Chapter 25 #2
Henrietta squeezed Darien’s arm in sympathy.
He must have known it would end here, with king and father and country all backing him into a corner.
He had fought valiantly to preserve Lucien’s inheritance, but he was a man of honor in the end.
He had proven it with the Pennyroyals, with Celeste, and with her. And if he consented to her conditions—
Her heart thumped against the tight press of the stomacher. Could he really wish to marry her, this complicated, infuriating man?
If he were forced to yield to his father’s suit, he would no longer need her uncle’s influence. And she would not need his name to save her reputation if she might, by some act of divine mercy, survive this afternoon intact.
The herald appeared at the door. “Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Highcastle. The Honorable Lord Alfred Highcastle. The Honorable Lionel Havering, son of the Viscount Bourchier.”
“Don’t recall asking for any of you,” the King riled. “Highcastle, what’s the meaning of this?”
“Told Langford I’d look in,” Highcastle said carelessly. “Though I’ve a mind to let Pitt string the bluestocking up by her thumbs. Daughters fleeing to the Continent.” He glanced at the marquess. “Kittens with claws.”
The marquess rolled his eyes and nodded.
“Is there any word on Lady Celeste?” murmured the Queen.
“They married in St. Denis, but I fear it’s none too safe for them in France,” said the duchess. “We hope to bring them home soon. Langford has promised to buy Mr. Empson a commission.”
“So long as he returns my sketches,” Darien whispered in Henrietta’s ear. “And repays my loan.”
She stifled a gurgle, clutching his arm. With the influx of people, she was beginning to guess what his business of the past few days had been.
“And you?” The King eyed Havering. “Planning a breach of promise suit?”
Havering shrugged. “Daring did me a service, sir. I’m here on his behalf.”
The King turned his protuberant stare to Sir Pelton. “And you’re giving your daughter to a Bales as well. Glad you shook off Pinochle! That ’un spent far too much time with my wastrel son.”
Lady Pomeroy’s nostrils flared, but she pinched her lips shut.
“All right, Pittsy,” His Majesty announced, reveling in his role as puppeteer. “Time to state what claim you’ve got against the future countess of Aldthorpe. Can’t wait to hear this, I must say.”
Henrietta struggled for breath as the prime minister stepped forward. Duprix had laced her stomacher too tightly. She was going to faint from nerves, just like the fragile ladies Miss Wollstonecraft deplored.
She could grovel and be spared, she saw that at once.
But for a full pardon, the prime minister would require her to repudiate her beliefs, to deny the women she had modeled herself on, Lady Bess and Miss Gregoire.
She worried the necklace at her throat. What would her mother have advised her to do?
Her fingers stilled, the answer obvious. Apollonia Wardley had defied convention, propriety, and censure to marry where she willed and support the causes she believed in. Her mother would have been standing next to her, insisting upon a woman’s right to have a choice. Henrietta drew a deep breath.
“This is not a trial, sire,” said Pitt, pointing his nose skyward.
“I only wish to discuss a few questionable remarks that were made on a certain evening under the aegis of the Minerva Society. I have, to that end, invited some witnesses who can attest to the best of their recollection what transpired.”
The herald went to work again. Lady Bessington sailed into the room, an owlish Lord Bessington blinking in her wake.
“Bess? And you brought your leg-shackle!” The King laughed. “Like to know how you got him away from the card table.”
“Your Majesties.” Lady Bessington swept into a curtsy. “We shall retire to Cresswell Castle for the summer and would be honored if Your Majesty would care to come for some shooting.”
“Fox, you scoundrel,” the King shouted as Charles James Fox made his leg. “No blood in my drawing room, hear? The Queen won’t have it.”
“I would not dream of subjecting Her Majesty to such a scene,” said the politician. “I hope Minister Pitt feels the same.”
A somber-looking, elegant man entered behind Fox and made his bow. Henrietta reached out a hand.
“Mr. Equiano. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
His eyes twinkled as he bowed to her. “I believe we share some common interests, Miss Wardley-Hines. Lady Bess told me of your work for the settlers in Sierra Leone. The Sons of Africa approve.”
“My daughter is also a benefactor of the Sisters of Benevolence Hospital for Foundlings and Women in Distressed Circumstances,” Clarinda put in.
She stood composed and graceful on her husband’s arm, yet somehow drew every eye in the room to her and the rounded swell of her middle.
“She and Sir Jasper support several workhouses and hospitals throughout Lancashire, Cheshire, and Derbyshire as well.”
This proud litany, a pointed reminder to Pitt, who was looking more irritated by the moment, gave way to surprise when the herald opened the door to announce the Earl of Warrefield.
“Why, Papa!” Clarinda murmured. “What a pleasure to see you.”
“Eh? You invited me,” said Warrefield, making his bow to Their Majesties.
“Is my granddaughter up to more mischief? Can’t say I’m surprised.
” His eyes raked Darien. “Though if she’s game to take on this one, she’s primed for anything, I’d guess.
” He blinked at the marquess. “God’s teeth, Langford!
Down from the wild reaches of the north? ”
“Warrefield!” The marquess grinned. “New wife keeping you in trim?”
“More lords here than in session,” the earl exclaimed. “Highcastle! What in blazes?” He greeted his crony with a hearty clasp on the back. “Not down in the mouth about that worthless gel of yours, I hope?”
“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth,” the duchess murmured.
Henrietta looked around to find that more people had filed into the room.
Several of them ranged behind Pitt. Fox and Equiano stood against the far wall, opposite the monarchs’ thrones, forming an impromptu spectator’s gallery.
Many more moved behind Henrietta—her family, the Bales men, the Bessingtons.
As Pitt cleared his throat and began a brief and highly biased summary of the events of the evening that led to her arrest, Henrietta noticed that Havering, Warrefield, and the ducal family, while appearing to promenade slowly about the chamber, ended by arranging themselves among her supporters.
She had supporters. Darien stood at ease beside her, leaning on his back leg, his hand on his sword. He looked elegant and careless and in complete command. Her eyes stung with tears.
Once again, he had come to her rescue, and he had brought a small army with him. She wanted to weep with joy, save that looking like a witless pea goose would undermine her claims completely.
He met her eyes with an amused smile. “I invited the Spickeys, but they, for some reason, declined to support your cause.”
Henrietta sniffled. “How did you know they were in attendance?”
“Because I was there also, seated on the pro side, I’ll have you know.
If I hadn’t paused to untangle James, we’d have seen where you were taken.
” He squeezed her hand with his warm larger one.
“James knew where to find your uncle, if not Charley, and he knew every holding cell in the city. It was sheer misfortune we came to the Bishopsgate watch house dead last.”
Darien looked up and addressed the King. “I should like it known, Your Majesty, that in his haste to judge her a traitor, Mr. Pitt’s men placed my betrothed, a gentleman’s daughter, in a cell with…common women.”
“Six of whom she persuaded,” added Lady Bess, “to seek refuge at the Sisters of Benevolence Hospital, which is run by the Minerva Society.”
“Seven,” Henrietta said, on the verge of tears and exasperated with herself for it.
“Mame came to the Sisters after she was beaten and turned out by her husband because she refused to sell her alehouse to settle his debts. Her children have been taken from her, and she nearly lost her life. He sold it, of course, without her consent.”
She looked over the small crowd, then to the prime minister. “I am grateful to you, Mr. Pitt, for the women I met that night. Their stories were illuminating. Do you wish to hear them?”
She went on despite his gesture of dissent.
“Alice’s brother sold her to a friend to settle a gaming debt.
Belinda’s mother thought she was apprenticing her daughter to a seamstress; it was a brothel.
Lena’s father refuses to acknowledge her because her mother was enslaved.
Phoebe sells herself because her father spends the family’s income on gin.
Tabitha and Cecilia have no father at all. ”
She lifted her chin. “Their stories, Mr. Pitt, prove the points I put forward at my debate. I do not believe it is treason to acknowledge what happens to the vulnerable in this society we have built. Not just women and children but the lame, the ill, the elderly—what happens when they have no one to protect them and no means to see to their own welfare?”
“You propose that they revolt against their guardians,” Pitt said sternly. “To cast down the rules they believe have failed them.”
“Not at all,” Henrietta replied. “I propose—”
“To rebel,” Pitt emphasized, gliding forward. “Against the King, our protector and provider under the law.”
“To reform the law,” Henrietta said stubbornly, “so that it benefits all the King’s subjects.”