“If she doesn’t marry you, then she will become an outcast in Society.”
“I am well aware.”
Brixton shook his head. “I am glad that she came to her senses and agreed to marry you.”
“As am I.” Charles turned towards the townhouse. “Shall we call on the ladies together?”
As they walked towards the main door, it opened, and Walters ushered them inside. “Good morning,” he greeted.
Charles removed his top hat and extended it towards the butler. “Are Miss Whiston and Miss Henrietta available for callers?”
“If you will give me but a moment, I shall go find out, milord.” Walters spun on his heel and disappeared into the drawing room. After a moment, he returned and said, “They will see you now.”
Charles walked across the entry hall and stepped into the drawing room. Henrietta was standing next to the writing desk, dressed in a pale pink gown. Her hair was piled atop her head, and small curls framed her face. Was it his imagination, or had she grown even lovelier since he had last seen her?
Henrietta met his gaze and smiled. “Good morning, Charles.”
He walked further into the room and held up the bouquet. “I brought you flowers,” he rushed out.
Henrietta closed the distance between them and accepted the blooms. “They are lovely,” she acknowledged. “Thank you.”
“They pale in comparison to you.” He chided himself for feeling the least bit nervous around her.
Her lips twitched. “That is kind of you to say.”
“How are you faring today?”
“I am well.” She paused. “And you, my lord?”
He cleared his throat. “I am well, as well.”
“I am pleased to hear that.”
Charles watched as Brixton and Miss Whiston chatted on the settee as he attempted to think of something clever to say, but he was at a loss. For some reason, he couldn’t seem to think straight with Henrietta looking as blasted beautiful as she did.
“Are you sure you’re well?” Henrietta asked.
“I am.”
“You look downright flushed.”
Charles sighed. “I’m afraid I am rather nervous around you.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I am attempting to think of something clever to say to you.”
She giggled. “As am I.”
“You are?” he asked, relieved at her admission.
“In fact, I was trying to eavesdrop on my sister’s conversation to see if they were discussing anything interesting.”
“Are they?”
She shook her head. “They are not,” she replied. “Lord Brixton is telling her about how he picked out the flowers for her at the shop.”
“That does sound rather boring.”
