“I can salvage it, ma’mselle,bien sûr,” she clucked, guiding Henrietta to her room. “You were a triumph and all the men adored you,oui?”
Henrietta could not even recall her debate. The points blurred together in her mind, clouded by the fear and distress over her arrest. She was in disgrace and might be charged with treason. The cloud would cover her whole family, perhaps also the institutions she supported, and then what would she do? How would she care for the child she’d taken in?
She would never be admitted to the Minerva Society, never prove herself her mother’s daughter. She’d be a stain on the Wardley name, a bigger scandal than Aunt Davinia. And if she were transported to the penal colonies as a traitor to the Crown,she would never see her family again. They would cast her out completely, with good reason.
At least it was early morning and she didn’t have to face her family yet with the knowledge of how she’d disgraced them. She had a few hours to rest before the judge opened his office and she could claim her cellmates. Henrietta shoved her head beneath her goose-down pillow and sobbed until there was nothing left in her.
When sleep claimed her, it was fevered and fretful, haunted by the sight of James’s bruises, the hard lines on the faces of the women in her cell as they shared their painful stories, the stricken expression of Constance Spickey as Henrietta spouted her heretical ideals.
And over and again, the face of a strange man, his mouth gushing blood as he fell toward her, mortally wounded, anguish and reproach in eyes the same shade as Darien’s deepest blue.
CHAPTER TWENTY
After an hour or two of fitful sleep, Henrietta descended the stairs of Hines House with her old German riding habit and a mission.
Her debate had galloped away from her, and likely all hopes of being accepted into the Minerva Society, or indeed into any polite circles.
Darien had come for her, held her close, delivered her. Even though her father had sent his brother to his death in Mysore, paying for British wars. Though she had spirited away what might be his child. And she had lied to him, twice, and to herself as well, pretending his kiss had stirred nothing within her.
She felt something like relief at having everything broken. Her world was coming apart at the seams, but she saw her place in it. Plain old Henrietta Wardley-Hines, reformer, champion of the oppressed. Not fashionable. Not dashing. Not a girl who would interest Lord Daring. A person no one was likely to pay any attention to without her father’s fortune at her back.
Plain Henrietta Wardley-Hines, under the possible taint of treason.
If she were to be taken up as a traitor to the Crown, there were a few things she needed to settle first. James and the twofootmen, bonded by their adventures of the evening, bore her back to the Bishopsgate watch house, where Henrietta dangled before the magistrate a purse large enough to cover the fines for all six of her younger cellmates. Mame had already paid her fine, recited the justice’s piece for him, so well did she know it, and hurried back to her tavern before her husband could sell it away from her, as he’d threatened to do.
The Sisters of Benevolence Hospital was still bursting at the seams, but the matron welcomed the new girls with warm efficiency. Henrietta wondered how many of them would stay. Many times, those who sought refuge in the Hospital went back to their old circumstances, hoping to improve them. It was easier, sometimes, to return to a life with hardships one knew rather than make the difficult foray into the unknown.
As she had forayed into the beau mondeandmade an utter hash of it. No more. She knew her place.
Her family was assembled in the blue parlor when she returned, and Henrietta braced herself before she stepped through the door. This was what she had most feared: burdening her family with shame and disapprobation. They were all there: Lady Mama, Charley, Marsibel, and Aunt Althea. The people she would hurt most with her fall into disgrace.
She burst into tears when Lady Mama rose and enveloped her in a deep, long hug that smelled of talc and fresh baby.
“Hetty, dear, you mustn’t cry. Haven’t you seen the entrance hall? And Dearbody has worn himself out this morning trotting back and forth with our callers and their cards.”
She showed Henrietta the piles of cards and flowers. The showiest arrangement was from Lady Bess, with a note declaring Henrietta’s debate a smashing success. The Minerva Society had been mentioned in every paper in London and would be talked of well outside Middlesex.
Marisbel, in a smart new walking gown and a jaunty hat, sat beside Henrietta as though she would personally protect her against accusations of treason did Prime Minister Pitt burst through the door. As the maids ferried in trays of refreshments, reporting the number of newsmen Dearbody had turned off the stoop, Charley paced the small parlor, hashing out the consequences of Henrietta’s act.
“So we owe Daring for springing you from the watchhouse.” Charley tugged at his cravat as if it were choking him. “Famous! And then he brought in Uncle Pell when I—er…”
“Retired to the arms of your light-o’-love. I suppose the King won’t let me set foot in his library now.” Henrietta tried to keep her voice light, but Charley’s dismal outlook was depressing her spirits.
“The King is the least of it!” Charley exclaimed. “You’ll be cut at all society functions, and likely I shall be too. And what of Marsi? Who’s going to offer for the cousin of a criminal protester?”
“You mustn’t rate her on my account,” Marsibel said with a pretty color in her cheeks.
“Aunt Althea, I am sorry to be such a trial after all you have done for me,” Henrietta said. “But you must not let Lord Pinochle court Marsi.”
“I should say not,” Aunt Althea said, her lip curling in disgust. “Lady Bessington informed us that he all but handed you over to Pitt’s officers. I have no doubt your uncle shall have a thing or two to say to him.”
Henrietta sat in amazed silence. Aunt Althea, on her side!
“What I cannot fathom,” her aunt went on, “is how Lord Daring has come to interest himself so much in this family’s affairs.”
Henrietta pushed away the image of Darien’s face, clouded with concern and righteous wrath, hovering so close as hecarried her through the watchhouse. How she’d unthinkingly rested her head on his arm in the carriage.
“I had no idea how convenient it is to have a marquess one can conjure at any moment,” Henrietta said. “It makes just anyone fall into line with one’s wishes.”
