Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
After an hour or two of fitful sleep, Henrietta descended the stairs of Hines House with her old German riding habit and a mission.
Her debate had galloped away from her, and likely all hopes of being accepted into the Minerva Society, or indeed into any polite circles.
Darien had come for her, held her close, delivered her.
Even though her father had sent his brother to his death in Mysore, paying for British wars.
Though she had spirited away what might be his child.
And she had lied to him, twice, and to herself as well, pretending his kiss had stirred nothing within her.
She felt something like relief at having everything broken.
Her world was coming apart at the seams, but she saw her place in it.
Plain old Henrietta Wardley-Hines, reformer, champion of the oppressed.
Not fashionable. Not dashing. Not a girl who would interest Lord Daring.
A person no one was likely to pay any attention to without her father’s fortune at her back.
Plain Henrietta Wardley-Hines, under the possible taint of treason.
If she were to be taken up as a traitor to the Crown, there were a few things she needed to settle first. James and the two footmen, bonded by their adventures of the evening, bore her back to the Bishopsgate watch house, where Henrietta dangled before the magistrate a purse large enough to cover the fines for all six of her younger cellmates.
Mame had already paid her fine, recited the justice’s piece for him, so well did she know it, and hurried back to her tavern before her husband could sell it away from her, as he’d threatened to do.
The Sisters of Benevolence Hospital was still bursting at the seams, but the matron welcomed the new girls with warm efficiency.
Henrietta wondered how many of them would stay.
Many times, those who sought refuge in the Hospital went back to their old circumstances, hoping to improve them.
It was easier, sometimes, to return to a life with hardships one knew rather than make the difficult foray into the unknown.
As she had forayed into the beau monde and made an utter hash of it. No more. She knew her place.
Her family was assembled in the blue parlor when she returned, and Henrietta braced herself before she stepped through the door.
This was what she had most feared: burdening her family with shame and disapprobation.
They were all there: Lady Mama, Charley, Marsibel, and Aunt Althea.
The people she would hurt most with her fall into disgrace.
She burst into tears when Lady Mama rose and enveloped her in a deep, long hug that smelled of talc and fresh baby.
“Hetty, dear, you mustn’t cry. Haven’t you seen the entrance hall? And Dearbody has worn himself out this morning trotting back and forth with our callers and their cards.”
She showed Henrietta the piles of cards and flowers. The showiest arrangement was from Lady Bess, with a note declaring Henrietta’s debate a smashing success. The Minerva Society had been mentioned in every paper in London and would be talked of well outside Middlesex.
Marisbel, in a smart new walking gown and a jaunty hat, sat beside Henrietta as though she would personally protect her against accusations of treason did Prime Minister Pitt burst through the door.
As the maids ferried in trays of refreshments, reporting the number of newsmen Dearbody had turned off the stoop, Charley paced the small parlor, hashing out the consequences of Henrietta’s act.
“So we owe Daring for springing you from the watchhouse.” Charley tugged at his cravat as if it were choking him. “Famous! And then he brought in Uncle Pell when I—er…”
“Retired to the arms of your light-o’-love. I suppose the King won’t let me set foot in his library now.” Henrietta tried to keep her voice light, but Charley’s dismal outlook was depressing her spirits.
“The King is the least of it!” Charley exclaimed. “You’ll be cut at all society functions, and likely I shall be too. And what of Marsi? Who’s going to offer for the cousin of a criminal protester?”
“You mustn’t rate her on my account,” Marsibel said with a pretty color in her cheeks.
“Aunt Althea, I am sorry to be such a trial after all you have done for me,” Henrietta said. “But you must not let Lord Pinochle court Marsi.”
“I should say not,” Aunt Althea said, her lip curling in disgust. “Lady Bessington informed us that he all but handed you over to Pitt’s officers. I have no doubt your uncle shall have a thing or two to say to him.”
Henrietta sat in amazed silence. Aunt Althea, on her side!
“What I cannot fathom,” her aunt went on, “is how Lord Daring has come to interest himself so much in this family’s affairs.”
Henrietta pushed away the image of Darien’s face, clouded with concern and righteous wrath, hovering so close as he carried her through the watchhouse. How she’d unthinkingly rested her head on his arm in the carriage.
“I had no idea how convenient it is to have a marquess one can conjure at any moment,” Henrietta said. “It makes just anyone fall into line with one’s wishes.”
“Lord Darien,” Lady Clarinda reflected, “would have no little influence of his own were he declared Langford’s heir apparent.”
And yet, if Henrietta understood, he didn’t wish to inherit. What earthly reason could he have? It was the way of the world that lands and titles passed to the heirs male. There were plenty of peers about town who funded their dissolute lives with incomes they had inherited, not earned.
Charley gave his sister a shrewd stare. “I told you before, Hetty, he won’t marry you.”
Her cheeks tightened with a treacherous blush. “Lord Darien and I have agreed that we would not suit.”
“I should say not,” Aunt Althea exclaimed.
“Best you don’t develop a tendre for him then, you goose,” Charley said. “You’re a millwright’s daughter—”
“A knight’s daughter,” Clarinda reminded him gently.
“As if I would be such a ninnyhammer, Charley,” Henrietta said.
“Many have been,” Charley retorted. “Daughters of dukes.”
“Sir Charleton is right, in this instance,” Aunt Althea said. “It will be proper to send him a note of thanks, but that must make an end of it. It will not do to be seen too much in Lord Darien’s pocket, Hetty.”
Henrietta stood. It was time to make some things clear, especially to her foolish heart, which kept conjuring hazy recollections of Darien’s strong arms about her, her body nestled against his. He did not belong to her, however much it felt like he did, or ought to.
“Lord Darien only ever concerned himself with me because he wanted to approach Uncle Pell for advice. In the interim, I involved myself in the affair of Lady Celeste’s confinement, in which Darien has some interest. I expect he will send his solicitor to deal with me on the matter of the child, and that will be the conclusion of our acquaintance. ” How her heart ached at the thought.
Aunt Althea had already established her opinion on the wisdom of Henrietta’s sheltering an illegitimate child, and she’d been subdued by Clarinda’s quiet declaration that the child had a home at Hines House as long as Henrietta wished. Althea saw the wisdom of not pursuing this tack.
“All to the best that your association with him is over, Hetty,” Aunt Althea said instead. “Mr. Rutherford Bales has invited Marsibel to view Hamilton’s collection of Greek vases at the British Museum this afternoon. You might go with them as chaperone. It will be a respectable, quiet outing.”
“Do you think I ought to show my face so soon?”
“Why not? You did nothing wrong save get caught up with the radical sentiments of Lady Bessington’s little society and be betrayed by a lord who ought to have behaved like a gentleman. If you hide, it will appear you deserve to be disgraced.”
“Very well.” Henrietta nodded, though her chest hurt. It was good to have her family on her side. It was good to hope she still had a future. Even if it did not include Lord Darien Bales.
She looked into the nursery before she went to dress and found her half-sisters utterly absorbed with their new charge.
Matilda, nine, instructed Henrietta on how to hold the baby while Amelia fussed with the embroidered blanket.
Sophia leaned on Henrietta’s knee and Charlotte on her shoulder as Henrietta sat in the wooden rocking chair.
Fanny would have stood behind her, making faces at the child over her shoulder.
Her absence was as sharp as a presence, but the great wave of grief pummeled less these days.
Henrietta’s heart pinched as she stared into the foggy blue eyes of the infant, admired the peak of her nose, the folded-in mouth, the impossibly tiny eyelashes. The babe was a downy weight in her arms, a solid nugget swaddled in the softest Irish linen.
She couldn’t allow herself to be charged with treason; she had a child to take care of.
Darien’s child, possibly. It was a small part of him she could claim and love.
While Duprix fastened her into a Pierrot jacket of worked muslin over a double petticoat, Henrietta pondered her choices.
She could withdraw to the north. Hodge might refuse to sell her his mill, but she still had Birch Vale.
It wouldn’t matter to her tenants whether she was a social success; the halls of St. James and the vast London houses were as remote as Persian palaces to most of them.
Once Jasper and Lady Mama returned north as well, Henrietta would have little reason to be in London.
She had been foolish in her aspirations to the Minerva Society.
How had she ever thought she might belong among those women of intellect and influence?
She couldn’t even lead a simple debate on the question of women’s rights.