Chapter Nine
Hen wasn’t sure how he felt about his outing with Lady Penelope. In many ways he wanted closure, to know what their plan was so that he knew what to do. However, his sudden desire for her left him flatfooted. How could he squire her about Town, perhaps even go so far as to masquerade as her betrothed, if he actually desired her? She’d given him no indication that romance had ever crossed her mind. When he’d set her back on the sidewalk after their curricle ride yesterday, he’d tortured himself by smelling her hair before she stepped away. She smelled like roses, the flower she’d insisted they’d not known one another long enough for him to send to her.
He’d sent pink roses this morning.
Her note of thanks was prompt. Having it arrive before noon was no small expense on her part, and she’d enclosed one of the petals so that he could enjoy the scent and pale blush of the specimen. It was as soft as he knew her skin must be. He’d pressed the petal in one of his favorite books so that he wouldn’t lose it.
He wasn’t sure if even his mother had ever been as patient with his unraveling as Lady Penelope was yesterday. Kit and War were used to it, and watched over him with a concerned eye when it happened in their presence, but they’d never been caring and sympathetic. Rather than fret or fuss like his mother or friends, she had waited quietly until he was ready to speak again. She’d let him cite his preferences and encouraged him to be honest about it. She’d not seemed bothered that his behavior was unusual, only concerned that he be safe and well.
Lady Penelope was, perhaps, the most perfect woman, and he had no idea how to convince her that he was anything more than a wayward gosling she would guide back on its way. She’d volunteered to defend him from women set to entrap him, and nothing more. Now he’d shown her that perhaps she had every reason to be concerned that he couldn’t fend for himself in this world. This was why he so rarely ventured beyond what he knew. Why, even then, he did so with allies close at hand.
To distract himself from the tumult he called Euclid to him and returned to the stables. He usually spent the morning with the horses and their grooms, but rarely the afternoons. His social calendar at this time of year was such that he was often otherwise engaged for the evening, and the afternoon consumed by preparation. The season was thankfully winding down, and he couldn’t help but be relieved to avoid social suppers and balls for the summer.
Prince Eugene trotted out to greet him, the rarely expressed loud meow was a mark of how unusual his afternoon visit was. Hen crouched to scratch the imperious tom behind his ear, attention that Prince Eugene allowed with good grace. Once he stood, the cat rubbed against his boot once and then twined between Euclid’s legs. The hound, well used to the cat, waited until Prince Eugene trotted ahead to lead them into the barn.
Yes, it was best to spend his time here among the animals he understood. His four-legged friends were far more honest in their manner than any person he knew. Their expressions were honest, not masked. Even Lady Penelope likely said things she didn’t mean because she knew it was expected. Everyone of their class knew the ‘right’ answer to various questions.
He went to Hawthorne’s stall. The young bay stepped forward to push his head into Hen’s chest and demand the scratches he preferred. Prince Eugene jumped up on the ledge of the stall door to rub against Hawthorne’s face as well. Euclid sniffed around the area outside the stall door until he found the spot he wanted to lay down. This was one of the few places where Hen felt truly happy, surrounded by the animals he loved best.
It was folly, perhaps, to be so determined to breed racers, but it was one of the few things he’d ever really wanted to do. He wasn’t even predisposed to speed while riding, but there was something about watching a fleet horse cover ground that was inspiring. Humbling. It seemed one of the few times that God bragged about his own creations. A fast horse, flying over the ground, determined to outdo his opponent, was every challenge in life crystalized to a moment. Hen wanted to be part of that, and he was lucky enough to have the funds to try it. To have a family that, even while not understanding his obsession, supported it.
“There you are, sweetheart.” His mother’s cheerful voice carried easily from the open stable door. She took her time coming up the aisle, greeting curious horses with pats and sweet words. While Hen loved and understood animals, animals loved his mother. Horses whickered to her as she passed. Lord Eugene sat and curled his tail around his paws, waiting for his moment of attention as well.
Finally, Lady Greer turned her attention to her son. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as Lady Penelope, with silver streaks in her dark hair and kind eyes. She held his face and peered at him before kissing his cheeks. “I was thinking of inviting the Barshaws to supper, if you are amenable?”
Hen raised his brows.
She laughed. “Even I, with all of my doddering out here in the country, have heard that my son is courting their daughter. It seemed prudent that I reacquaint myself with the family.”
He started to warn her, “There is nothing formal-”
She tapped his nose. “There is nothing formal about a supper among old friends. I wish to see my son with this gel before it might become something formal.”
He smiled at her. “You could have come to any number of suppers and dances this season.”
“Pish,” she said with a laugh. “What is the point of living to the age when you can do anything you want to, if you do not, in fact, do anything you want to?”
“You’re hardly decrepit, mother,” he said gently.
“You won’t be saying that when you’re my age!”
He knew precisely how to change her tune. “Clearly I need not worry about providing you with grandchildren, if you’ll be too old to enjoy them.”
She swatted at his arm. “How dare you, Henry! I’m old enough to do as I like, but more than young enough to enjoy my grandchildren! Besides, the greatest joy is doing what you want to while the list is still long and the body willing.”
He pretended to stumble from her light tap. “Yes, mum, I will keep that in mind. Does father know you’re inviting guests?”
“Come up to the house for supper tonight and we will discuss it.”
That meant she’d already made up her mind and his father’s opinion on it wouldn’t matter. A rare but not unknown happenstance.