He waited for Pinochle to do the honors, and when the dratted Pinochle did not oblige, Henrietta considered being so bold as to identify herself. Would he kiss her hand if she held it out to him? She shivered at the thought.
Marsibel shook her head. “Those legends are all so gory. If he wishes to marry her, why not just ask?”
“But why should she simply accept any handsome prince who comes along? Atalanta had talents of her own, you know. If she had to submit to a man, she wanted to ensure he was a match for her.” Henrietta glared at Pinochle, who stood closer to Marsi than she liked. “After all, men acquire much more than a bride—they gain a dowry, family connections, a housekeeper and hostess and nurse. And women, in return, give up every freedom.”
“For the protection of a man’s name,” Pinochle tutted. “A home of her own, a loyal guardian who will devote himself to her comfort, honor her as the mother of his children.” He glanced at Marsibel to judge her reaction.
Henrietta set her teeth. That Pinochle should pretend to gallantry when he had set his pregnant housemaid in the street with a few shillings! “In the best of circumstances, perhaps,” she said.
“How does the story end?” Marsibel asked. “Does the prince win?”
“He does indeed,” Lord Darien said. “The golden apples fascinate Atalanta and delay her enough that he wins the race. But I like to think that they were happy together.” He watched Henrietta as he had in the Chapel, as if she were an unusual artifact whose provenance he could not place.
“A romantic notion, sir—er, milord.” Whowasthis interesting man?
“There you are!” A young woman appeared beside her rescuer, tucking her hands around the elbow of his expensive, handsome coat. “My dear Daring, I see you received my note to meet me in the gallery.” She gave the other women a challenging glance. “You have not invited company to our rendezvous, I hope?”
“Good evening, Miss Pennyroyal,” Marsibel said with the air of one determined to be civil. “Have you met my cousin, Miss Wardley-Hines? Henrietta, this is Miss Forsythia Pennyroyal, daughter of the late Colonel Pennyroyal, a hero of the Seven Years’ War.”
Henrietta noticed that Marsibel did not address her rescuer, but then, perhaps she was waiting for Pinochle to introduce them. Pinochle continued to disoblige.
The new girl tittered behind her hand. “Miss Wardley-Hines, I must say I admire your courage. I heard of your disastrouspresentation! I don’t know how I would have been able to hold my head up, and yet here you are, as if nothing had happened.” She made a long, pointed perusal of Henrietta’s gown. “I do applaud your fearlessness in keeping alive the fashions of decades ago. I would never have the courage, myself.”
Henrietta considered her gown, a far cry from Miss Pennyroyal’s exquisite royal blue silk, with the blue feathers in her hair dyed to match, or Marsibel’s elegant cream silk robe with its brown overdress. Althea had insisted Henrietta would do, but Henrietta wondered if Charley was right and Aunt Althea meant for her to look a provincial, far behind town fashion.
“The King himself invited Miss Wardley-Hines to examine his royal library,” her rescuer said. “It seems he may ask her to catalogue it.”
Henrietta sent him a look of gratitude and surprise. She had not noticed him at the Queen’s levee, so intent had she been on not tripping on her gown. That he had taken note of her made the pleasure unfurl further.
“A rather tedious task, I should think,” murmured Miss Pennyroyal. “Miss Pomeroy, those pearl eardrops! I am sure I saw you wearing them at a dinner party at Grafton House last week? I noted how darling they were. I am sure I would wear them all the time, myself.”
Marsibel colored but did not acknowledge the hit. She had been bred from birth to stand against girls of her class and not be found wanting. Henrietta, however, felt her temper flare.
“Miss Pennyroyal,” she said, “what an astonishing memory. Only think if you were to turn those powers of observation to worthy causes, like the plight of the poor, or the consequences of the Enclosure Acts. May I invite you to attend the next debate of the Minerva Society? I intend to discuss Miss Wollstonecraft’s argument that stifling the female mind leads to foolishness and vice.”
“Vice, you say?” Miss Pennyroyal nestled close to her companion. At the contact, the delighted grin he’d directed at Henrietta—amused by her cattiness, was he?—vanished.
“Alas, I have been discovered with the infamous Lord Daring!” Miss Pennyroyal preened. “My reputation shall be ruined, I don’t doubt.”
“Other reputations have,” the stranger said, a grim set to his mouth.
“LordDaring?” Henrietta exclaimed. “TheLord Daring?”
“La, Miss Wardley-Hines, the very one!” Miss Pennyroyal giggled. “He is more handsome than the cartoons portray him, is he not?”
This was the moment, Henrietta realized, to snap open a fan and hide behind it. She didn’t know where hers was in this vast expanse of gown. “I confess I have been interested to see what sort of man went with the…ah, colorful reputation.”
“And what sort of man do you see, Miss Wardley-Hines?” A muscle ticked in his square jaw as he met her gaze, a challenge in his eyes.
The pleasure she’d felt at his approach twisted and soured. The man who had so gallantly come to her aid at the palace was the man her uncle, aunt, and brother had all warned her was a ruinous influence. She had to get Marsibel away.
“I see a man of clay, as are the best of us,” Henrietta said, turning away as disappointment washed through her. “Marsi? Shall we move on to the Etruscan pieces?”
“Daring.” Pinochle mocked him with a surly smile. “Servant.”
Lord Daring bowed. “I was moving in that direction myself.” His tone shifted to freezing condescension. “I would not wish your reputation to suffer a stain, Miss Pennyroyal, by asking you to accompany me.”
“Oh, but I must,” she cooed, fluttering blackened eyelashes. “You might expire of boredom while everyone proses on about a lot of old broken pottery.”
