Chapter 13 #2
“Milady. I am on the board for the Sisters of Benevolence Hospital for Distressed Women and Foundlings,” she stammered as the duke’s daughter surveyed her with a look of scorn. “It is the mission of the Sisters to minister to children and their mothers in…er, displaced circumstances.”
“I’m hardly displaced, am I?” Celeste hissed. She pointed at the maid sitting beneath the window. “A prisoner, more like! Trapped here by my parents, may they rot in hell. And you.” She turned on her brother.
“You know what you need to do,” Freddy barked, his face stormy. “Give us a name, so I can call out the knave and drop him in his tracks.”
Henrietta’s stomach clenched. “I beg your pardon?”
“The blackguard who put this in her!” Freddy gestured. “Wasn’t the Honorable Havering, who won’t have her now. Who’s the man, Celeste?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Celeste made a choking sound, half sob, half screech. “My dear, dear darling—he’s said nothing. He means to abandon me here!”
She stumbled toward the bed, made up for a lying-in. The anger in the room, the lack of fresh air, and the stench from the chamber pot turned Henrietta’s stomach. She saw no books, papers, magazines, or news sheets anywhere. Very different from her own rooms.
She could not help examining Lady Celeste.
This was the woman Darien had taken to his bed, taken pleasure in, even if there had been no love in it.
She had pretty brown hair and bold, strong features.
The loose slammerkin showed generous breasts and a plump bottom.
So Darien liked his women fleshy and soft.
Small wonder he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in Henrietta.
“Darien wishes to provide for the babe,” she said quietly. “And you.”
“And what would you know about it?” Celeste rubbed the side of her belly and pierced Henrietta with a scathing look. “You’re not anyone.”
“Wardley-Hines.” Freddy nodded. “Charley’s bluestocking sister. The one everyone makes fun of.”
“I know a responsible wet nurse,” Henrietta said, her face warming with mortification.
Charley had warned her against appearing eccentric; now she saw how it might work against her cause.
“She’s a clean, healthy girl from the country.
You can send the babe to the Sisters of Benevolence. They will see to its care.”
Celeste’s eyes, a cool, powdery blue, widened suddenly. “So you’re Daring’s new whore. He went from me to you?”
She advanced, and Henrietta fell backward. She could not take her eyes off that turgid belly.
“You mistake the nature of our relationship,” Henrietta said on a gasp.
“Tell him I hate him!” Celeste screamed. “Tell him I hope he goes to hell, the rotter. I’ll never forgive him for ruining me.”
Freddy clasped his arms around her, and his sister struggled in his grip. “Daring, is it?” Freddy exclaimed. “I knew it! He’ll be hearing from my seconds.”
“No,” Henrietta whispered, feeling the blood leave her face. “Can you not simply let him arrange for the babe? He is willing to mend things—”
“How, you little fool?” Freddy snarled. “Look at her! She’s mad as a cat. Utterly ruined. No decent man’ll have her, no matter what m’father pays him. Daring should pay too, with his blood.”
“I want his heart,” Celeste wailed, sagging in her brother’s arms. “I want to rip it out and eat it! My dear darling would have me if not for Daring’s brat.”
For once, Henrietta did the prudent thing.
She made a quick curtsy, hoisted her skirts, and raced out of the room.
Her heels clattered on the grand staircase as shrieks floated down from above.
The butler glided to the door, his face blank and furious at the same time, and Henrietta barely swept her rumpled skirts out the door before Hemsworth slammed it shut.
“Well?” James called, guiding the horses to the curb. “Tied it all up in a bow, have ye?”
“Not quite.” Henrietta nearly tripped hurrying down the broad steps. “Her Grace tried to eat me alive, then Lady Celeste tried to eat me alive, and now Lord Alfred is going to call Lord Darien out in a duel. We must warn him.”
James clucked his tongue in disapproval. “Your cicisbeo’s after all, then?”
“He is not my escort, or my follower, or any other such thing,” Henrietta flared as James helped her into the phaeton.
“Why didn’t he slap a shackle on the nob’s daughter, then? Would’ve hitched myself to that honey wagon, I would’ve.”
“Darien said she was using him to incite the jealousy of another man,” Henrietta said. “Not the one she was affianced to, from the sound of things.”
“Gentry morts,” James scoffed. “Like he’s a Domine Do Little, or a bob tail, an’ that’s why she rattled off. When ye want to play the blanket hornpipe, miss, I hope ye pick a rum bluffer.”
Henrietta’s ears burned as she recalled, once again, Darien’s confusing, masterly kiss.
His broad chest against hers, his arms tight about her back, the heat, the strange contrast of his skin feeling soft and smooth while his body was firm and hard.
His eyes had been full of dusk and shadows as he’d learned toward her, but his kiss had been so aloof, analytical, as if he’d been conducting a scientific experiment.
Frogs jumped about in her belly. She did not want to repeat the experiment, and yet she did.
She urged her horses to a trot as they turned from Portman Square onto Seymour Street, which was clogged with traffic. “James, I am about to do something very unadvisable. There will be consequences if anyone finds out.”
“Like I’d cry rope on you,” James cried. “Rather ye box my ears and give me a powder and turn me off without a character. Ey, now, Miss Hetty, that van driver don’t see you! Mind you don’t catch ’is wheels or you’ll turn us into the gutter, and I don’t care to get my calf-clingers muddy.”