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Chapter Eight
The next morning, leaning on a cane, Henri knocked on the door to Robert’s study. She had spent most of the night thinking about the incident with Boy, going over it in her mind. She had been wrong to fling those accusations at Robert. She had read far too much into his words. She had gone beyond the bounds of propriety and had behaved like a spoilt child, not much older than Sophie, taking to her room and refusing to come down for supper as her ankle hurt too much.
‘I wanted to apologise for my behaviour in the stable yard yesterday,’ she said, concentrating on the way his long fingers grasped the fountain pen rather than on his face.
‘Think nothing of it.’ His warm voice rolled over her. Somehow, his making light of it made her feel worse. She wasn’t asking for favours from him. ‘It happens. I asked too much of you. Your fear is real. It was wrong of me to discount it. I will remember that for the future.’
Henri stood still, shocked. She’d been prepared for scorn and Robert appeared to be understanding. She clenched her fist.
‘I want to try again. I gave in to the fear. Running away solved nothing.’ She smoothed the folds of her skirts, hating the way her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to see the regard in his eyes rather than pity. The thing she hated most of all was pity. ‘Please can you help? Can you give me a second chance with Boy?’
His face became a wreath of smiles. The tension in Henri’s shoulders eased.
‘There’s no shame in asking for help. It’s what friends are for.’
‘But I hate doing so. Asking for help makes you weak.’ She licked her dry lips. Henri thought about her mother and how she kept demanding attention all the time. ‘The last thing I want to be is a clinging vine.’
‘Clinging vine are not exactly the words that spring to mind when I think of you.’
‘Oh, what—obstinate and stubborn?’
‘Possibly.’ The dimple in the corner of his mouth deepened. ‘Stop fishing for compliments!’
‘Only you would understand what a compliment obstinate is!’
He offered her his arm, but she refused, gesturing with her stick. ‘We people of independent mind walk under our own power.’
‘You’re determined to prove your point.’
* * *
When they reached the yard, Boy clambered to his feet the instant she saw him. He strained slightly against the chain. But this morning, Henri could see he was only excited, rather than trying to hurt her.
Slowly she edged her way towards him, holding out her hand. She wanted to lay her fear to rest, rather than hug it to her. She could change. Her past didn’t have to be a prison.
Gingerly she touched the dog’s head. The fur was silky smooth under her fingers. The dog settled down at her feet. ‘Pleased to meet you, Boy, again. I hope we can be friends now that you have been tamed.’
‘He wanted a bit of understanding and to know what the rules were,’ Robert murmured, his breath tickling her ear. Henri’s pulse started to do strange things.
‘Back to your rules.’ She struggled to breathe normally. ‘You’re only comfortable when you’re setting them.’
‘They do help keep things in order. Boy reminds me of my first dog, Jack. Jack was a faithful dog, always following my footsteps until he died.’
‘Were you upset when he did?’
‘Utterly distraught, but my mother gave me another dog for my birthday. And I found that I loved him because of Jack.’
‘So the dog wasn’t a replacement?’
‘I wanted a dog in my life. There is something about having a dog to come home to. And the risk of losing it was not as terrible as not having a dog.’
Henri studied the pattern of the cobblestones. What he said might be true for dogs, but not for people. She’d never wanted an abstract husband to share her life with. Just any man wouldn’t do. Edmund was irreplaceable. And losing him had hurt too much.
She liked Robert. Anything more would be complicating things and the last thing she needed in her life was more complications, more possibility of being hurt.
‘I will take your word for it,’ she breathed.
The dog lifted its paw and placed it on her knee, breaking the spell. ‘How did you tame him so quickly?’
‘After a fashion, but I fear he has not learnt all his manners.’ Robert gestured and the dog lay down at their feet. ‘He has left a dirt print on your dress.’
Henri started to rub it, but it seemed to get worse. A tiny cry of frustration escaped her lips.
‘Allow me.’ His fingers moved hers away and, with a few deft strokes, the patch of dirt was gone. Where his fingers had touched her gown, it seemed a warm sensation grew within her. He stood, unmoving. The gentle breeze ruffled his dark hair. ‘You’re free from blemish.’
