That was something Henrietta would not tolerate. “It is not for her to approve or disapprove.”
“I know.” Her friend sighed. “I had hoped she would wish to retire, but she fell in love with little David and cannot bring herself to leave.” Dorie shrugged. “It is always hard with old retainers, particularly when they are not one’s own. Exeter had a word with her, and she no longer says anything.”
“But the disapproval is still plain?” Despite her previous thoughts, Henrietta wondered if she would eventually have the same problem.
“Yes, but not as much as before.” Her friend smiled. “She might be coming around. Enough about me. What have you been up to since yesterday?”
“Well”—Henrietta felt a thrill of happiness rush through her body—“I met a gentleman a few days ago, but I thought he had gone back to the country. Then yesterday Merton told me he had seen a man who matches the description of the gentleman I met walking his dog.”
Dorie brought her horse to a halt. “Wait. When and where did you meet this man, and why did I not hear about it yesterday?”
“You know that occasionally my sister and I would help fetch children we rescue?” Dorie and their other two friends were the only ones Henrietta had told about some of the dangers. Dorie nodded. “I ran into a bit of trouble, and he was suddenly there to help.”
Dorie’s brows rose. “Do I want to know where you were and why your sister and her husband were not there as well?”
“I thought it was safe.” Henrietta closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “However, Whitechapel seems to be suffering some difficulties. In any event, the gentleman was assisting one of his neighbors from the country. There was no one present who could introduce us. Therefore, I do not know his name. And I assumed he had returned to the country. But if the gentleman Merton saw is the same one, then perhaps I will meet him properly.”
“Ohhh, Henrietta, he sounds just like the type of gentleman who would appeal to you.” Dorie smiled broadly. She and Henrietta’s other friends wanted the same happiness for her that they had found. “What does he look like?”
She described his physical description down to his country-made clothing . . . “and he has a lovely rich voice, and looks as if he spends a great deal of time out of doors.”
“And a dog.” Dorie had been lucky enough to acquire one of the Worthington Great Dane puppies. “What kind of dog?”
“An Irish Wolfhound. I found information about the breed in one of the books in Merton’s library. They are a very old race. The book mentioned a saga from Iceland called the ‘Saga of the Burnt Njal’—I hope I pronounced the name correctly.”
“If Augusta were here, she could have told you,” Dorie said.
“I miss her.” Lady Augusta Vivers, now Lady Phineas Carter-Woods, had wanted to attend the university in Padua and thought she’d been accepted, only to discover after she arrived that she had not. However, her husband argued that she should be allowed to take the final examinations, and she was granted her degree. The last Henrietta had heard from her friend, they had traveled to Turkey after leaving Egypt. Augusta knew more about languages than almost anyone in or out of a university. “Let me tell you about the breed. I memorized the part because it was so interesting. In the tenth century, Olaf, a Norwegian, son of an Irish princess, told his friend, Gunnar, ‘I will give thee a hound that was given to me in Ireland; he is big and no worse than a stout man. Besides, it is part of his nature that he has a man’s wit, and he will bay at every man that he knows to be thy foe, but never at thy friends. He can see too in any man’s face whether he means thee well or ill, and he will lay down his life to be true to thee. This hound’s name is SAMR.’ Isn’t that interesting?”
Dorie frowned, as if trying to envision the dog. “What do they look like?”
“They have a sort of rectangular head, and from the drawing, the fur looks rough. I would love to see one.”
“I find it interesting,” Dorie said, “that ever since meeting Augusta’s family’s Great Danes, we have all fallen in love with giant dogs. And that some of us have been fortunate enough to have one of our own.”
“We have, haven’t we?” Henrietta shrugged. Neither she nor Georgie had been able to take one of the Worthington Danes. “They are much nicer than smaller dogs. I do hope that the man Merton saw is the same gentleman I met.”
“It is a shame that he did not have the dog with him when you met him.”
“Then I would be certain.” She wondered what the dog would have done to the blackguards when they had threatened her. “Unfortunately, I have no recourse other than to wait and hope that I see him again.”
“And that you are in a place where someone can introduce you,” Dorie added.
“That too.” Henrietta sighed. “There are times when the rules governing young ladies are not very practical.” If she’d had her way, she would have introduced herself. But even her father would not have approved of that.
“It will work out the way it is supposed to.” Her friend grinned at her. “Is that not what you used to tell me?”
“Yes.” Henrietta knew she sounded disgruntled. “But being on the receiving end of that statement is not helpful.”
Dorie let out a thrill of laughter. “Come, let us see if I still know how to gallop.”
Henrietta urged her horse into a trot, then a canter, and a faster gallop. One way or another, she would find her gentleman.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Nate was beginning to chafe at not being able to go anywhere. Fortunately, Weston had sent over one suit of clothing consisting of a jacket and pantaloons in Prussian blue, and a waistcoat embroidered in blue, green, and gold thread. Nate had soundly rejected the new frock coat that was so long it reminded him of a banyan, and had insisted that his jacket fit loosely enough that he wasn’t in danger of splitting the seams. His new shoes had also been delivered, not that they looked much different from his old ones, but he had needed new shoes. The boots would take a bit more time. His valet kept his older ones highly shined, but he had just the one pair in Town. The only problem with his new clothing was that it could not be worn for dinner this evening. From what he understood, breeches were still worn in the evening. His mother had invited a friend to dine with them and wished him to attend. Ergo, he would have to wear his older clothing.
His valet stood back as Nate tied his cravat, then helped him into his jacket. He affixed his pocket watch, the only fob he wore these days other than, occasionally, his quizzer. Thanks to Garford, Nate’s shirt and stockings were new.
