He glanced at the shop girls, who watched them avidly. Even Peony looked fascinated. “I don’t see what more I could do,” Darien finally said. “I cannot force Celeste to see my solicitor about arrangements. She can simply claim the child is not mine. I’m not likely to ever know the truth, either way.”
Henrietta glanced about at the wide-eyed girls. All of them had survived to adulthood thanks to the charity of the Minerva Society. “Did you tell your solicitor about the Sisters of Benevolence?”
“I won’t have a child of mine raised in an orphanage,” Darien snapped. “If it is indeed mine, I will provide for it as I see fit.”
“Yes, I suppose you haven’t much faith in the Hospital, after what happened to Mary Ann’s child.” Guilt and griefslammed into Henrietta’s chest. She’d forgotten the weight of the morning, mincing about Alywen’s shop thinking of dresses. As if there weren’t graver matters pressing for her attention.
“Henrietta,” Darien said, his voice changing, “I did not mean?—”
“Never mind.” She turned away to hide tears. “Alywen, my dear, I shall take all these gowns. Send the bill to Hines House along with a list of whatever else you may need for your shop, and I will see it delivered.” She fled into the tiny changing room.
Darien drove them back to Hines House in a strained silence, foregoing Hyde Park and its fashionable Ring. She was glad of it. Enough people stared as it was.
“I suppose you will not believe that I am not trying to ingratiate myself for return favors. That I might simply enjoy your company,” he said as he turned the whisky into Manchester Square.
“You’ve made it clear you are accustomed to much more fashionable companions.” Henrietta rubbed her burning eyes. “Is that what you wanted to ask my uncle about? What to do with Lady Celeste?”
“My conversation with your uncle is no business of yours, Henrietta. I told you about Celeste because you asked. I did not give you leave to meddle.”
“Meddle!” Henrietta said. She welcomed the sharpness in his tone. Better he be put out with her than trying to seduce her.
All the same, when she tried to climb down from the vehicle, he was there to catch her about the waist and swing her to the ground. She fought the jolt that went all through her at his touch.
His eyes searched hers, that vivid, disconcerting blue. “Not quite so sad,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Of course I’m sad,” she snapped. “A child died in my arms today.”
“I meant me.” A small, crooked smile touched his mouth as he stepped back, releasing her. “Mind you save me a dance at the Bicclesfield ball. I am fond of the gavotte, though I like a good galop too.”
Henrietta entered the house with a heavy step, shaking her head to clear it. She had causes to uphold, households and a farm to manage, a mill to purchase, souls who depended upon her. It was well the infamous Lord Daring had no designs on her reputation; the Daughters of Minerva would drop her like a hot stone.
A thoughtless, reckless rake hadn’t the power to cut up her peace. But Darien Bales, the beautiful, exasperating, perplexing man veiled behind a sensual swagger and bored reserve—that man had the power to destroy her peace completely.
She only hoped some new fancy would catch his attention before the Bicclesfield ball. If he simply forgot about and moved on from plain Henrietta Wardley-Hines, it would be the best possible outcome to guard any further damage to her heart.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The morning of Elijah’s funeral was, cruelly enough, warm and bright. A fresh wind wafted away the smells of burning coal and other industry, leaving the churchyard smelling like turned earth, hellebore, and the massive yew cradling its branches over one corner of the cemetery. With no one else to mourn the infant, his mother and Henrietta were allowed to attend the short graveside service.
At Fanny’s funeral in their home parish of Rossendale, mourners had come from three counties to help the Wardley-Hines bury their dead. Elijah returned to his Maker as briefly and quietly as he had come.
Henrietta drove Mary Ann back to the hospital, thinking sadly that her first solo rescue had not been very successful. In the old guildhall, under the airy space of the high arched ceilings with their hand-carved beams and the light falling through the leaded windows, the residents sat in neat rows at trestle tables, taking their midday meal.
Henrietta was proud to be part of this place, so tidy and serene. Small sprigs of anemone and spring snowflake from the herb beds brightened the room. The women and children looked well-dressed, fed, and healthy. Many of the maids in their whiteand gray muslin uniforms had come as foundlings or destitute women and stayed for employment, finding their first stable home.
The voices were friendly but subdued, and white armbands had been distributed. Though the Sisters could boast of many supplicants who had come in despair through those heavy doors and left in health and optimism, white and black armbands had their own boxes in the linen closet and saw regular use.
Henrietta walked Mary Ann back to her small, shared room. All six of the beds were neatly made, straw pillows flush against the wall, the chamber pot tucked beneath a washstand, and a small press held clothes. Relieved of her chores for the day, Mary Ann slipped off her shoes and lay down on the bed. Her face looked older, weary with grief.
“What will you do now?” Henrietta asked softly. “You cannot go back to Rushy Green.”
“I thought I might find a place here? I know I’m clumsy, but I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Of course,” Henrietta said. “The Sisters have put many girls in good positions. One became dresser to a countess. Others marry, and—” She paused as Mary Ann winced and put a hand to her breast. “Are you still— I thought your milk had dried up?”
“Not yet. They feed me good here.”
“Then you could stay as a nurse. You are young, strong, and healthy.”
