She should probably try to pay more attention to Lord Bolingbroke or Lord St. Albans.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Henrietta was staring out at the garden. The early flowers dotted the lawn and flower beds.
A knock came on the door. “Miss, Lord St. Albans is here. Should I put him in the front parlor?”
“No, that will not be necessary.” She rose. “I will be there shortly.” She picked up her bonnet and put it on her head, fixing it with hat-pins.
When she reached the hall he was standing there.
“Good day, my lord.” He was handsome, but not in the same way as Lord Fotherby. Lord St. Albans was not quite as tall, nor were his shoulders quite as broad. He also seemed more carefree. Then again, he could be. He did not yet hold the title. “Thank you for the lovely flowers.”
“Good afternoon.” He held out his arm, and she placed her hand on it. “They are but my poor offering. They cannot compare with you. Still, I’m delighted you like them.” His amber eyes sparkled with good humor as he smiled.
She returned his smile. “They are very pretty.” As were his words. “Thank you.”
He led her to a curricle painted in blue the color of a bright summer sky and picked out in red and gold. Light-gray leather covered the seats. The carriage was pulled by two matched grays. The effect was beautiful. “What a lovely carriage. Did you select the horses to go along with the blue?”
“No.” He grinned as he handed her up. “I found the horses and had the carriage painted to coordinate with them.”
“I think that actually makes more sense than having to search for horses to match the color of a carriage.”
“It does.” He climbed up on the other side, and the boy who had been holding the horses scrambled onto the back of the curricle. “Not that I haven’t done it the other way before.” Lord St. Albans threaded the ribbons through his fingers and started the horses. “I bought these fellows from a friend who had to sell them. And as I had admired the beasts for some time, I took them off his hands.”
“I can see why.” Henrietta was by no means horse mad, but she did appreciate the action of the pair. They had been very well trained. “What are your plans for the Season?”
He slid a glance at her. “I have not yet decided. I returned from my Grand Tour late last summer and have been at loose ends since then.”
“You do nothing?” For some reason she could not imagine having no occupation.
“Not that.” He grinned. “I was taught how to run our estates and dabble in that. However, my father is not ready to allow me to take over. I am attempting to convince him I should be allowed to have full control of the estate that is reserved for the heir.”
“But he will not allow it?” She wondered why not.
His lips thinned. “Not yet.” They had passed through the gate into the Park. “What are your plans? I assume you will take part in Almack’s and other forms of entertainments.”
That was probably as close as he felt comfortable coming to asking her if she was searching for a husband. “Yes. I suppose I will.” This Season she would not be solely attending entertainment for young ladies. “This is my second Season and I refuse to be run ragged.” This might be a good time to query him about charitable work. “I also have my charitable work with abandoned children.”
He raised one imperious blond brow. “Are there not enough homes for foundlings?”
That did not sound promising. Henrietta smiled sweetly. “If there were, we would not be so busy.” For some reason Lord St. Albans seemed a bit disconcerted by her answer. Before he could recover, she was hailed by Mary Turner. “Good afternoon.” She gave a little wave. “I had no idea you would be in Town this early.”
“Nor I you. Is Mrs. Fitzwalter here as well?”
“No.” Mary frowned. “She is too close to her time. I am fortunate that I was able to come.”
“Ah, yes.” Amanda must be almost ready to give birth. She had forgotten that the Fitzwalters were expecting their first child. Actually, the child should have already made an appearance. “I hope you are doing well.”
“I am.” She smiled broadly. “We have a little boy. His name is Robert. I just came out to see who is here.” She turned her attention to Lord St. Albans. “My lord, how nice to see you as well.”
“My lady, you glow.” Henrietta wondered if he had always spoken to ladies in such a fashion—in other words a consummate flirt—or if it was something he’d learned on the Continent.
“Thank you, my lord.” Mary glanced at Henrietta. “I hope to see you again soon.” As she finished her sentence, the coachman started the carriage forward.
Why did it seem as if everyone she knew was married?
Probably because they are.
