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Robert strode to his study, withdrew the note he’d received earlier today asking him to visit Henri from the top drawer of his desk and compared it to Sophie’s letter. The same hand. Same author.
He tore through his desk, attempting to find anything else in Henri’s hand. A scrap of paper, anything. He came across the notice about the dancing classes. It was similar writing even down to the way the H’s were formed. Except Henri had denied all knowledge of the note earlier.
So who wrote them? Cawburn or Henri? Cawburn didn’t have the wit. It was Henri who was blessed with the brains, Henri who possessed a steely nerve. But would she do such a thing? His instinct screamed there had to be another explanation, but, furious and desperately concerned, he dismissed it. He could remember his father desperately seeking another explanation for his stepmother’s actions and ignoring the obvious. He’d always vowed that in such cases, he’d go with the cold hard facts. The handwriting was far too close. All the notes had to be written by the same hand.
He was seven times a fool to seek any other explanation. Thorndike was up to her pretty neck. It explained her enthusiastic reception earlier. It explained the note and so many things from her acquiescence to staying at his house to the sudden desire to learn more about the scientific method and logic.
Cold logic rather than emotion. Facts rather than feelings—he’d sworn that when he found out about the manner of his father’s death. He was never going to be deceived in the way his stepmother had deceived his father.
Robert slammed his fist against the desk. He had trusted her. He wanted to trust her now, but he had the evidence in front of him. He hated the black pit that had opened in his soul.
Thorndike had used him in the worst possible way. She served as bait and distraction in order to allow the pair to escape. And he had followed along, willingly, each step of the way. He could see it all now and the betrayal hurt far more than it should. He had been a lovesick fool and he’d danced to Henri’s tune. No more.
He took a breath of life-giving air. He’d warned her what would happen if she meddled in his private life and now she’d discover the consequences.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Sebastian has been gone all day. He is doing more than simply visiting. All the At Homes are finished,’ Henri remarked to Aunt Frances as they sat in the drawing room. The late-afternoon sun streamed into the room, giving it a golden glow. Everything about the afternoon seemed to be bathed in this wonderful light. She had never noticed how good it felt to be alive. It was as if she had been asleep for a very long time and now she was gloriously awake.
‘That colour suits you, Henrietta,’ her aunt said.
‘It is simply my old dove-grey gown, nothing special. Lucia put a new lace trim around the neckline, so perhaps that is it.’
‘It must be the way you have done your hair. But your eyes seem more vibrant.’
‘It must be that. Artful disarray is all the rage this Season in London. Spend hours with a lady’s maid to achieve the effect of spending an hour’s gardening.’ Henri forced her lungs to fill with air and to think logically rather than panicking. She had washed her face and splashed cool water on her wrists, but her colour must still be flushed. First Lucia, the maid she shared with Aunt Frances, and now Aunt Frances had remarked how the gown suddenly suited her complexion far more.
Henri shifted uneasily, uncertain how this new life of duplicity and wickedness would be kept a secret from those closest to her. It had to be or she’d never be received in polite society again. As long as it was not overtly conspicuous, she thought they would be all right. And already her mind was trying to work out how and when they’d next meet.
She had not fully considered the consequences when she gave her mouth up to Robert’s on the evening of the ball. But there was nothing morally wrong with what she was doing as neither was married.
It was only now away from him that the doubts and fears hit her. And yet she knew if he came into the room, all thoughts of propriety would fly from her head. Even with Edmund, she had not felt this all-consuming attraction. With Edmund, she had been safe. Her white knight who rode to the rescue. He had been someone she had loved for a long time. He had made her feel as if she belonged, rather than being some unwanted encumbrance. Theirs was supposed to be a love to last for all time. She had planned it that way. Only it hadn’t. And even the grief had faded to nothingness. She could barely recognise the woman she had once been.
Robert challenged her. He was stubborn, mulish and inclined to favour getting his own way. But their arguments brightened her day. Henri took a steadying breath. This was not some finer feeling, but passion, and passion always faded. She had watched it happen more times than she liked to count. She had to start thinking with her head, and leave her heart out of it. And right now, she needed to know where Sebastian was and get rid of this vague sense of unease.
