The ladies departed, their skirts whispering over the polished floor. Henry watched them depart, a knot of regret tightening within him. He would like to spend more time with Charlotte, he realized. She really had grown into a most intriguing young woman. If only—
He cut off the thought and returned to scanning the shelves, eventually choosing a history text that looked promising. He retreated to one of the plush chairs by the window and attempted to read, though his mind wandered.
Only when a servant appeared to inform him that his mother had been searching for him did Henry stir from his seat. Deciding he wished to avoid her for a while longer, he tucked the book under his arm and headed out, mindful of the guests scattered about. Perhaps he could slip upstairs to his bedchamber, read there for an hour, and dodge any prying eyes.
He was halfway up the main staircase when a faint melody reached his ears. It was cello music, warm and resonant. Helena Steele, no doubt. She had mentioned hoping that her instrument could be brought along, and Henry had permitted it, believing it would provide some pleasant recitals. Miss Steele was very talented and gathering quite the reputation for her playing.
He followed the music to one of the manor’s smaller salons. He pushed open the door quietly. There sat Helena by a window,absorbed in a slow, sweeping tune, her cello balanced between her knees. Henry stood quietly listening, intending to slip away before she noticed him. But an older gentleman and lady sat on a nearby chaise, and they spotted him before he could retreat.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Steele said a little too eagerly. “We had no idea you were here. Do come in.”
Helena halted her bow mid-stroke, casting Henry a slightly apologetic look.
“That was lovely, Miss Steele,” Henry managed, giving Helena a polite nod. “Please, do not let me interrupt.”
Mrs. Steele stepped forward, beaming. “Helena is quite devoted, you know. I’m very proud of her; she’s a young woman of passion and spirit. And capable of responsibility—even, I declare, that of a duchess!”
Poor Helena went crimson at her mother’s boldness.
“I can see she is talented,” Henry said politely. “I trust she will do well in whichever path she chooses.”
Mr. Steele bowed to him. “Helena possesses many accomplishments, Your Grace. She would be an asset to any man.”
Helena set aside her bow, her cheeks coloring. “Papa, please.”
She was clearly mortified, but her parents pressed on regardless. For once Henry had to agree with his mother; they were vulgar.
“I have no doubt of her merits. For now, I shall not intrude.” He inclined his head in Helena’s direction. “Thank you for the music, Miss Steele.”
Mrs. Steele pounced on that. “Perhaps we could arrange a more formal recital, Your Grace, if you so desire. Helena’s playing never fails to enchant.”
Helena offered him a quick, pained smile and Henry sensed her silent plea to end the discussion. “That is most generous, but I am rather busy just now. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—”
“Oh, but certainly.” Mr. Steele winked. “We know you are a busy man with many decisions to make.”
Henry forced a polite laugh. “Indeed.” He backed toward the door, refusing to linger. “I shall leave you to your music.”
He escaped the salon, tension knotted in his shoulders. The blatant suggestion that Helena might make an excellent duchess set his teeth on edge.Do none of these people have any shame?While Helena was a fine woman, Henry would not feel inclination toward her as a potential wife even if he had been open to the notion of marrying.
Still reeling from the encounter, he nearly stumbled into a young lady ascending the stairs. He vaguely remembered being introduced to her that morning. Catherine somebody? Fareham, maybe? She gave a start, then flashed a bright smile, slipping into an overly familiar tone.
“Oh, Your Grace! I was searching for you. I had hoped we might share a moment of conversation.” She lowered her voice, glancing around the empty corridor. “Why not here? No one is about.”
Henry tensed, the memory of all too many near-compromises flickering through his mind. “I beg your pardon, Miss… Farnham, is it? I fear it would not be proper for us to converse privately, unchaperoned.”
She gave a light tinkling laugh. “It’s Fairweather. We are only steps from the main stair. Surely that is not so improper. And what better time than now, while you are free?”
He pressed his lips together. “I must insist. We shall speak tomorrow in the drawing room or the gardens, with others present.”
She pouted, clearly disappointed. “But Your Grace, I meant no offence. I only wished to say—”
He offered the faintest bow. “I bid you good evening.”
Without waiting for further protest, he took the final few stairs and strode quickly down the corridor, his heart pounding. Enough of these attempts. He was not about to be cornered into marriage simply because an ambitious young woman found him alone.
Guilt prickled at him for dismissing the poor woman so abruptly, but he had no alternative.My mother can lecture me later for my rudeness, if she must.Better that than risking a scandal.Too many men of his acquaintance had been pushed into marriages due to being found in a compromising situation.
Upon reaching his bedchamber door, he slipped inside and locked it behind him. Only then did he release a breath of relief. He leaned against the door, allowing the tension to drain away.
