In the fortnight since Henrietta made her stellar debut, the London gossip mill featured countless speculations regarding her background, and Ernest ruthlessly guarded her history. At the same time, he reveled in her success, because her gentle spirit, innate poise, and unique fashions made her the darling of the Season. With everything going according to plan, and nary a mishap, he prepared a few final outings guaranteed to secure her place in society.
“Florence will be down in a half hour, which gives us time to settle our business.” Barrington joined Ernest, as he sat in one of the high back chairs situated before the hearth, in the study. “I advised my solicitor to make the last transfer of funds to repay the debt on Garring Manor.”
“I have told you that is not necessary.” And it irked Ernest that his brother refused to accept the money as a gift. “I am part of this family, if you recall.”
I know that.” Barrington opened a drawer, drew forth a document, affixed his signature, rolled the parchment, and brought the item to Ernest. “But the marquessate is my responsibility, and this fulfills my duty. Do not mistake my meaning, because this is not an issue of finance. It is a matter of principle.”
“If you insist.” Despite inclinations to the contrary, he took the receipt and folded it flat, before pocketing it. And while he loathed discussing such dealings, nothing could dampen his excitement. “So we are ready for another in a series of triumphant social engagements?”
“That reminds me, I have been meaning to talk to you about Henrietta.” Not again. Barrington eased to the other seat, rested his elbow on the armrest, and cradled his chin in his palm. “I know you have the best of intentions, but I do not like how you have restyled her. She is not herself, and I do not think she is happy. For what it is worth, Florence agrees with me, and we are left to wonder if you want Hen, our old friend and the stablemaster’s daughter, or what you believe you can make of her?”
“I beg your pardon?” While Barrington’s assertions rankled, he had a point, but it was for her own good that Ernest recreated her in a more polished version. “Can you not see that it is for the best? If I am to give her the life she deserves, and I would give her everything, we must promote the ruse, else society will shun her.”
“What if you lose her, in the process?” Of course, Barrington had to pose the one question that kept Ernest awake at night. Although he remained steadfast in his opinion on the subject, he noticed a tad less joy in his lady’s expression, of late, and he resolved to make it up to her, once they were safely wed and installed in their new summer home, far from the prying eyes of the ton. And when she enjoyed the protection of his good name, no one would dare attack her. Barrington slapped his thigh, and Ernest started. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, and I understand your concern, but it will all be over with, soon.” Until then, Ernest would hold his breath. “Besides, Henrietta wants what I want, and if she felt otherwise, she would have told me, but she raised no objections. Indeed, she supports and stages our charade. Is that not proof enough of her sentiment?”
“I wonder if she does so because it is what you want?” Shifting his weight, Barrington stretched his booted feet. “She would do anything for you, even if it meant destroying herself, and that is what worries me. And what of your new perspective? I thought you no longer cared for appearances? Did you not sit in my study at Garring and assert your independence? Does that freedom not extend to Hen?”
“I did, and it does.” In that instant, he pushed from the chair and paced before the hearth. Raking his fingers through his hair, he groaned. “If only you knew what I surrendered of my character to protect this family in your most grievous hour, you would not be so quick to judge me.”
“To what do you refer?” Barrington inclined his head and sobered when Ernest remained mute. “What have you done?”
“It is nothing.” Ernest did not want to have that conversation, and he realized, too late, that he spoke in frustration and haste. “You need not worry about what you cannot change.”
“Ernest, I spent five years as a pirate, on the run from a vicious crime I did not commit, worrying about things I could not change, only to learn that nothing is certain, and everything is negotiable when it comes to fate.” Barrington stood and blocked Ernest’s stride. “You would be surprised by what can be undone, if you try hard enough, and redemption can be found where you least expect it.”
“It does not signify.” When Ernest tried to make his escape, Barrington refused to yield. “You do not understand. I promised myself I would never reveal my nefarious deed, because I would not have you believe I thought the worst of you, when my actions were driven by convictions to the contrary.”
“This has something to do with the murder.” Pain flitted through Barrington’s usually carefree countenance, and he furrowed his brow. “Tell me what you did. What confidence do you conceal, and have you not tucked away enough secrets for two lifetimes? Given what you hid for our father, what you shielded from scrutiny that he might continue his unchecked assaults on your person without fear of retribution, how can you keep anything from me?”
“You think me so proper, so invested in my reputation that I walk the straight and narrow path, and that is what motivates my plans, in regard to Henrietta, but you could not be more wrong.” It was as if heaven and earth conspired against Ernest, to waylay his strategy and undermine his fortitude, when the truth was he was not half so sure of himself or his scheme, because there were still so many things that could go awry. “You want to know how far I went to protect you? To what lengths I conspired to ensure you were not arrested for the homicide, when I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you were innocent?” He turned, rested his hands against the mantelshelf, gazed into the blaze, and opened the door to his memory. What he found still possessed unerring power to hurt him. “It was early that morning, when I was roused from sleep by a scream of terror, and nothing has been the same since that dreadful day. When Ashby informed me of the body found in your bed, I panicked, especially because you were not home.”
“I was with Florence.” Barrington cast a wistful smile. “But you did not know that, then.”
“Can you not see my dilemma? My only motive was protecting you, my brother, the person whose life is more dear to me than my own, so I did what I could to defend you.” Swallowing hard, Ernest peered over his shoulder. “I stole the murder weapon, which I found on the floor, near the foot of your bed. In a handkerchief I enfolded the bloody knife, which I later threw into the Thames.” Closing his eyes, he revisited that night, as a howling gale from an encroaching storm played a morbid accompaniment. “Now you see I am not so proper as you believe. Indeed, I am a desperate man, so close to achieving my long-cherished goal that there is nothing I would not do, there is no price I am not willing to pay to win the woman of my dreams and build a life I once thought possible only in the realm of fantasy. Have I not earned it? Have I not paid in the coin of bloody flesh, a thousand times over?”
“You fought too many battles in your youthful existence, and my biggest regret is that I wasted my formative years mired in self-absorption and insouciant endeavors unbecoming a gentleman of rank, when I should have defended you.” When Barrington draped an arm about Ernest’s shoulders and gave a gentle nudge, he flinched. “As the older brother, our positions should have been reversed. I should have taken care of you, but you were always the one who looked after me. I can only hope it is not too late to make amends.”
“What do you propose?” In that moment, Ernest perceived himself much as he had when he wore shortcoats. “And I am a bit too old for a nanny.”
“Ah, but you are never too old wrestle your brother.” Barrington snickered, and it was the only warning Ernest got.
In seconds, he found himself bent forward, as Barrington ruffled Ernest’s hair, and he lunged to the side. Barrington chuckled, as they toppled a table, and Ernest seized the advantage. After delivering a quick jab to Barrington’s ribs, Ernest leaned to the side, yanked his brother off balance, and they ended up rolling on the floor, laughing the entire time.
“What on earth is going on in here?” Lying on his back, Ernest gazed at Florence, who loomed in the doorway, with Henrietta to the right. “Have a couple of feral hounds invaded Howe House? Upon my word, but are you two not beyond such childish behavior?”
“Indeed.” Henrietta clutched her throat but appeared to be staving off mirth. “Ernest Cornelius Frederick, get up and dust off your coat, as we are ready to depart for Gunter’s, and you promised I could sample a variety of delicious ices.”
“Oh, I love it when you use that governessy tone with me, my little bird.” He could not help but taunt her, when she cut the perfect picture of an elegant society lady, in a pale blue gown of her own design, with her signature hand-painted flowers at the sleeves and hem. As he stood, he made no attempt to veil his appraisal, and she rewarded him with her characteristic blush. “And I was just teaching Barrington a lesson in personal defense.”
“Ha!” Barrington chucked Ernest’s chin. “More like I schooled you, scamp.”
“Who are you calling a scamp, Iron Corsair?” Yes, Ernest went for the gut, but he could not resist the temptation. “Do you not have some booty to plunder?”
“A lot you know.” Barrington caught Florence about the waist, pulled her close, and kissed her with a loud smack. “I plunder and maraud some priceless booty, every morning and night.”
“Barrington.” Florence slapped his hand, even as she giggled. “Behave, and let us go, as I am craving the neige de pistachio, and I intend to indulge in a double portion, because I am eating for two.”
“All right, my darling wife.” Barrington led her into the hall. “You may have whatever you desire, because your every wish is my command.”
Alone with Henrietta, Ernest stood tall, as she adjusted his cravat, a habit she displayed with greater frequency and harkened to a devoted bride. Given his conversation with Barrington, Ernest wanted to ask her a few pointed questions. Just as he opened his mouth, his brother beckoned. So instead, he simply said, “Shall we depart?”
~
Occupying a prime position in Berkley Square, Gunter’s Tea Shop had cultivated a well-earned reputation as purveyors of some of the finest English, French, and Italian sweetmeats, and Henrietta had long wanted to sample their wares, but such luxuries were beyond the means of a simple stablemaster’s daughter. However, as the future wife of an estimable member of the ton, an afternoon visit to the famous Mayfair vendor functioned as another in an extended list of requisite social gatherings, and she was not about to complain. Sitting at a table near the window, in a prime location, Henrietta bit her lip, when the server delivered the selections, which looked too pretty to eat.
Fascinated by the exquisite porcelain, she ran her finger along the gold-trimmed edge. “Is this Sèvres china?”
“Yes.” Florence snatched an odd-shaped ice and did not bother with a spoon. Rather, she bit the top off the bulbous confection, closed her eyes, and hummed her appreciation. “Oh, this is pure heaven.”
“And what are the dishes called, because I have never seen anything like them?” The cups with miniature platforms presented the desserts as tiny statues, of a sort.
“They are tasses à glace, situated on a plateau au bouret.” Florence manifested a treasure trove of information, and she always answered Henrietta’s litany of queries with a wealth of patience and understanding, as she repeated her answer, taking care to emphasize the correct pronunciation. “But you will not be expected to plate ices with such precision, when you host guests at home.”
“How am I ever going to remember everything required of my new station?” Surrounded by the gilt and glitter of London, she hoped she might one day view herself as one of the beautiful people, but in that moment she remained lost.
“Are you all right?” Ernest furrowed his brow, as he dug his spoon into the bergamot ice. “As you appear out of sorts, my little bird.”
“I am fine.” And if she told herself that enough, she just might believe it. Then she noted the lines of strain about his usually animated eyes. “Why do you ask? Is something wrong?”
“No.” He smiled, but for some reason she suspected he felt otherwise. For a minute, he just looked at her. Then he leaned near. “Are you happy?”
“Of course.” At least, she thought she was happy. She wanted to be happy. Regardless of the nagging doubts, of one thing she was certain. She wanted to make Ernest happy. “What a strange question.”
“Are you sure?” Beneath the shield of the tablecloth, he covered her hand with his. “Because I do so want you to be happy, Hen. But if you are not, you can tell me, and we can figure out another way. I promise, I will not be angry. Please, talk to me.”
“My lord, it is not necessary to alter your strategy, because your plan succeeds, even now.” Perhaps that was why she did not trust the situation. It seemed too easy. Still, that was not his fault. And was that not what she wanted? “While I will admit to some discomfit, because, at the end of the day, I am the stablemaster’s daughter, and I do not imagine I will ever quite fit in society, I will do whatever it takes to be a wife of which you are proud to call your own.”
“I am already proud, sweetheart.” When he studied her lips, she shifted in her seat, because she could read him like a book. “And I would wed you in naught but your chemise, as you know I prefer you in that—and much less.”
“Ernest.” Without thought for propriety, she mirrored Florence’s actions and snatched the épine-vinette. With her tongue, she trailed the plumb-shaped tip of the protuberant ice, and he groaned and flexed his fingers. It was then she noted the no doubt unintended conformity to a particular part of his anatomy. Fresh images burst to life, as she recalled a particularly salacious tutorial, after the Richmond’s gala. “I know what you reference, and I am not ashamed of it, because nothing we share strikes me as forbidden. Is it always like that?”
“I think, for us, it is to be expected, because of our longstanding devotion.” He handed her a spoon. “But I cannot resist the temptation you pose, and I am liable to spread you, here and now, atop the table, lift your ankles and have my wicked way with you, so you should observe the proprieties, just this once.”
“That would certainly give the gossipmongers something to talk about.” The stress investing her frame vanished, and she relaxed and savored the delicious treat. “So what is next on our agenda?”
“The Hogart musicale, in a fortnight.” Rolling his eyes, he snorted. “While you may never forgive me for exposing you to such a vicious mutilation of your delicate ears, because the twins possess an artistic talent that defies efforts to describe it, and I assert there are no words to do it justice, I would argue such an event is a right of passage for any prospective member of the ton, and I promise I will make it up to you, that night, when we return to Howe House. What say I teach you a new tack? I may employ a new Latin term.”
“Given you have proven yourself quite capable, in that respect, and I am always anxious to know more, I will hold you to it.” She giggled and then whispered, “But I would ask that we confine our activities to my bed, because the scrapes to my bottom have yet to heal from our last foray on the rug.” Just as Henrietta reached for her cup of tea, two impressive ladies, bearing more than a passing resemblance, approached the group, and Barrington and Ernest stood and bowed.
“Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Ravenwood. Permit me to congratulate you on the impending arrival of your second child.” The meticulously coiffed woman, arm in arm with the other, inclined her head, which intensified a regal bearing Hen envied. “And may I inquire after your new friend?”
“Your Graces, we are honored, and we are past due for a visit, which I shall rectify with an open invitation to call upon Howe House, at your leisure.” Florence dipped her chin. “Allow me to introduce Miss Henrietta Katherine Graham, a friend of our family and soon to be more than that, if we are lucky.” She glanced at Hen and said, “This is Her Grace, the Duchess of Rylan, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Weston.”
Unsure how to respond, whether or not she should stand and curtsey, Henrietta remained stock-still and peered at her beau. When he ever so slightly nodded, she followed suit.
“She is charming, Lord Ernest.” To Henrietta, the duchess said, “And I am pleased to make your acquaintance. If it is not too forward, I should like to know the designer of your unique gown, as my sister and I agree it is stunning. Indeed, we could not stop admiring it, from across the room, given the craftsmanship is first rate, and I hope we did not offend you.”
“You wish to know about my dress?” Panic traipsed her spine, gripping her in an invisible but nonetheless potent veil of fear, because she knew not how to reply. “Well—”
“I believe she purchased the item in Kent, at a boutique that has since closed its doors, after the proprietor passed away.” Barrington glanced at Henrietta and winked. “And where are Rylan and Weston? I still owe them a brandy, after the service they provided to my wife and I, during our difficult courtship. The debt remains, and I should settle my account.”
“Posh, Lord Ravenwood.” The duchess of Weston caught Henrietta’s attention, because the noblewoman was missing an arm, as evidenced by the empty sleeve pinned to her bodice. “We were glad to be of service, and His Grace benefits from a bit of mischief, every now and then, as he is quite the stodgy character, but I am working on him.”
“And that reminds me, we are late.” The duchess of Rylan turned and almost bumped into Agnes Dudley. “I beg your pardon, madam.”
“Oh, Your Grace, it was entirely my fault, as I wanted to compliment you on your sense of style and refined taste. Agnes Dudley, of the Derbyshire Dudleys, at your service.” Mrs. Dudley stared down her nose at the duchess of Weston. “And it is wonderful to see you, too, Your Grace. I could not help but overhear your conversation, and I share your appreciation of Miss Graham’s attire.”
Henrietta almost fell from her chair.
“Thank you.” The duchess of Weston compressed her lips. “If you will excuse us, we were just leaving.”
“As were we, and I am tired.” Florence stood, made a none-too-subtle point to ignore the Dudleys, and Barrington drew her to his side. “My lord, will you summon our carriage?”
“At once.” Barrington shuffled through the crowd.
Ernest snapped his fingers and a server responded. After a brief, quiet conversation, he settled the bill and motioned for Henrietta to join Florence, and together they exited the tearoom.
Wringing her fingers, Henrietta feared she might be ill, and her mind raced, as she wondered what breach in decorum she committed. By the time the rig arrived, her knees buckled, and she shuddered, uncontrollably. When Ernest handed her into the squabs, she tripped and almost fell, face first, onto the pavement, but his quick thinking and unshakable support saved her from further embarrassment.
Ensconced in the privacy of the Ravenwood coach, Florence huffed. “Grasping, vulgar woman.”
“I am sorry.” Tears welled and spilled down Henrietta’s cheeks, and she tried but failed to discern her mistake. “While I know not what I did, I apologize and beg your forbearance.”
“You think me angry with you?” Florence pressed a fist to her chest. “Oh, no. Dear Henrietta, you were superb.”
“Darling, you did nothing wrong. In fact, I thought you performed brilliantly, given the unanticipated questions regarding your clothes.” Ernest cupped Henrietta’s chin and brought her gaze to his. “Sweetheart.” With his handkerchief, he dried her face. “Florence remarks on Mrs. Dudley’s gross break in etiquette, which required her to wait until the Duchess of Rylan first addressed her lesser.”
“Indeed.” Florence leaned on Barrington’s shoulder, and he kissed her forehead. “I almost fainted, when Lenore inquired after your gown, but my handsome husband saved the day, and I shall express my gratitude, this evening, as we have no engagements tonight.”
“And I will let you.” Barrington shifted and draped his arm about her. “Because I love you.”
As the charming scene played on one side of the coach, Henrietta remained locked in a hellish prison, and she could not stop shaking. “I sincerely believed I embarrassed you.”
In a singular fragment in time, everything she worked toward, everything she planned with Ernest could have come crashing down, despite their best intentions and diligence, because so much of society and it’s myriad norms remained a mystery. And the worst part was she would not have known of impending disaster until it was too late.
When they arrived at Howe House, Barrington exited the carriage and handed Florence down. Ernest stepped to the sidewalk, turned, and lifted Henrietta into his arms. Shuffling her in his grasp, he carried her into the foyer, and she buried her face into the curve of his neck as she wept.
“Crawford, have a hot bath prepared for Miss Graham, and send for her lady’s maid.” Before the butler could respond, Ernest continued upstairs. At the landing, he veered down the hall that led to her chamber, and he did not halt until he eased her to the bed. “Have Maisy undress you, dismiss her for the night, and then get into the tub. I will return and tend you, myself.”
Henrietta wanted to answer him, but she could not stop crying long enough to form a response, so she merely nodded.
“My little bird, please, calm yourself, because I comprehend what lies at the heart of your distress, and I believe I have a solution that will suit us.” In an achingly tender expression, which encouraged a fresh spate of tears, because she would go to her grave before disappointing him, he bestowed upon her a gentle kiss. “Now, do as I say, and do not fret, because we will not be long apart, and I will work until dawn to ease your distress.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Maisy loomed in the entry and averted her stare. “But Crawford bade me report to Miss Graham.”
“That is all right, Maisy.” With a sly smile Henrietta did not quite understand, Ernest stretched tall but never broke their connection. “You may be the first to wish us merry, because Miss Graham has just consented to be my wife.”