“Perhaps you are right, but I refuse to marry a man who is only attentive to me,” she said. “We both deserve more than that.”
As Marjorie walked over to the door, she remarked, “I will not have you sit there and criticize my dream of becoming a countess.”
“I am doing no such thing,” Henrietta argued. “I just want you to be sure that you are making the right decision, especially given Lord Featherstone’s reputation as a rake.”
Marjorie spun on her heel. “Do you want to know what I think?”
“What do you think?” Henrietta asked, dreading the response.
“I think you are just jealous of me.”
Henrietta lifted her brow. “Is that so?”
“Yes, because I have two suitors and you have none,” Marjorie said.
“I can assure you that isn’t the case.”
“Then what is it?” Marjorie demanded.
“I just don’t believe you and Lord Featherstone will suit,” Henrietta replied as she rose.
“You are unbelievable,” Marjorie said as she reached for the door handle. “You wish for me to be miserable like you.”
Henrietta reared back. “I am not miserable.”
Marjorie opened the door. “It might be best if you minded your own business from now on,” she declared before she departed from the room.
Henrietta lowered herself onto the settee. Her sister was making a terrible mistake in forming an attachment with Lord Featherstone. He was a rake, and he would never change his ways. She had no doubt that if her sister continued down this path, she would be miserable. But what could be done about it?
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” she ordered.
The door opened and a maid stepped into the room. “Lord Charles has requested a moment of your time.”
“Will you inform him that I will be down shortly?” Henrietta asked.
“Yes, miss,” the maid said.
Henrietta rose and walked over to the dressing table. She studied her reflection in the mirror, pleased to see that she still looked presentable. For some reason, she hoped Lord Charles found her attractive, which was ludicrous, since they were just friends. At least, she hoped that they were friends.
After she smoothed down her white gown, she departed from her bedchamber and headed towards the drawing room. She entered the room and saw her mother sitting across from Lord Charles, chatting politely.
Her mother glanced over at her. “There you are,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t keep Lord Charles waiting for too long.”
Lord Charles had risen when she walked into the room and was watching her with the most curious expression. “I do hope I haven’t called upon you too late.”
“You are always welcome in our home,” her mother answered for her.
“I do appreciate you saying so,” Lord Charles responded, his gaze not straying from Henrietta’s. “If you are not opposed, I was hoping to take a turn with you in the garden.”
Henrietta glanced at her mother for permission, who promptly nodded. “Yes, I would enjoy that very much.”
Lord Charles approached her and offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, placing her hand on his sleeve.
As they walked towards the rear of the townhouse, Lord Charles glanced over at her. “How are you faring?”
