All right. It was fine. Peter was leaving for Italy, and Celia would marry Penrose. She would be safe.
He’d tell her so tomorrow, and if she protested that Penrose hadn’t asked, he would go to the fellow’s house himself. Give it to him straight; send him scampering with a ring and a promise. Penrose would be easier to manage than Jackdaw.
The music ended, Celia and Penrose disappeared into the throng, and Peter went to find some lemonade. He swallowed three crab tarts before he realized he had been hungry.
Brennan emerged from the crowd and nodded, a crease between his eyes. “Have you seen Miss Henrietta? It’s my job to keep an eye on her tonight, and she’s vanished.”
Peter trashed the last of the crab cake, senses on high alert. Henrietta was not supposed to vanish. Henrietta was their last line of defense; observant and feisty, she would not let anything happen to Celia.
An image flashed into his memory. He pressed his lips together, trying to capture it.
“Aha! Yes. Her dress. I recall it.” He had to find the doorway he could see in his mind’s eye so he headed out of the main area, trying to retrace his steps.
Brennan followed on his heels. “Yes. I saw her turn this way, but I lost her in the crowd. Not good.”
Peter agreed, their footsteps tapping faster. “What’s wrong with Henrietta? Why would she…”
Brennan shrugged. “We don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
Peter’s throat twanged at that casual “we,” the sign of belonging together. Peter was leaving for Italy, he was leaving alone.
They were getting too far from the principle battleground when Peter recognized the doorway. “She was alone. I assumed she needed some relief…”
They walked down the corridor, their footsteps muffled in the rugs beneath. The air was cool and still, and clearly there were no refreshment rooms for ladies in this direction.
“Where’s Celia?” Peter whispered.
“Dancing with Bigelowe.” Brennan put his ear to each door as they passed.
He held up a finger, but Peter already heard voices. He dropped to his knees, pressing his ear, then his eye, to the keyhole. “Damn.”
“With a man?” Brennan was whispering too.
“Not just any man.” Peter rose to his feet, tested the knob. Locked. “With Charles Pipperly. She told me she wouldn’t. She told me!”
“Guess she changed her mind.”
Henrietta was not in there because she was wildly in love, nor because jolly Charles had sweetened her into it. The onlyreason for Henrietta to be compromising herself with the most unfortunate family in thetonwas because she was desperate, more desperate than Celia’s note had implied.
Peter pulled out his stiletto and slid it between the door and the frame. The lock snapped open at the moment he wanted, while Henrietta was squealing with giggles. Peter paused with his hand on the door handle and met Brennan’s eyes.
“How much deshabille am I going to find?” Brennan whispered.
Peter shook his head. “Both parties fully dressed. We’re in time.”
No, not time enough. He had promised to meet with Celia in the morning, but Henrietta was forcing their hand. No disasters in the next twelve hours, that’s all they needed, but it wasn’t looking good. He and Celia would devise a new plan in the morning, together.
“I’ll get her back to her mother.” Brennan put his ear against the door, thinking.
That girl, joyful and loyal and whip-smart, throwing herself away to protect her family. Peter was angry, angry, angry; cold and clear-headed and rapier sharp.
“You go!” Brennan yanked his thumb backwards. “We need eyes on Celia.”
His Celia. If the ladies were that desperate, it could have been his Celia in there.
“That’s enough,” Peter whispered. “I’m going to marry her myself.”
Everything else could be arranged later. He knew how to live on a knife’s edge and Celia was the cleverest woman in Christendom. Tomorrow morning, he would tell Celia everything. Absolutely everything. He wouldn’t be another man pushing her around, making assumptions; let her decide if she would take him, with all his sins, with all his names, with all hislies. He would promise a home for them all, Celia and Elinor and Marianne and most of all that blessed fool Henrietta.
