“The earl dirtied his hands?” Albina asked, aghast. “But why? He is a gentleman.”
“Or so his title suggests.” Sarah peered at Henrietta, her intense scrutiny willing Henrietta to divulge the details of her intimate encounter.
Which she had no intentions of sharing. She was still trying to process the flood of emotions the earl’s touch unleashed. To even attempt to describe the feeling to her sisters was… why, it was nonsensical.
And none of their business.
“The earl was replanting an herb that had been shoddily unearthed,” she said jauntily. She swept past her sisters and toward the door.
Sarah and Albina exchanged glances. Neither of them appeared convinced.
Henrietta sighed and attempted to explain as she lifted the latch and stepped out into the hall. “Someone had uprooted a licorice root. Someone beside myself and the earl. Likely the same someone who has been stealing from my stores of herbs.”
“Someone has been taking your herbs?” Albina asked, somewhat skeptically. She glanced down the dim hall, pulling the train of her dress behind her.
“Yes. Everything I brought with me from Rosehearst has been taken.”
“Likely misplaced,” Sarah corrected. “Who would wish to steal dried flowers and bagged blends? It doesn’t make any sense.” She closed the door and hastened toward Henrietta, who continued to progress down the hall.
“The earl suggested it might be someone with an agenda.”
“An agenda?” Sarah asked.
“He posed an interesting theory and one I cannot disregard, despite my doubts anyone would act cruelly.”
Albina touched a hand to her lace-trimmed chest, her fan dangling from her gloved wrist. “Cruelly?”
“The earl believes one of the ladies present might be endangering the others to eliminate the competition. To increase their chances of being selected as the countess.”
“An interesting theory,” said Sarah with a reflective tone, her voice little more than a whisper. “Has he any proof? Other than your missing stores and an unearthed plant?”
Henrietta settled her hand atop the stair rail and shook her head. “No.”
“Then why are we discussing subterfuge, when we could be dissecting your kiss with the earl?” Albina asked. “Did he taste like lemons? Someone with his sour expression really must, though that is only my supposition.”
Honestly. Lemons. The man had tasted more like salt than lemons. And sage…
“Lady Georgiana’s irritated throat and Lady Isabella’s blemishes hardly seem the work of blended herbs,” said Sarah, interrupting her woolgathering.
Sarah’s comment was unsettling. Henrietta had given consideration to Lady Georgiana’s symptoms. A swollen throat by itself hardly suggested the misuse of herbal medicines. It did, however, in combination with Lady Georgiana’s sensitivity to chamomile tea, raise Henrietta’s concern. Should anyone else know of that weakness, they could have infused her diet with enough of the flower to cause a reaction.
And the same held true for Lady Isabella’s blotchy rash. The possibility she had ingested a known irritant was possible. But more likely was that she had brushed against a nettle or some sort of disagreeable plant while walking in the marsh, unknowingly transferring the toxic oils to her face.
“Both women are simply ill,” Sarah continued. “There is nothing more to it. I highly doubt the incidents are connected. The earl’s paranoia likely stems from his past—at least if the gossip is to be believed.”
Henrietta adjusted her skirts, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. Should her mother see the crumpled fabric Henrietta would never cease to hear the end of it.
“Speaking of which, the rumors suggest the earl is more than apt at kissing.” Albina batted her lashes, her innocent expression fooling no one.
“You believe the rumors hold merit?” Henrietta asked.
“I am not certain, which is why I am asking you.” Albina smiled.
Henrietta sent her what she hoped was a very stern glare as she rounded the last corner and stepped into the drawing room.
All heads turned in their direction, the conversation ceasing as Henrietta and her sisters stepped farther into the room. Bustling toward them, their mother clutched Henrietta’s elbow with something akin to supernatural strength.
“Ah, there you are dears. We are entering the dining room now.”
Her mother’s voice might have been free of any censure, but her face and hands were not. Henrietta tried not to wince as her mother’s grip tightened. The hour, it seemed, was later than she had first believed and while a country visit was more relaxed in its proceedings, it still followed expected standards—such as being on time for dinner and not keeping the rest of the party waiting.
Of course her sisters were equally guilty, but as the eldest she shouldered the responsibility. “I apologize for keeping you.” Her voice was loud in the stillness of the room.
“Apology accepted.” Lord Satterfield’s face warmed with a smile. He made his way to her and offered out his arm. “Shall we?”
“Well…I-I-I…yes.” Settling her hand atop the marquess’s sleeve Henrietta forced a smile. And tried with every last ounce of her self-discipline not to meet the earl’s smoldering gaze she’d glimpsed at the edge of her vision.
Was he upset the marquess had claimed her hand? Jealous, even, that he was denied her company? Or was he embarrassed by her tardiness and apparent disregard for decorum?
She nibbled on her lip as the servants opened the set of doors leading into the dining room.
“Lady Henrietta, I wondered…,” the marquess said in a voice so low she had to lean toward him to hear. “I wondered if you had a pleasant walk with the earl.”
She blinked up at the marquess. “Walk?”
“The prize he won for coming in under two stones.”
Her face warmed at the recollection. “Yes, of course. I-I-I did, thank you.”
“Your kindness,” he whispered, “is truly admirable.”
“Kindness, my lord?” Had she done something to merit his praise?
“Yes. You have shown great kindness by placating the earl with a walk, when likely, you had other activities demanding your time.”
Frowning, she stared up at him. “He is my father’s heir, sir. There are no activities that supersede time spent with him.”
He gave her a patronizing pat on the arm. “Yes, of course. But even so, given his less than…exemplary reputation, it was exceedingly kind of you—”
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but are you suggesting his reputation is anything less than honorable?”
He put a hand to his chest and led her toward a chair. “By all means, no, my lady. I am simply acknowledging your graciousness with a man whose past raises more questions than answers.”
She sat in the chair, the other guests’ conversations humming around her.
Lord Satterfield’s words filled her with unease. She believed the earl to be a man of honor. One ready to settle into his title and assume his responsibilities.
But Lord Satterfield was the earl’s friend and therefore must have knowledge of his past. Was he warning her? Casting hints the earl might not be all she believed? That the rumors swirling about him carried some credence of truth?
She glanced across the table at the man in question. His gaze lifted and held hers.
Her cheeks warming, she dipped her head and concentrated on the napkin being placed in her lap. She did not know that much about him. Nothing more than what she had witnessed in the garden, and of course, what the gossip rags circulated.
Clenching her napkin, she once again lifted her gaze to meet the earl’s. He was her father’s successor and, God willing, her future husband. It would behoove her to discover the truth behind the man from the source himself.
…
The smell of fresh hay and oiled leather hung in the warm air of the stables. Dust motes swirled before Henrietta, caught in the beams of sunlight pouring
through the cracks in the rafters.
She waved a hand in front of her face, dispersing the motes. She had to look her best, not dusted and dirtied before the ride had yet to begin. How else was she to further her acquaintance with the earl and ferret out his secrets, separating fact from fiction?
Sarah shot her a knowing look from where she stood between Miss Saxton and Lady Isabella and nodded.
Henrietta’s new riding habit, with its intricate gold cord trim and navy coat cut in a fashionable military style, accentuated her figure in such a flattering way, even she could not deny the beauty revealed by her reflection.
Certainly the earl would notice the lengths she had gone capture his attention.
Only, it was not the earl who continually glanced in her direction, but the marquess. He caught her gaze and wove through the cluster of guests toward her.
“Lady Henrietta,” he said, slightly breathless. “I must say, you look quite—”
“Satterfield.” The earl’s voice echoed off the hollow ceilings of the stable. “Your mare is quite resplendent. Is she recently acquired?”
The marquess lifted his head, his eyes darting between her and the earl—who refused to glance her way.
Was it possible she had offended the earl with her brashness in the garden? With the eagerness in which she reciprocated his advances? Her face grew hot. Dear heavens. He likely expected his future spouse to be demure, in possession of the qualities one associated with a lady of the realm—and not some brazen tart.
Her stomach began to plunge, souring on its way down.
“Satterfield?” the earl repeated.
The marquess let out an agitated sigh and gave her an apologetic smile. “Please excuse me, Lady Henrietta.”
“Of course.”
He turned away as a groom came toward her with a horse. “Your ride, my lady.”
A tail-swishing, chestnut mare whinnied beside her. With a slight assist from the groom, she placed her feet into the stirrup, lifting herself onto her mount.
A cry from the front of the party signaled the beginning of the ride, each of the horses in front of her taking off with spirited gaits. Her mare followed in kind, lurching Henrietta forward, forcing her to grip the edge of the saddle.
Individual trees began to blur together as the landscape passed and the wind licked her heated face. The horse began to slow, finding its gait and settling into an easy walk. Keeping a steady pace behind the rest of the party, Henrietta’s thoughts once again veered to the earl, his sudden indifference, and his current conversation with Miss Saxton.
While she was too great a distance to hear the words spoken between them, she could certainly see the earl’s head tilting back with laughter and the radiant smile spanning the width of Miss Saxton’s face.
“A pence for your thoughts, Lady Henrietta?”
She lifted her gaze to the rider on her left. She hadn’t heard anyone come up beside her.
“Lord Satterfield. You startled me. I-I-I thought you were with my sister, Lady Albina.”
His storm-gray eyes caught hers, and he smiled. He was attractive, she supposed, his strong jaw and dimpled chin making it easy to see why her younger sister had been so easily taken with the notion of becoming his wife.
But he did not hold Plumburn, And while Polcrave Heath, his prosperous family seat in Surrey, was quite possibly the best the county had to offer, it was not her ancestral home.
Not to mention, Albina would never converse with Henrietta again if she sought to capture the marquess’s attentions.
And she did so enjoy Albina’s conversations. At least when they were not centered on the earl’s kisses.
“Your sister is quite comfortable with her horse, and well acquainted with the area. I thought to ensure the same was true with you.”
Henrietta clenched her reins in an attempt to steer the errant mare away from a clump of horse-appealing weeds. “It is, thank you, my lord.”
And she was, though it likely did not appear that way—not with her mare ignoring her direction, and making for the purple blossoms of clover to her right.
Henrietta shifted on her saddle, pulling on the leather ribbons, and getting nothing but a disgruntled whinny in return. The horse was completely immune to her nudges, her clicks, her pulls. In fact, the blasted beast was quite content to jerk Henrietta forward, jostling her precarious seating on the well-oiled sidesaddle.
Lord Satterfield had the good grace not to laugh at her ignored attempts to rouse the animal from its grazing. He did, however, deepen his smile.
“Lady Henrietta, might I assist you? It seems your mare has become quite…distracted.”
“Oh, no. I-I-I would not want to take you from the rest of the party. I am certain, once the mare has finished grazing, she will be more…inclined to accept my direction.”
With another jerk on the rein, the horse relented, lifting its head. “See there? She simply needed her fill. Shall we rejoin the rest of the group?”
He frowned and sighed, his face one of frustration and displeasure. “Yes, I suppose, though, Lady Henrietta, I had hoped—”
The mare bolted, the sharp jab of Henrietta’s heels into its sides a ready enough incentive for the beast to canter away from the marquess and his unwelcome advances.
Leaning forward, she urged the mare to go faster. She had to get away from the marquess. She wasn’t certain which was more unsettling, his misguided attentions or the earl’s sudden indifference.
Both were enough to make her nerves taut and her stomach ache.
Closing her eyes, she held tight to the ribbons, the wind roaring past her ears—and ceasing altogether.
With a loud whinny, her horse bucked beneath her, tossing Henrietta off the saddle and into the waist-high grass.
Pain sliced up her sides, the impact of the solid earth against her back, taking her breath away.
“Lady Henrietta.”
The words were muffled, barely audible over the ringing in her ears wrought by her fall. Her eyes, however, were unaffected and took in the concerned face of the dismounting marquess—along with her stomping mare, happily munching on buttercups and clover.
She lifted her arm, pointing toward the surly equine. “The horse,” she wheezed.
The marquess stilled and turned to the mare. “A stubborn creature to be certain. Rather a lost cause I would say.”
Henrietta’s stomach twisted. “I-I-I—”
“There is nothing for it, Lady Henrietta. The horse is ill suited for riding and quite happy as she stands. You, on the other hand, require looking after.” He stepped toward her, pushing aside the grass, to where she sat catching her breath.
The sound of pounding hooves had her lifting her head. A dark stallion, lean and black, rode toward them—with a handsome, roguish man atop the beast’s impressive back.
The Earl of Amhurst cantered up beside Satterfield’s horse, his brown eye flicking first at Lord Satterfield and then toward her. “Lady Henrietta, Lord Satterfield, we have all been quite concerned with your absence. Are you in need of assistance?”
Henrietta flushed. Both from his presence and his remark. She could only imagine what the rest of the guests thought of her position in the rear, with the marquess beside her. Not only did she appear inept in her horsemanship, but in her manners as well. Alone with a man, good gracious.
Lord Satterfield nodded to the mare. “The horse was rather disgruntled with Lady Henrietta’s direction and tossed her off its back.”
The earl immediately dismounted, a look of concern settling over his features as he strode toward her.
Henrietta dipped her chin and stared at the swaying grass. She didn’t dare lift her gaze for fear she might see pity in either man’s eyes. Or their awkward amusement at seeing a woman helpless on the ground.
A buckskin covered knee appeared in the corner of her vision, lowering onto the grass next to her. “Are you hurt?”
The earl’s rich voice sent her pulse racing. Goodness. Sh
e needed to ahold of herself. “I am fine.” Her reply, however, was not spoken with the confidence she had intended, but a hoarse, ragged wheeze.
He grunted a low oath and clasped her elbow.
“What are you doing?” she asked, rather horrified. First his cool reception, now his harsh censure? She didn’t need his help.
“Assisting you to my horse.”
Henrietta wrenched her arm from his grasp. “I am more than capable of walking back to the house. Alone.” To prove her point, she stood, unaided, and brushed the dirt off her skirt. Stiffening her spine, she took a step and winced as pain, sharp and sure, sliced into her side in the form of broken whale bone on the left side of her stay.
“I have heard quite enough.” With a swift fluid motion, he lifted her in his arms, cradling her against his firm, hard chest.
“My lord,” she gasped, certain he could feel the damaged stay through her gown.
“Amhurst, what are you doing?” asked Lord Satterfield.
“Lady Albina has inquired after you, Lord Satterfield.”
“Well, yes, I’m certain she has. But what of Lady Henrietta? She is in distress.”
And by heaven, she was. Distress did not begin to describe her current state of existence between the earl’s capable arms, his limbs lifting her onto his horse, and settling her atop his saddle. Her head swam with the idea of it all. And her heart, dear goodness. It raced at the earl’s boldness.
“I-I-I cannot ride astride, my lord.” Henrietta reached out to steady herself on the massive stallion.
“You can, and you will. We are well behind the others, and at least an hour walk from the estate, facts Lord Satterfield no doubt mentioned after inquiring after your health.”
“I did not yet have the opportunity, Amhurst,” the marquess said sheepishly.
The earl shot Lord Satterfield a disapproving glare. “We will head back to the stables and send a boy to see to the mare.”
Henrietta adjusted her bottom. “Y-y-yes, but—”
The earl’s eye flashed. “There are no buts, Lady Henrietta. You are injured and not fit for walking. As your host, it is my duty to see to your health and wellbeing.” He flung his leg over the stallion’s back and pulled Henrietta against him, forcing her left leg over the top of the saddle.
The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) Page 9
