“Do try to avoid staining this gown,” Abigail teased.
Henrietta smiled. “I will make every effort to prevent it.”
After she was dressed, Henrietta exited her bedchamber and headed for the breakfast parlor on the main floor. She had just descended the stairs when she saw the butler approaching her. He was an older, thin man with grey hair, and possessed a smile that could immediately set someone at ease.
“Good morning,” Walters greeted, coming to a stop in front of her. “I trust you slept well.”
“I did.”
Walters bobbed his head in approval. “Lord and Lady Finsbury are in the parlor, and they just sent word for you to join them.”
She sighed. “Wonderful,” she muttered.
Walters gave her an encouraging smile. “I wish you luck, miss.”
Henrietta stepped into the parlor. Her father was sitting at the head of the table with a morning newspaper in his hand. Her mother was sitting to the right of him, looking elegant with her neatly coiffed hair and blue gown.
As she walked over to the buffet table, Henrietta saw her mother and father exchange a pointed look with one another. Botheration, she thought, and accepted a plate from a footman. She set a piece of plum cake on it and went to sit across from her mother.
She had just reached for her napkin when her father folded the newspaper and laid it down onto the table. He cleared his throat, and she winced a little.
“Your mother and I would like to speak to you about your antics last night.”
“I assumed you would.”
Her mother spoke up. “You should be most grateful that no one saw you slip in that mud or discovered you making your way to the coach.”
“I am.”
“Reputations have been ruined for much less,” her mother pressed.
Henrietta leaned to the side as a footman placed a cup of chocolate in front of her. “I was aware of what was at stake, which is why I was extremely careful to not be seen.”
“You must think of someone other than yourself,” her father said. “If you are ruined, it could jeopardize Marjorie’s prospects, as well.”
“I understand,” Henrietta responded, reaching for the cup of chocolate.
Her mother gave her a disapproving look. “Marjorie is in her fourth Season and has yet to secure a match. It is crucial that she does so this Season.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she is twenty-two, and I worry that she may become a spinster,” her mother replied.
“I don’t believe that will happen,” Henrietta said. “Marjorie is just ensuring she picks the right suitor.”
Her father interjected, “One can be too picky when choosing a suitor.”
With an approving nod, her mother remarked, “Well said, Graham.”
“I must disagree with you,” Henrietta said. “Picking a suitor should be the most thought-provoking decision one must ever make.”
“Until Marjorie is married, you don’t even have the luxury of entertaining that thought,” her mother said.
“I am in no rush to marry.”
“Of course you are,” her mother stated. “Your beauty won’t last forever, and then you will be left with nothing.”
“I will be left with my mind and my many accomplishments.”
