Chapter Two
Henrietta pulled aside the curtains and opened the French doors onto a narrow balcony overlooking the street. Below her, traffic lumbered past, everyone busy and going somewhere. She took a huge breath and danced away into the room. “How utterly charming, I just know I’m going to have a wonderful adventure in London.”
After changing into a white muslin gown with a pattern of mint green ivy leaves, Henrietta hurried down to the drawing room. She found her aunt reading as she lay back comfortably amid cushions on a high-backed satin sofa. Aunt Gabrielle obviously spent much of her time in this room. Despite its grand proportions, it had a relaxed feel. Books were piled on every surface. A japanned lacquer looking glass, which hung over the Adam’s white marble fireplace reflected the late afternoon sun slanting in through long windows, framed by richly brocaded silk hangings. Aunt Gabrielle’s babies, two adorable liver-spotted cocker spaniels lay asleep on the rose pink and blue patterned rug by the fire. They woke at Henrietta’s entrance and bounced up to welcome her. She bent to stroke their silky coats.
“They like you,” Aunt Gabrielle said. “Animals are instinctive.”
A servant girl with an ample white apron pinned behind laid out the tea things on the pedestal table. Henrietta selected an iced cake and listened to her aunt’s exciting plans for the Season. When her father joined them, he and her aunt’s conversation drifted back to the past. Saddened, Henrietta listened to their reminiscences of the time when her mother was alive. But she could never stay down for long, and after eating several more delicious tiny cakes with her coffee she was eager to see the house. She begged a tour, and her aunt, with a laugh and a shake of her head at her father, rose to oblige her.
There were no social engagements planned for that evening and after a game of faro they retired early. Her aunt warned her that city hours were different from the country. She must get used to dining later, retiring in the early hours of the morning then sleeping until noon. It sounded refined and perfectly delightful. Henrietta was sure she would quickly adjust. She drifted off to sleep to the foreign sounds of the metropolis beyond the window, far noisier than the country.
Henrietta woke refreshed. Sunlight peeked through the curtains of her new bedchamber. The clatter of carriage wheels over the cobbles and the jingle of harnesses drew her to the window. She shrugged into her dressing gown and opened the French doors stepping out onto the balcony. A smart carriage passed at a fast clip, with a man nodding off to sleep inside. It was most probably bearing some nobleman home from an engagement that kept him up ’til dawn. A merchant’s cart pulled up at the curb with foodstuffs to deliver below stairs. A group of thoroughbred horses danced along, ridden by the gentry on their way to ride in the park. She clutched her blue silk dressing gown around her and edged forward for a better look.
A blood chestnut stallion pranced about, nervously rearing when a cart laden with vegetables got too close. The rider, a man in smart riding clothes, handled the excited horse with ease, patting its neck and settling the stallion down. He rode beneath Henrietta’s balcony and caught sight of her. With a devilish smile, he swept off his hat revealing hair as blue-black as a raven’s wing. Henrietta gasped and darted inside.
Aware of her dishabille, she peeked from behind the curtains. He laughed and rode off.
She swished the curtains shut. Oh, fig! Had she already committed a faux pas? Annoyed, she found the dark-haired man difficult to dismiss. She expected she would forget all about him tonight. It was her first ball. Suddenly ravenous, she pulled the bell for Molly. It was impossible to wait hours for breakfast.
* * *
Beaumont, rode through the park toward the gates. The early morning mist still clung in fragile cobwebs to the branches. The hired hack wasn’t up to too much, but the ride cleared his head. Back in Buckinghamshire, Thunder, his favorite horse, would be pining for him. He arrived back at the mews to find Gabrielle walking up and down the path in front of the stables.
“Why are you up so early?” he asked his sister-in-law as he dismounted.
“I’m worried.” She clutched some correspondence in her hand.
“Is that from Philippe?” He tossed the reins to the groom, and after leaving instructions to return the horse to the park stables, he walked beside her to the house.
“If only it was. It’s a friend of mine in Paris, Madame Fauquier. It’s distressing what is happening there.” She waved the letter. “There has been unbelievable bloodshed, Anthony! And I haven’t received a letter from Philippe for ages.”
“You know the state of the postal service. How long ago was that sent? But if we don’t hear from your brother soon, something must be done. I could write to the British Embassy,” he said thoughtfully. “But that would take some weeks.”
“Surely you can’t be thinking of traveling to France?” Gabrielle screwed the letter up in her hands. “The French National Assembly has turned against aristocrats. You are known there as the fourth Viscount Beaumont who married into a French aristocratic family. A Tory who believes in the monarchy. Did you not stand with Burke in Parliament against the actions of the French?”
“They would have to answer to the British government were they to murder an English nobleman in cold blood.”
Gabrielle sighed heavily. “These are my countrymen I’m ashamed to say. Of course, reform was needed in France, but the actions of the Girondins are becoming dangerously unhinged.” She tapped his arm with the screwed-up letter. “Madame Fauquier says now that they’ve declared the guillotine as the official method of execution, they hold mock trials. Hundreds of innocent people die daily.”
Anthony took her hands to still them between his larger ones. “Please don’t get yourself in a fret, Gabby. You’ll make yourself ill again. I’m sure Philippe will be in touch soon. It must be difficult for him to get word to us.”
“I’ve begged him to come to England these past six months. He mentioned joining the émigré army of all things. Nevertheless, you must promise me you won’t go to France. It would not do to place both your lives in danger. You must first consider Henrietta.”
“I can’t promise, Gabby, but I’ll delay it for now.”