Chapter Twenty-Nine
The day after the wedding Henrietta left for London with her aunt and uncle. Her father and Verity were so happy and caught up in each other; it had been a good decision to give them some privacy. Almost as soon as they walked into her aunt’s mansion, Aunt Gabrielle began exclaiming over the invitations that had piled up in their absence. A giddy round of routs, dances and balls awaited them.
Henrietta gritted her teeth and threw herself into the social life, hoping to meet Christian somewhere along the way. She wasn’t entirely confident, however. She knew he didn’t attend many balls. She danced until her feet hurt, and went to the opera, always searching for his face among the crowd. Men paid their attentions to her, but Henrietta’s cool, disinterested manner gave them pause, and they drifted away in search of friendlier debutantes.
By Season’s end, she’d hadn’t seen him. Aunt Gabrielle expressed disappointment that Henrietta was to return to the country without one offer of marriage. She’d urged Henrietta to smile more often when she danced, but she didn’t press it. Although aware of her aunt’s worried looks, Henrietta couldn’t seem to regain her spirits.
Baroness Le Trobe’s ball closed the season, and this was the one ball Henrietta was eager to attend. She’d first danced with Christian at the baroness’ North London mansion. She took great care with her appearance, choosing her prettiest gown, a muslin embroidered with yellow flowers and a yellow sash. The maid dressed her lightly powered hair with tiny rosebuds.
But Christian didn’t come. The night drew on, and she lost hope. Not wishing to dance again, she wandered through the smoky card room where guests gathered around the gaming tables. A lady in gold silk with a low décolletage, lost at roulette. She tossed a huge, diamond and emerald broach onto the table, shrugged and left the room.
Two men commented on it.
“Countess Grey is at it again. The Count won’t be pleased,” one man said.
“No, indeed,” said the other. “But have you heard about Hartley?”
Henrietta’s paused and pretended to watch the game in progress. Her heart began to beat so hard she thought she would faint. She strained to follow their conversation as the noise in the room rose to a crescendo when someone won the broach.
“Christian Hartley, the diplomat? No, what’s the news?”
“Wounded somewhere overseas. They’ve got him home.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound good.”
“Poor fellow. Where was he?”
“No idea. Some smoky government business. Oh, look Barnstable has thrown his cards in. I need a word with him.”
They drifted away. Henrietta held onto the table edge as her knees threatened to give way. It couldn’t be Christian the gypsy spoke of. The one who would die? No! She would not believe it.
* * *
The next morning, Henrietta was out of bed as soon as it grew light. Confident that her aunt slept late after a ball, she dressed in a subdued navy-blue walking gown and donned a hooded cloak she borrowed from a servant. She left the house and shivered, the breeze cold on her face as she hurried through the streets to Christian’s townhouse. She ran up the steps and banged on the knocker. Minutes passed before a manservant answered. He adjusted his coat, shaving soap on his whiskers, and stared at her in surprise.
“I am here to see Mr. Hartley. He’s expecting me,” she said, brushing past him. She removed her cloak in the hall and handed it to him. “Where is he?”
“You can’t see him, Miss...?” When she simply stared at him, refusing to answer, he sputtered, “He’s indisposed.”
“I’m aware of that.” She seized the man’s coat and shook it. “Is he here?”
He stepped back, smoothing his coat. “Mr. Hartley is abed with a malady.”
“Take me to him. Immediately.”
The butler sighed. “It will be more than my life’s worth if I do.”
“Nonsense. Don’t be so dramatic. My father is a good friend of Mr. Hartley’s. I must speak to him. A matter of urgency.”
“A matter of some urgency, is it?” He seized this explanation like a drowning man grabbing at wreckage floating in the sea. “I must announce you. Your name?”
“I wish to surprise him.” She followed he butler upstairs.
The butler paused on the landing. “Wait here, if you please.” He knocked at a door, and when a deep voice responded, he entered and shut the door in Henrietta’s face.
She tapped her foot. Several minutes passed. She grasped the doorknob and opened the door to find the servant explaining to Christian in a broken voice that he was sure it was an urgent matter. Henrietta pushed past him.
“Henrietta!” Christian lay in bed; his shoulder heavily strapped his face pale in the early morning light.
“Oh, Christian.” With a sob, she rushed to the bed, and perched on it beside him. “You’ve been hurt!” She plucked at the sheet and patted him gently. Peeked at his bandage. “Does it hurt very much? What happened? Tell me!”
He winced and gently withdrew her hand from his arm, raising it to his lips. “Darling Henrietta. Who told you?”
“I overheard some men at Baroness La Trobe’s ball last night.” She studied him carefully. Although his olive skin was pale, he didn’t appear desperately ill. She leaned over to place a hand on his forehead. It was reassuringly cool. “What does the doctor say?”
He gave a crooked smile. “I’ll live.”
“Oh, my darling,” she whispered. “You’ll never get rid of me now.”
Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes as he spoke to the manservant still hovering at the door. “Tea, please, Beaton. And something tasty to eat for my… soon to be wife.”
Beaton broke into a smile. “Right away, sir.”
Henrietta tenderly studied her love. So, this was why he called off their engagement. He was sent on a dangerous mission by the government.
The door closed behind the butler. “As soon as you’re strong enough, I shall take you to the country to recuperate. And I intend to keep you there. No more gallivanting around, Christian. I prefer a quiet life.” She took a deep breath, ready to fight him should he think of objecting.
His chuckle turned into a cough then he winced.
Concerned, she poured a glass of water from a pitcher on a table and handed it to him. “I suppose you can’t tell me where you’ve been or how you were hurt?”
“No, my love. This gunshot wound heals well. Do you understand why I had to say what I did? I hated to hurt you, Henrietta. But I thought…”
Men were so stupid at times. Even the smartest and the bravest of them. She took the glass from him and put it down. “Hush, darling. Of course, I do. You thought you’d die and wished to spare me. It doesn’t matter now. But,” she shook her finger at him, “please don’t do it again.”
He grinned. “I have no intention of it.” He traced his fingers in a cross over his heart. “I promise.”
“Good.” She laughed. “Now you must concentrate on getting well. And I will care for you until you do.”
“Give me a kiss then.”
She bent over and took his dear face in her hands then pressed her mouth gently to his. His good arm came around her, and with a soft moan pulled her against him, kissing her with a fervor that belied his weakened condition. The passionate response was exactly what she needed. How she had missed him and his kisses.
When she drew away, he shook his head. “Good Lord, Henrietta. Let’s marry as soon as I’m on my feet.”
“Or before.” She leaned over and kissed him again. “Oh!” she said after she reluctantly drew away, “You won’t have heard. Papa and Verity have married.”
He smiled. “I am very pleased for them.”
“And Philippe’s well again. He received a letter from Mademoiselle Josette. She escaped punishment and has returned to her farm.”
“You are the purveyor of excellent news. Kiss me again.”
She obliged, then brushed his dark hair back from his forehead. His hand roamed over her back and down to trace the curve of her waist to her hip. Then he gently pushed her away. “I want no scandal attached to you, my love. You must go home after your tea.”
“Can I come every day and help to take care of you?”
He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”
She frowned. “Dangerous?”
“Mmm. Especially when I’m stronger.”
She laughed. A knock at the door then Beaton entered with the tea things. Another servant followed behind with two tasty breakfasts.
Beaton set the cups and plates out on the table.
“I’m afraid I have sad news for Verity,” Christian said.
“Oh?”
“Her Uncle François has died on the guillotine.”
“Because of us!” Henrietta’s scalp prickled in horror.
“No. He wrote a manifesto for the Jacobins and voiced his strong opinions of how the Revolution should be run. His work attracted the attention of the Committee of Public Safety who accused him of being a counterrevolutionary.”
Henrietta expelled a breath. “He must have been the one the gypsy spoke of,” she said thoughtfully.
“What gypsy?”
“I’ll tell you about it some other time. It’s not important anymore.”
“And now England is at war with France.”
“You will not see any of that war, darling.” She rested her head on his good shoulder. “And even when you are strong again, you shall be far too busy.”
He arched a brow, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I’ll be busy, will I?”
She traced a finger over his lips. “Yes, loving me.”
* * *
Two months later, Mr. and Mrs. Hartley returned from their honeymoon in Brighton. They visited Gabrielle and Uncle Philippe in London. Uncle Philippe had regained his strength and was soon to join Louis Joseph de Bourbon, Prince of Condé, who organized émigrés into a counter-revolutionary army at Coblenz. And Aunt Gabrielle had resumed her literary soirees.
A week later, Henrietta and Christian arrived at Beaumont Court. Her father was waiting on the carriage drive to greet them with Verity beside him. She was increasing, the baby due in five months and glowed with vibrant good health.
“You look well, Verity,” Henrietta said, kissing both cheeks.
Verity greeted Christian, then took Henrietta’s arm. “We French have a word for how well marriage agrees with you, Madame Hartley. Éclat. Come inside luncheon awaits.”
Some hours later, Henrietta wandered through the familiar gardens around her family home. It pleased her that as a married lady, she could do as she pleased in many matters. Her gowns for instance. She smoothed the skirts of her lavender, poult de soie gown with its mulberry silk petticoat, as she roamed over the lawns toward the summerhouse, her hat trailing from her hand. The lavender bonnet strings caught on a rose bush, and she bent to untangle them. Voices came from the summer house. She smiled when she recognized her two favorite men. She was about to call out but paused at the mention of her name.
“Much as I’d like to I cannot tell Henrietta,” Christian was saying. “I am sworn to secrecy.”
“She would understand,” her father said. “Do you feel the mission was a failure?”
Henrietta released her hat from the thorns but stayed where she was. She should make her presence known, but her curiosity got the better of her.
“Lady Atkyns believes so, certainly. A brave woman, she was determined to carry out her promise to her friend Marie Antoinette. She did try to save the dauphin.”
“What occurred? Are you able to reveal it?”
“Gossip will spread through parliament, I imagine. But I prefer to tell you the unvarnished truth.” Christian stood with his back to her, his elbows resting on the wooden bannister rail. “Lady Atkyns moored her ships off the French coast and waited for the dauphin to be delivered into her hands to be taken to England. It was not considered a wise plan, but the English royalists saw a French king as a stabilizing force.
“Our mission was to rescue him from the Committee of Public Safety. We waylaid the guard, but even with the advantage of surprise, only three of us survived. When I was hurt I was smuggled onto a ship and brought home. As my surviving colleagues were unable to bring the dauphin to England, they placed him with a peasant family somewhere deep in the French countryside.”
“So, will he ever reign as king?”
“Who knows?”
Henrietta peeked out of her hiding place as Christian shrugged and turned to stare out into the garden. “With luck on his side he can grow up a free citizen and breed for future generations. And maybe one day either he or his kin will sit on the French throne, but the Ancien regime will never rule France again.”
“A satisfactory outcome,” her father said. “You are courageous, Christian. I wish this might become known. You agents are seldom rewarded enough for your bravery.”
“The dauphin’s mother was the brave one,” Christian’s voice sounded gruff. “Marie Antoinette refused to be rescued. She didn’t want to desert her children. There are still aristocrats imprisoned and awaiting death. I wish there was more I could do.”
From her hiding place behind a lilac bush, Henrietta opened her mouth in horror, and almost leaped from her hiding place to confront him.
“But I must leave that to others,” Christian added, much to her relief.
“Let’s return to the house,” her father said. “And see what the ladies are up to.”
Henrietta darted behind a camellia hedge. Skirting the terraced yew garden, she took a well-used shortcut to the house through the kitchen gardens. Lady Atkyns was a brave adventurer, as well as an actress, she mused. How good that such brave women existed outside the strictures of society. Her request to go on the stage had not been so unreasonable although she’d decided against it. It would be flying the face of fortune, and she had her heart’s desire.
She hurried into the drawing room and was seated on the green damask chair with a book in her hands when the men entered. “Where have you two been? Sharing secrets, we women are not privy to?” she asked with a smile. She was gratified to see them look sheepish.
“Nothing of importance.” Christian smiled at her. “My, how pretty you look on that chair. It’s the same lovely green as your eyes.”
She came and kissed him and hugged her father. Nothing meant more to her than to have them safe and well.
The following Monday, she and Christian arrived at Owlpeg Manor, Christian’s country house in Gloucestershire. Henrietta adored everything about her new home, its Cotswold stone walls thick with ivy and climbing roses. Through the mullioned windows, she could see the River Severn flowing through a copse of graceful willow trees, beneath a cloudless pewter blue sky.
Three months later, Henrietta returned from consulting the housekeeper to find Christian pulling his fishing rods from a cupboard. He was so much stronger now, almost his old self, although some fragility remained. She believed it to be more the violence he’d witnessed than his wound, which had healed well, and she was determined to make him whole again through the power of her love. She would never tell him that she overheard him speak of his last campaign, but hoped he would one day confide in her.
She smiled at him as he examined a box of hooks. “Am I to be a fisherman’s widow?”
He raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You fear you will be neglected?” He closed the box, took her hand, and led her up the stairs to their bedchamber. Once inside, he locked the door and leaned against it, slipping his arms around her waist.
“You smell delicious.” He pressed kisses over her neck and down to her breasts, drawing away her bodice.
Henrietta pulled him against her, her hands on his backside, his hardness pressed against her.
“You’re a bold lass,” he said, as they settled on the bed. He threw up her skirts, smiled at her as he unbuttoned his pants. With a lustful grin, he pushed her gently back onto the damask coverlet of the oak four-poster.
Someone called from the garden beneath the window. “That’s my neighbor, Jim Pertwee, come to fish for trout. Splendid fellow,” he said as he stroked between her thighs until she moaned. He settled between her legs. “You’ll like him.” The last word ended with a groan and a murmur of pleasure from Henrietta as he pushed into her.
Henrietta wrapped her legs around him. Her hips rose to meet his urgent thrusts, her hands under his shirt stroking his smooth skin. She had thought about this all morning. Christian came as the stamp of the butler’s boots sounded on the stairs. He rolled off her regretfully. “Tonight, my love.” He kissed her. “I promise to be a more considerate lover.”
He adjusted his clothing and was gone.
Henrietta stretched, smiling, as a pleasant lassitude washed over her. Tonight, she would tell him her news. He wished for a big family. She went to the looking glass to check on her hair before returning downstairs. He always managed to destroy its creation, preferring her locks down over her shoulders. She smiled and began to tidy the loose strands. If the baby was a boy, he’d make a nice fishing companion for Christian. She twisted the apple green ribbon through her fingers. And a girl might wish to go on the stage.
Whichever gift they were given would be treasured.