies”—Henrietta nodded to her charges—“are his daughters.”

  A broad smile spread over Cecelia’s face, and she knelt until she was on the same level as the girls. She held out her arms to them. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come and greet your auntie.”

  Henrietta had to give them a small push. “They’re rather timid, since we’ve had to deal with your great-aunt—erm, your great-aunt’s cat these past few days. The older one is Helena and the younger Francesca.”

  “Such lovely girls.” That was Mrs. Sanford. “Come say good day to your granny.”

  Before long, and much to Lady Epperley’s consternation, the pair were ensconced in the sitting room between their aunt and grandmama. Francesca chattered away in between bites of scone and tea sandwiches, while Helena maintained her typical reserve. Despite several efforts on Cecelia’s part to draw her out, she answered in monosyllables.

  Cecelia
caught Henrietta’s eye. “And where is my brother among this household full of chattering women?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” Henrietta understood the real intent behind the question. Cecelia wanted to know how she’d been getting along under the same roof with her former betrothed. Not that Henrietta could offer any sort of a plain answer in front of her employer and Alexander’s mother. For that matter, she wasn’t even certain of what a plain answer might comprise. Complications, perhaps. Confusion, definitely. A tangle of emotion, memories, desire, pain … A Gordian knot, indeed.

  She hadn’t seen the man since breakfast—a good thing, really, but he might remain about the house after his insistence on keeping the girls close.

  “I thought he must be in residence. Was he not hurt after surviving the shipwreck? Oh, and I had hoped to hear all about it.” Cecelia’s hands flew to her face. “How frightful.”

  “He was out of bed far too soon for his own good, but he’s doing well now. He only fainted the first day.”

  “Fainted? Good heavens.”

  “But he hasn’t had a second spell. He’s dealt with all manner of business since, notifying the captain of his ship, his investors, and what have you.” She fought to keep her tone light, as if they were exchanging tidbits of gossip in a London morning room. “And yesterday he received the Earl of Sparkmore.” Yes, and afterward …

  Afterward, she’d let him under her skirts. Not that she could discuss such a thing with Cecelia. At times like this, she longed for a confidante, but a paid companion had no one other than her employer. She could never mention something like that in front of Lady Epperley, not when said lady would insist on seeing the pair of them matched.

  Would that be such a bad thing?

  Yes, most definitely. It would remove all agency from herself and Alexander. She’d given him her conditions. He could bloody well meet them without his aunt forcing the issue.

  “Are you certain he isn’t overextending himself?” Cecelia asked.

  “If he were, I could hardly say a word against it.” Henrietta lowered her voice and leaned closer. “You must imagine, under the circumstances, I try to spend as little time in his company as possible. Since you’ve come, I was hoping you might even see him home.” The better to work out in peace the muddle Alexander had created within her.

  Cecelia nodded, while worrying at her lower lip. “But …” She cast a telling glance at the girls. “But you seem to be looking after his daughters.”

  The conversation was fast moving into territory that might prove difficult, should anyone else overhear. Henrietta took a few steps toward a far corner, with Cecelia following suit, like a pair of young hopefuls at their debut ball, retreating to whisper confidences. Like Cecelia was an old friend—or nearly a sister.

  “Believe me,” Henrietta said, “it is not the position I applied for. Your aunt has pressed me into service for the duration of his visit. You understand why I’m eager to see him on his way?”

  Cecelia’s mouth fell open. “Those little angels? Who wouldn’t want to look after them?”

  Angels, indeed. Thank goodness their intimidation in the face of strangers was keeping them on their best behavior.

  “Oh, it’s not the girls, so much. They’re lovely. But it was never my intention to become a governess. Although … if you take them along with you, I might offer one piece of advice.”

  “What is it?”

  With a glance, Henrietta determined that the girls’ attention was fully on their grandmama. Francesca had cozied up to the woman and was leaning against her arm, while Helena listened attentively to some story about their father’s childhood.

  “Alexander clearly favors his younger daughter,” Henrietta whispered, “and the older one has noticed, naturally.”

  Cecelia’s eyes went wide and round. “Naturally.”

  “I’ve tried to convince him to treat them both the same, but he isn’t even aware he’s doing it, I don’t think.” Although after yesterday, he might at least be conscious of the situation.

  “Right.” Cecelia nodded, setting the dark curls on either side of her cheeks to swaying. “I shall nag him so much, he’ll be thoroughly sick of me.”

  Henrietta put out a hand. “But that’s not the way to go about it. He won’t listen if you do that.”

  A sly smile formed on Cecelia’s cheeks. “It looks to me as if you haven’t forgotten a thing about dealing with my brother.”

  “Oh, believe me, that is not the case at all.” If it were, they wouldn’t have shared any heated kisses, let alone last night’s encounter.

  “Just keep trying, then. You’ll be back in his good graces in no time.”

  At the assumption, Henrietta tamped down a wave of irritation. “You are assuming I wish to be in his good graces, when that is not the question at all. More like, he ought to be trying to get into mine.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The moment Alexander strode into the foyer, a cacophony of feminine chatter assaulted his ears. What the devil? But then one voice distinguished itself from the tumult. Good God, he’d recognize that sound anywhere.

  He stepped to where he could see into the sitting room. Yes, Cecelia and his mother, and they’d had a chance to meet the girls. Lady Epperley frowned over the chaos, her lorgnette plastered to the bridge of her nose, no doubt so she wouldn’t miss a thing she might disapprove of.

  Damn it all, no. He’d known they were coming, of course. His aunt had warned him of that much, but couldn’t they have delayed their visit by a few more days? Enough to settle his affairs and get away from here?

  Now that he’d recovered his health, he could have left the girls under Henrietta’s care temporarily while he sorted out his living arrangements. And if trouble had followed him from India? He might just draw that away from his family, as well. If his mother was here to see him after so many years, he could hardly rush off. But what if his very presence placed her and his sister in danger?

  He clenched his teeth. By some stroke of ill luck, Cecelia looked up in time to catch his eye.

  “Alexander! You needn’t pull such faces, you know.” She rocketed from her seat and threw herself at him. After a moment, she loosened her enthusiastic embrace to hold him at arm’s length and scrutinize him. “You look well. Much better than I expected.”

  He would have replied the same, only Mama stood, waiting for him to plant a kiss on her cheek. In the years since he’d seen her, the wrinkles had multiplied on her forehead, and the lines about her eyes had become more deeply etched, a map of the worries the woman had lived through since her widowhood. His fault, no doubt. And his father’s for leaving the family in close financial straits on his death.

  Then his girls crowded about them all, clamoring for attention. He hoisted Francesca into his arms, tempted for a moment to set her on his shoulders as he’d done so often since Marianne’s passing. But no doubt his aunt would tut over his encouraging such unbecoming behavior.

  Only Henrietta held back, a crease deepening between her brows. Somehow Helena had drifted over to her, and she put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, as if she had some need of comfort. Alexander raised his brows at the sight, but Henrietta volunteered no explanation, only a darkening look of disapproval.

  What on earth had he done now?

  Since their encounter last night, he’d deliberately kept himself away from her, choosing to spend the day wandering about the village on the off chance of hearing any more news of foreign sailors lurking about. Tilly’s shop remained dark and locked, which didn’t sit well, not with whomever had spooked Tilly still unaccounted for.

  Cecelia curled her fingers about his arm, and her gaze darted from him to Henrietta. With a tug, she led him aside. “Do you care to tell me what happened?”

  No, he didn’t care. Not at all. What’s more, it was none of her business. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You think you can fool me? I know you better than most. How is it you threw the perfect
girl over?”

  Francesca wriggled in his arms. “What does she mean, Papa, threw her over?”

  “Nothing, dear.” With a scowl at his sister, he set Francesca down. “Why don’t you run along to Miss Upperton now?”

  Cecelia arched a brow. “Miss Upperton, is it? I seem to recall a time when it was ‘Henrietta this’ and ‘Henrietta that.’ ”

  How he hated that expression and that tone—insinuating as it was. “Not now and most definitely not in front of my daughters.”

  “You’ve removed that obstacle, and you and I can easily nip off somewhere more private. I know you’re capable. According to Jane, you did it often enough at balls.” She dipped her head in Henrietta’s direction. “I cannot credit what happened.”

  “Very well.” If she wasn’t going to let this go, he’d hash it out with her, or at least as far as he could, but in return he would exact his own price in information. He had not forgotten his aunt’s cryptic hints. “But not in front of Mama. Come with me.”

  He led her to the drawing room, sleepy and golden in the afternoon sunlight, and closed the door behind him, trying to block out the thought of being alone in here with Henrietta. Her kisses, her sighs, her bold touch. And the memory of her intimate scent on his fingers and the feeling of her internal muscles clenching about him in climax. Christ, that had been a near thing. Near enough that he’d almost followed her to her chambers like a moonstruck idiot.

  Perhaps this room wasn’t the best choice to avoid discussing his relationship with Henrietta, past and present, but he was here now. He knew his sister, and she would not tolerate any further stalling.

  Indeed, she rounded on him the moment the door swung shut. “Now that we may speak plainly, I would like you to tell me what happened in India that you married another without the slightest thought for what you left behind.”

  Damn it. She would have to wade straight in, and in such forceful tones. He ought to have expected it. “I’m positive I wrote to you and Mama about the circumstances.”