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‘Montemorcy, you know my cousin will never develop a tendre for a vulgar man like you.’ Cawburn made a mocking bow. ‘She prefers men with—how shall I say it?—more aristocratic temperament and refinement.’
The jibe hit Robert in the stomach and he struggled to keep his face blank. ‘We were speaking of you and my ward.’
‘A friendly warning. Getting ideas above your station can be bad for you. Fatal.’
Robert ignored the well-aimed barb and marched away from Cawburn. A further reminder, if he needed it, that kissing Henri again would be a mistake. It was important to keep the boundaries in his life intact. Putting his faith in facts rather than giving in to emotion and allowing it to cloud his judgement as his father had done had kept his heart for many years. He’d learnt his lessons. Wanting and acting on his desires were two separate things, particularly where a woman like Henri was concerned.
In his haste to be away from Cawburn and his poisonous innuendos, he nearly bowled over Miss Armstrong, who stood there with a jar of calf’s-foot jelly and her mouth open, watching the entire proceedings. He ground his teeth and hoped that Miss Armstrong had heard very little, otherwise the Corbridge gossip machine would be working overtime. ‘Miss Armstrong.’
She turned a sort of purple-pink and the flowers on her poke bonnet jiggled. ‘I’m trying to find Lady Thorndike. I heard she was unwell. But no one will tell me anything. I’ve brought her favourite remedy—calf’s-foot jelly.’
‘Lady Thorndike is convalescing at my house,’ Robert said. The stench of the noxious substance filled the street.
‘At your house!’ Miss Armstrong put her hand over her mouth and flushed scarlet. ‘I hate to say it, but isn’t that most improper?’
‘My ward is there, as is her stepmother. They are visiting from London.’
‘If I can be of any assistance, I will be. Lady Thorndike has named me as her assistant on the Corbridge Society for Hospitality. I would adore the chance to show Mrs Ravel and her daughter true Corbridge hospitality. It would really make me feel like I was doing something to assist poor dear Lady Thorndike.’
He paused. Miss Armstrong could be excitable, but she was a strong upholder of society values. Henri would have a reason why she had asked Miss Armstrong to be her deputy. It seemed to him that Henri did so many things herself that she forget others could do them if given an opportunity. This would be a way of demonstrating to Henri that village life continued without her—that she was allowed to take the time to recover without worrying frantically about organising everything.
‘I would look on it as a great honour if you could take Miss Ravel and her mother under your wing,’ he said, making a bow. ‘They are strangers and are in need of friends.’
‘I shouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Lady Thorndike.’
‘Lady Thorndike is indisposed and likely to remain that way for some time.’ He lowered his voice. ‘She has badly sprained her ankle. The doctor is hopeful that it is not too severe, but time will tell.’
‘You mean she won’t be able to make the ball?’ Miss Armstrong’s eyes widened. Her hue went a violent shade of pink. ‘And here I thought she’d be dancing the first quadrille. And who will supervise the hanging of the garlands now? We do live in interesting times.’
‘Indeed we do.’
‘Oh, I’d be honoured to be Miss Ravel’s chaperon.’ Miss Armstrong gave a trilling giggle. ‘Lady Thorndike will have to admit that I can do things as well as she can, particularly when a gentleman like you requests.’
‘You’re far too kind.’
Robert gave a nod to where Cawburn stood glowering, following the whole exchange. He hoped so as much had been for his benefit. Cawburn knew enough about Corbridge to know that Miss Armstrong would be an entirely different duenna to Henri. Calm cool logic over the unfettered emotion.
* * *
Every available surface of the small sickroom room was covered in small tokens to help her recover. Henri had lost count of the number of jars of calf’s-foot jelly that had been delivered to the New Lodge since late morning. Even if she could abide the stuff, one jar was far more than sufficient. But they kept arriving with little notes saying that they had been made to her exacting receipt. The stench was enough to turn even the most ironclad stomach. And Henri knew she’d have to eat every mouthful as one never refused a gift.
And then there was the letter from Lady Winship, which had accompanied her offering. Lady Winship was dreadfully sorry about the accident and Henri must concentrate on getting well, rather than worrying about the forthcoming ball. Lady Winship understood completely if Henri wished to withdraw from the first quadrille on the grounds of ill health. And Miss Armstrong had offered to step into the breach with the hanging of the garlands from the chandeliers. The pugs sent their love.
