Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Amarquess’s son upstairs, a duke’s son in the parlor, a viscount’s heir leaving his card; Lady Mama made no secret of her delight at the quality of persons circulating through her home. But she was just as surprised as Henrietta when the Earl of Warrefield knocked on the door of Hines House.
“Papa!” Clarinda said, ringing for tea. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Need to be in my seat if there’s talk of war.” The earl handed Dearbody his hat and walking stick. “Havey-cavey business coming down the line. What on earth are they thinking across the Channel? Bunch of boisterous frogs.”
“I believe the Jacobins have many valid complaints,” Henrietta said, sorting the stack of correspondence. “Representation in government, for one, which was exactly what the American colonists quarreled with us about.”
“Hetty, you featherbrain,” Warrefield exclaimed. “Is it true Pitt’s bringing a suit against you for disturbing the King’s peace?”
Henrietta dropped a letter through nerveless fingers. “Lady Bess warned me there might be a complaint. She thinks it a strong advert for the Minerva Society, but I cannot say I like the idea.”
“I should say not! Ain’t her neck if you get tossed in the watch house again.”
“You heard about that?” Henrietta asked in a faint voice. “Lady Bess thinks the attention will be good for our causes, and now that the National Assembly in France has abolished slavery, she thinks our petition—”
“Oh, hang your petition,” Warrefield exclaimed.
“You’ll never get the Lords to go for it, and that’s that.
But you will season a fine stew for your father if your name gets drawn through the muck, and he’s responsible for you, you know!
What if they seize his assets and have him declared traitor to the Crown?
Pitt’s mad enough about this French business to do it. ”
Henrietta sat down next to Lady Clarinda.
So this was the heart of the earl’s concern.
The Wardley-Hines fortune, after the union of their families, had refortified the Warrefield name and dignity by replenishing its coffers, and his successful son-in-law continued to quietly subsidize many of the earl’s favorite pursuits that his estates, large and profitable as they were, could not support in the manner he desired.
“What do you suggest, Papa?” Clarinda inquired.
“Well, hanged if I know,” her father snapped. “Where’s Pell Mell when you need him? He ought to come up with some defense. A Whig if I ever saw one, but he’s a head on his shoulders for all that.”
“I did mean to go north,” Henrietta said. “Look in on some of Papa’s mills, then Birch Vale. Though I should hate to leave—”
“Clary?” The earl frowned and shot a look at his daughter. “She can’t travel now. Too close to her time, and too fat to fit in a carriage besides.”
“Yes, Lady Mama will stay here until after her confinement,” Henrietta answered. “But I have other…obligations.” Her thoughts went to the man upstairs, who was tossing in a feverish sleep, and higher still, where a new infant had command of the nursery.
“Well, we must get you out of the scrape somehow,” the earl groused. “My countess will plague me until you do. Already afraid she can’t hold her head up, what with you running around with this Daring.”
“And why should she be concerned if I have been seen once or twice with Lord Darien?” Henrietta asked, indignant.
The earl stared. “Tare an’ hounds! You think we want our name on the list of families he’s ruined?
Highcastle’s already getting laughed out of White’s, can’t find his daughter or her lover or her throw.
The countess will have my hide if we get grouped in with them.
I like Langford, but I must say, he got a rotten deal with his sons.
Lost his first heir, can’t find his second, and can’t bring to heel the third.
Makes me glad I had daughters, trouble though they be. ”
“To have Papa in town!” Clarinda murmured after her sire took his leave. “I suppose I shall have to call on the countess, though perhaps you oughtn’t come with me, Hetty. At the very least we must invite her to dine.”
“I knew I should have left town,” Henrietta muttered. “A suit against me! For treason, or something else? Lady Mama, I never meant to bring down such trouble on your and Papa’s heads.”
“Jasper will sort everything,” Clarinda said. “Did Lady Bessington promise to call today? My word, there has been quite a parade of nobility in these rooms. Dearbody is beside himself with joy.”
But even Clarinda was astonished by their next visitor.
“The Marquess of Langford, mum.” Dearbody hovered in the doorway of Darien’s chamber, gazing with wonder upon the card he held.
Henrietta sat on Darien’s bed, repairing his shoulder after he’d torn out the surgeon’s stitches with another nightmare. Clarinda sat in a low chair against the wall, embroidering baby linens. Darien scowled like a man who had been shot and was not taking pleasure in his recovery.
“Devil take it. Rufie will have told him something that put a bee in his bonnet, I don’t doubt. Lady Clarinda, I apologize profoundly.”
“I haven’t seen your father in an age,” Clarinda murmured. “Bring him down, Hetty, when he’s dressed?”
But the marquess wasn’t content to wait. Henrietta heard a deep male voice in the hall when Clarinda stepped out. “Lady Clarinda, you will forgive the intrusion, but I must see my son.”
“Milord Langford. You might have heard that I have the honor to be addressed as Lady Wardley-Hines now. Lord Darien will join us as soon as he is able.”
“I must see him immediately. I have several appointments today, and I’m afraid they cannot wait.”
“I see,” said Clarinda. “How distressing to learn your son was injured in a matter of honor.”
“What, the duel? Not surprised at all he got into a mill. Rather expecting it. No, I am here to stop this marriage!”
“Oh?” A long pause ensued. “Oh. Then by all means, milord.”
A tall, broad man strode into the room. He was built on Darien’s lines but heavier, with a powdered white wig and Darien’s piercing blue eyes.
Henrietta froze with her needle in the air.
The marquess froze as his eyes followed the line of thread to his son’s bare chest, taking in Darien sitting on the bed clad in nothing but his stockings and breeches. His lordship paled.
“If it isn’t my worthy sire,” Darien drawled. “Come to read me another juniper lecture?”
“Scandal enough you’ve engaged in another duel, puppy,” the marquess barked. “What’s this Rufie says about you getting married?”
“Henrietta, dear,” Clarinda said, reseating herself with her embroidery, “the Marquess of Langford. My lord, this is Henrietta Wardley-Hines, daughter of Sir Jasper Wardley-Hines.”
The marquess glared at Henrietta. “I mean no insult, Clarinda,” he growled, “but my son cannot marry your daughter.”
“Finally!” Henrietta exclaimed. “Someone who can talk some sense into him. I’ve had no success in the matter.”
This gave the marquess pause. His pointed gaze swung to his son. “You’ll want to excuse the ladies while we discuss the matter. This is between us.”
“As you can see, I am presently occupied.” Darien winced as Henrietta threaded the needle through his flesh. “As you intruded upon us, we might as well have it out here, and Henry can bring up any reasons you’ve forgotten. She’s already gone through most of the arguments why I can’t marry her.”
“Listen to your father, Darien,” Henrietta scolded, keeping her eyes on her task.
She’d donned her old muslin gown that morning and pinned her hair up in a floppy lace cap.
Perhaps her looking like a scullery maid might add weight to his lordship’s argument.
His was likely the only voice his son would heed.
“Well, you can’t,” the marquess said. “When I told you to get married, pup, I didn’t mean cast yourself away on anyone. A tradesman’s daughter, of all things!”
“Although you will have heard, I am sure, that Jasper was recently made Knight Bachelor,” Clarinda murmured from her seat. “And Hetty’s brother, Sir Charleton, is the 8th Baronet Wardley. So her family is not exactly low. The Wardleys have been long established in Cheshire.”
“Not as long as the Bales have been in Langford,” the marquess snapped. “A woman may marry below her rank, but not a man, and not my heir.”
“That is precisely what I told him,” Henrietta said, setting another stitch in Darien’s skin. “The Hines are tradesmen and farmers’ sons. I doubt any of your friends would receive me. Go on, sir. Objection one—the class difference is too large, and not at all to his credit. Objection two?”
“Money,” the marquess said instantly. “We’re nowhere near dun territory, but you cannot afford to marry where you wish, pup. You’ll need a bride with a handsome dowry.”
“You heard him,” Darien said to Henrietta, watching her fingers with the needle and thread. “Your paltry interest in your father’s mills at Salford will not do, though Sir Jasper tells me you enjoy a profit of several thousand pounds a year.”
“Three, maybe five thousand at most,” Henrietta said. “And the bulk of it is reinvested or goes to saving for mills of my own. Hold still.”
“Wool?” the marquess asked, momentarily diverted.
“No, cotton, most of which comes from India and Belgium since I object to the way that cotton is raised in the Americas. Jasper is known for his innovations,” Henrietta said with pride.
“And I mean to engage your son to engineer a drainage system for my farm. He is a very talented draughtsman, you know.”
“Idle sketches,” the marquess said. “Fine for a lesser gentleman to be a hobbyist, but not the son of a marquess.”
“Did you wed me, you would have my engineering services for free,” Darien said to Henrietta. “Otherwise you will be obliged to pay me substantial fees for my time.”
“Will you please hold still.” Henrietta bit her lip and leaned closer. “I think one or two more stitches will do it.”