“That was sweet of your father to say.”
Charles nodded. “He meant it, too,” he said. “Much later, my father confessed that he always thought of me when he saw the ink stain on his desk, and it made him smile.”
“It sounds like you had a wonderful father.”
“I did,” he said. “But I had a point in all of this.”
A smile came to her lips. “I was wondering about that.”
“Your parents love you, and their reaction may surprise you.”
Miss Henrietta let out a huff. “I know precisely how my parents will react, and it won’t be favorably.”
“I didn’t take you for a pessimist.”
“I am no pessimist, but I have been on the receiving end of my parents’ ire on many occasions,” she said. “They value duty above all else and have adopted the stiff upper lip better than most.”
“That is the way most Britons are.”
“I appreciate what you are trying to do, my lord, but my parents are rather insistent that I secure an advantageous marriage,” she said.
“You still can.”
Miss Henrietta arched an eyebrow. “We both know the odds of that are unlikely if what happened here today ends up in the society page.”
“It won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Charles winced. “I’m not.”
“Precisely,” she replied. “We will have to wait to see if fate has been kind to me.”
The sound of a carriage approaching caused their conversation to come to an abrupt halt. Charles rose and held his hand out to assist her. “Your ride awaits,” he said.
6
HENRIETTA WOKEup to the sun streaming in through her windows and promptly rolled over. How she wished she could sleep the day away; but she knew that was an impossibility. She had little choice but to get out of bed and face her parents.
They had hardly spoken to her since she informed them of what transpired at Hyde Park the day before. It was an eerie silence that she suspected meant trouble for her. Her parents had always been very predictable in their disappointment of her. At first, they resorted to anger, but they eventually calmed down. She had learned over the years to handle their anger, but this time it was different.
The door opened and her lady’s maid stepped into the room. “Good morning,” Abigail said in a cheery voice. “Your mother has requested your presence in the breakfast parlor.”
“Drat,” Henrietta muttered as she sat up in bed.
“You don’t seem pleased by your mother’s request,” Abigail commented, closing the door behind her.
“How was my mother’s temperament when you spoke to her?”
Abigail gave her an amused look. “She seemed to be in a pleasant mood.”
Henrietta pressed her lips together, then said, “That concerns me.”
“Why is that?”
“She is plotting something.”
“And what would that be?”
