The circle around him and Charlotte ensured that only one or two particularly determined young women broke through—including the most stubborn of Lady Pembroke’s daughters. Most of the women didn’t remain for long, but the third, elegantly dressed in cream silk, insisted that Henry come demonstrate the proper way to release the bowl. She was rather more forceful than the other two ladies had been, and she was clearly annoyed that Henry wasn’t mingling as a host was expected to.
Henry glanced at Charlotte. “I am afraid my partner must come first,” he said mildly. “Once she is satisfied, perhaps I shall have time to assist you.”
The woman looked at Charlotte icily. Before she could protest further, one of Charlotte’s friends—Genevieve Flynn, he thought—happened to trip, her drink splashing across the cream silk of the interloper’s dress. In a flurry of exclamations, the lady squealed and stormed off, presumably to find a maidservant.
Henry bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. Charlotte looked half startled, half amused, shaking her head in Genevieve’s direction. Miss Flynn was a picture of innocence.
Charlotte bent to retrieve her bowl, and Henry said lightly, “I believe your defenders are in top form today. Thank you for agreeing to shield me, Charlotte. You’re a good friend.”
She lifted her head, and for a moment, the sunshine caught her face. Her smile vanished, replaced by a flash of discomfort before she forced it back into place. “Yes…. Thank you. And they do mean well.”
Concern flickered in him.What troubles her?But before he could inquire, the sound of his mother’s voice reached his ears. Again
“There you are, Henry,” she said, stepping neatly between him and another encroaching lady. “Truly, it isn’t wise to devote yourself entirely to one partner.” His mother lowered her voice to add, “People shall think you have already decided.” She gave Henry a meaningful look. They both knew how quickly rumor could spread.
He cast a glance at Charlotte, torn between the relief he felt in her company and dismay at his mother’s interference, though he knew she was right. He didn’t want their plan to compromise Charlotte’s reputation in any way.
“Very well,” he said at last, trying to keep the frustration from his tone. “I shall spread my attention a little more, as you advise.”
His mother, apparently satisfied, moved off.
Henry turned to Charlotte. “Forgive me. It seems I am forced to leave you to your own devices for a while. I must go and mingle.”
She nodded, but there was a faint line between her brows, and he sensed a sudden distance between them. “I understand.It is no trouble, Your Grace. I’m glad I was able to help this afternoon.”
With a polite bow, Henry stepped away, feeling confused at the odd undercurrents in their exchange. Had he offended Charlotte somehow? Had he been too familiar with her, perhaps?
He had no time to ponder, as his mother almost immediately directed Charlotte’s friend Felicity toward him, coaxing them to form a pair. He resigned himself to the new partnership, reasoning that Felicity was no doubt aware of the “arrangement.”
Felicity offered a shy greeting, apologizing at once for her inexperience with bowls.
“Think nothing of it,” Henry said kindly, taking a practice bowl. “At least you won’t turn out to be better than I am, like Charlotte here. Shall we try a few rolls?”
Poor Felicity’s coordination proved quite lacking, and after two attempts, she managed to drop the next ball directly onto Henry’s foot.
“Ow!” A sharp flash of pain made him hiss through clenched teeth, nearly dropping his own bowl.
Charlotte, standing only a short distance away, turned and instinctively reached out as though to steady him. But then she froze, and her hand hovered in midair before she drew it back again.
Why the hesitation?he wondered, pressing his lips together to stem the pain.
He told Felicity he was quite all right and not to worry, even though his foot throbbed. One of the footmen hurried forward to gather the fallen bowl.
Felicity fluttered her hands, looking so contrite that she was close to tears. “I am so very sorry, Your Grace. I could not hold on properly.”
He took a breath, forcing himself to ignore the insistent throbbing in his foot. “Truly, it is fine,” he assured her once more. “Shall we proceed… more carefully?”
As they resumed their game—with him still valiantly ignoring the pain in his foot—he couldn’t help glancing again at Charlotte. She had returned to her friends, who were chatting and watching the game unfold. She seemed subdued, and he wondered about that single moment when she had instinctively reached for him, only to draw back as though afraid.
What was she afraid of? The gossip that might ensue should she be seen to comfort him?
Or her immediate instinct to do so?
CHAPTER 14
Henry had scarcelyfinished guiding Felicity through another clumsy attempt at bowls when a group of gentlemen hailed him from across the lawn, one of them scowling and another wearing a mischievous grin.
His gut twisted. They had been eyeing him all morning, no doubt speculating on his predicament. The moment he drew near, one of them—Sir Duncan, a jovial fellow with slightly too much brandy on his breath—clapped Henry on the shoulder in a comradely fashion.
