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And, if he were to hold that to be true, there was but one course open to him. He would rejoin society to the fullest, take up the mantle of Marquess of Salisbury to its fullest extent, and claim his position among the ton. And if opportunity arose to give her the cut, direct or no, then so much the better.
He moved, his movements stiff in the aftermath of his enraged exertions, and he poured out a little water to wash his face and hands, grateful that he had not lost his wits far enough to include the mirror and his wash basin as targets of his temper. He straightened his cravat, then made his way to the door to summon Danvers.
A maid would be needed to tidy his chambers and clear away the broken items. In the meantime, he had correspondence to write. One note to Jackson, asking permission to call upon him for the evening, as he wished to be away from his estate for the moment. And one to Lady Henrietta, to reveal his knowledge of her duplicity and ensure she did not return to his estate.
After that, he would examine the unanswered invitations he had and decide which ones might be best suited to make his return to London, while he awaited Jackson’s reply.
He would also need to send word to his tailor, for he would need a new wardrobe if he was to present himself properly.
With a heavy heart and coals of pain and rage still simmering deep within his soul, he made his way to his desk and got to work.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
The drive back to London allowed Henrietta to get herself more or less into a presentable state. John had looked somewhat appalled at her mussed appearance when they had first locked gazes, but she’d managed to put him off with a half-hearted tale of misadventure and unexpected visitors, as well as promises that she’d been neither seen nor recognized. He’d had a doubtful expression as he handed her up into the carriage, but he had not challenged her on her lie.
Eva and Sarah had certainly been surprised by her early return, but she had given them the same excuse of unexpected intruders at the Marquess’ home, and they had made plans that Sarah—properly attired in her own clothing—should accompany Eva around to the dressmakers to ascertain the status of her purchases and pick them up if they were ready, while she herself would return home complaining of a headache, or something of that nature.
It was not a complete lie, for her head did ache. It was only that her heart ached far more.
She could not lie to herself. She had fallen, and fallen hard, for Daniel Thynne. Not the Marquess of Salisbury, but Daniel. The gentle, stern, and charming man she had gotten to know. She had been all right while she had been able to convince herself that her feelings were one-sided and unreciprocated, a matter of hopeless fancy that would pass once Eva and Daniel were properly introduced and matched.
She could no longer pretend that was the case. Not after the events at the masquerade ball, and at Daniel’s house only hours before. It was clear to her that, for all her denials and attempts to avoid it, her heart had become part of the game, and perhaps his as well, and far sooner in the latter case than she might have intended, though not as soon as she might have wished in regard to her own feelings.
How could she match Eva and Daniel, now that she knew the fire hidden behind his cool facade? Now that she had felt the warmth of his kiss and the touch of his hands, and so much more? How could she simply stand aside and see Eva take her place?
And how then could she break her word to her friend? She had offered Eva her choice, and she had been sincere. How was she meant to declare now that she had claimed Eva’s choice as her own? And what would become of their friendship then? Of her reputation?
It was a tangled web, and for all that it was of her own making, she could see no way through it that would not end badly.
It was fortunate that her mother was out making the rounds, or she would surely have had to think of some excuse for her early return, and to avoid dancing attendance at her mother’s side. Her father was out as well, seeing to business she suspected, though he might only be at his club, or something of that sort.
Andrew, however, was at home, and he was just going through his own engagements when she arrived. He came out of the small room that served as his sitting room and office. “Hello...you’re back rather early, aren’t you? You’re usually gone till after teatime these days.” He blinked and looked closer at her face. “I say, Henrietta, you’re a bit pale. Come, I’ll have someone bring you some tea, perhaps something sweet to nibble on.”
“I am fine.” She did not protest as Andrew led her to the private parlor in the back of the house and ushered her to a seat. It was not often her brother was openly solicitous, but she found his attention somewhat soothing. “It is only a personal matter.”
“Quite the matter if you’re so unsettled as all that. You’ve never been one of the most transparent types, least not in the past few years.” Not since the disastrous end of her engagement. “Anything I could assist with? If you’ve been insulted or some such nonsense, you need only point the fellow out, and I shall thrash him.”
The offer brought a wan smile to her face as her brother had intended, and she sipped the tea a maid handed her. “It is nothing like that, sorry though I am to disappoint your martial aspirations.”
“It isn’t...one of those womanly matters, is it? I shall take my leave if it is that.” Andrew eyed her anxiously, and well he should. Their mother was a presence to be reckoned with, and sometimes avoided, when such issues intruded on her life.
“Not of the sort you are thinking.” She considered his earnest expression. He already knew of her wager with Eva. Perhaps he might offer some insight? Particularly of the male viewpoint, which she was most certainly lacking at the moment. “You recall the wager I have with Eva Darnell?”
“I do. Rather hard to forget, what with helping make up excuses for your absence every day.” He offered her a wry smile and a refill of her teacup, despite the fact that she should have been the one serving. “Something to do with that business, is it?”
“That business, as you so charmingly say, is everything to do with it.” She sipped at her tea. “You asked me once, how I approached the Marquess when he was so disinclined to company.”
“When he’s a recluse, more so than any priest, you mean.” Andrew huffed. “You never did tell me how you managed the thing.”
“The man is an artist, dear brother. A sculptor. And what does any artist need but models for his work, for his inspiration? I merely offered the Marquess my services as a model. And he accepted.”
“Well, I should say so...Henrietta!” Color suffused Andrew’s face, perfectly in keeping with his appalled expression as his mind caught up to her words. “Dash it all, you could have...that was a risk and a half to take, even for a wager with such stakes. He might have...your reputation...or your virtue…”
“Oh, do be calm. The Marquess was a perfect gentleman, and perfectly proper. All I did was stand in one place and pose for him as you would for one of those paintings mother sometimes talks of having done. There was nothing untoward in the arrangement.”Unless one counts wearing naught but a thin cotton sheet, and the near encounters and flirtations, not to mention the rather heated encounter of this morning.
She was not going to tell Andrew about that, however.
Her brother eyed her for a moment, then sighed and sat back in his chair. “I shall take your word for it at present. But if I find he has been the slightest bit improper or ungentlemanly—”
