“Lord Darien,” Lady Clarinda reflected, “would have no little influence of his own were he declared Langford’s heir apparent.”
And yet, if Henrietta understood, he didn’t wish to inherit. What earthly reason could he have? It was the way of the world that lands and titles passed to the heirs male. There were plenty of peers about town who funded their dissolute lives with incomes they had inherited, not earned.
Charley gave his sister a shrewd stare. “I told you before, Hetty, he won’t marry you.”
Her cheeks tightened with a treacherous blush. “Lord Darien and I have agreed that we would not suit.”
“I should say not,” Aunt Althea exclaimed.
“Best you don’t develop a tendre for him then, you goose,” Charley said. “You’re a millwright’s daughter?—”
“A knight’s daughter,” Clarinda reminded him gently.
“As if I would be such a ninnyhammer, Charley,” Henrietta said.
“Many have been,” Charley retorted. “Daughters of dukes.”
“Sir Charleton is right, in this instance,” Aunt Althea said. “It will be proper to send him a note of thanks, but that must make an end of it. It will not do to be seen too much in Lord Darien’s pocket, Hetty.”
Henrietta stood. It was time to make some things clear, especially to her foolish heart, which kept conjuring hazy recollections of Darien’s strong arms about her, her body nestled against his. He did not belong to her, however much it felt like he did, or ought to.
“Lord Darien only ever concerned himself with me because he wanted to approach Uncle Pell for advice. In the interim, I involved myself in the affair of Lady Celeste’s confinement, in which Darien has some interest. I expect he will send his solicitor to deal with me on the matter of the child, and that will be the conclusion of our acquaintance.” How her heart ached at the thought.
Aunt Althea had already established her opinion on the wisdom of Henrietta’s sheltering an illegitimate child, and she’d been subdued by Clarinda’s quiet declaration that the child had a home at Hines House as long as Henrietta wished. Althea saw the wisdom of not pursuing this tack.
“All to the best that your association with him is over, Hetty,” Aunt Althea said instead. “Mr. Rutherford Bales has invited Marsibel to view Hamilton’s collection of Greek vases at the British Museum this afternoon. You might go with them as chaperone. It will be a respectable, quiet outing.”
“Do you think I ought to show my face so soon?”
“Why not? You did nothing wrong save get caught up with the radical sentiments of Lady Bessington’s little society and be betrayed by a lord who ought to have behaved like a gentleman. If you hide, it will appear you deserve to be disgraced.”
“Very well.” Henrietta nodded, though her chest hurt. It was good to have her family on her side. It was good to hope she still had a future. Even if it did not include Lord Darien Bales.
She looked into the nursery before she went to dress and found her half-sisters utterly absorbed with their new charge. Matilda, nine, instructed Henrietta on how to hold the baby while Amelia fussed with the embroidered blanket. Sophia leaned on Henrietta’s knee and Charlotte on her shoulder as Henrietta sat in the wooden rocking chair. Fanny would have stood behind her, making faces at the child over her shoulder.Her absence was as sharp as a presence, but the great wave of grief pummeled less these days.
Henrietta’s heart pinched as she stared into the foggy blue eyes of the infant, admired the peak of her nose, the folded-in mouth, the impossibly tiny eyelashes. The babe was a downy weight in her arms, a solid nugget swaddled in the softest Irish linen.
She couldn’t allow herself to be charged with treason; she had a child to take care of.
Darien’s child, possibly. It was a small part of him she could claim and love.
While Duprix fastened her into a Pierrot jacket of worked muslin over a double petticoat, Henrietta pondered her choices. She could withdraw to the north. Hodge might refuse to sell her his mill, but she still had Birch Vale. It wouldn’t matter to her tenants whether she was a social success; the halls of St. James and the vast London houses were as remote as Persian palaces to most of them.
Once Jasper and Lady Mama returned north as well, Henrietta would have little reason to be in London. She had been foolish in her aspirations to the Minerva Society. How had she ever thought she might belong among those women of intellect and influence? She couldn’t even lead a simple debate on the question of women’s rights.
A worse thought struck her as Duprix dressed her hair with high, loose curls and added a light dusting of lavender powder. Pitt had already suppressed meetings of debating societies due to talk of treason and the unrest in France. He might shut down the Minerva Society entirely, and it would be all Henrietta’s fault.
She felt as low as when her mother died when she descended to the formal parlor. Rutherford Bales sat there, wearing a smallpowdered periwig much like Sir Pelton’s. His clothes were dark and severely cut, but his high, stiff cravat was perfectly tied.
“I am glad you still see fit to associate with us, Mr. Bales.” Henrietta entered the room in the way Darien had taught her to walk, with gliding steps rather than her usual tromp. “I had hoped Marsi would not suffer a loss of friends because of me.”
“I would never abandon her.” Rutherford rose in a quick, clumsy bow. He had none of his cousin’s elegant poise.
She seated herself, and Rutherford sat as well, his limbs gangly in the ill-fitting suit, his neck craned toward her. Darien had a strong, well-sculpted neck, as he had a strong and well-sculpted everything. Darien filled out his dinner jackets in a most fetching manner. Rutherford’s coat hung on his lanky frame. How unjust of Lord Darien Bales to overshadow all other men.
“Mr. Bales.” Henrietta turned her attention to him. Rufie’s suit was worn, his shoes well-used. “Have you any hopes of a living? Or perhaps a position at university? It seems to me your talents ought not lie fallow.” The parish that held Birch Vale had a rector, but perhaps she could find something nearby. Seeking to aid another was the surest way to lift herself out of the blue devils.
Darien would call it meddling. She pushed thoughts of Darien aside.
