She had to stop Henrietta. “What if he was so honorable that he wouldn’t sleep with you at all?”
“Do you think there’s any danger that a man would refusethis?” Henrietta put her hands at her chest, voice stinging with bitterness.
Celia’s heart stopped, then took off pounding, a runaway colt in a new direction.
She placed her hand over Henrietta’s, but her cousin jerked away.
“I think you’re beautiful. Anyone who loves you would want to kiss you and hold you, but not every man acts upon his baser instincts.”
“So you’re saying he might be too good for me? Like your brother?” Henrietta started to laugh, bitter and cold, and it turned into a hiccupping sob.
“I’m saying you are too special for games like these.” Celia’s heart lurched at the mention of Clarence, but she held tight toHenrietta’s hand, and this time Henrietta let her. This was not about Mr. Pipperly, who was sweet and silly and young and Henrietta did not truly care about one way or the other. “Who is it?”
Henrietta stiffened. “Does it have to be one name?”
“Oh, darling.” Celia touched her hair, and Henrietta collapsed in a huddle. Celia pulled her head into her lap, loosening the ribbon and stroking the curls away from Henrietta’s face. Celia wished she looked like her cousins, but this was the only physical trait they shared—coarse tumbling curls that were neither fashionable ringlets nor easy to comb, weighing heavy in a chignon, escaping their pins. Henrietta’s was the fairest and Celia’s the darkest, but none of them had any success keeping it tame.
Henrietta sobbed. Celia stroked her hair, her heart clattering in every direction at once—angry at Rose, angry at Clarence, angry at Mr. Thompson. All of them could have protected Henrietta, and they left it to Celia, whose power was slipping through her hands like eels in the stream.
Henrietta pulled in her arms and legs, clutching Celia’s skirt in her fist, arms crossed over her chest, shaking and gulping and crying. Celia’s heart splintered inside her, one crack splitting towards another, the shards piercing her lungs and her throat. She stroked Henrietta’s hair and could not shield her.
Eventually, Henrietta shuddered into stillness, her sobs becoming little whimpers on her exhales. Celia stroked her hair—and the door banged.
“If my mother thinks I—”
Celia looked up. Henrietta did not move.
Rose halted in her tracks, staring at them both. She turned the handle to close the door silently, her face transforming through worry, understanding. By the time she pulled a chair up to Celia’s bed, she was gleaming with rage.
To be fair, it wasn’t as though Rose had much power, either.
“Henny-Penny.” Rose laced her fingers tight in her lap. “Who touched you?”
So she expected it too. Don’t let it be true, thought Celia, who knew perfectly well it was true. None of the men in their family would stand strong, make it clear that Henrietta was precious.
“Mr. Lyon caught me in the hallway.” Henrietta rolled over, coughing. “He kissed me! I couldn’t stop him. He just said that made me all the more appealing and he couldn’t restrain himself!”
Celia gestured at the water pitcher, and Rose clunked to her feet, splashing as she filled a glass.
Henrietta took a jagged breath and rubbed her nose. Celia half-lifted her, propped her against pillows, helped wrap her fingers around the cool glass.
Henrietta drained the water and coughed. “When he first said I was pretty, he looked right at my bosoms.” She blew her nose. “He finds a way to squash them with his arm and brush them when we’re dancing, but the others do that too…”
She shivered.
“Pistols at dawn.” Rose crossed her arms over her own ample chest, quiet and vicious. “We need a brother. Why do we not have a brother?”
“I would let you borrow mine,” Celia offered, “but he isn’t much good.”
Henrietta burst out in a gasping laugh.
“I would dress as a boy and do it myself,” Rose threatened, “but I was too busy reading and never learned to shoot.”
Henrietta buckled forward and laughed harder.
“If you’re going to shoot pistols at dawn,” warned Celia, “it’s always better to know which end of the pistol to shoot with.”
Now they were all giggling, their laughter gurgling in unseemly snorts.
