Chapter 14
Henry subtly loosened his cravat for the third time that morning.
Every few minutes another member of the party came down for breakfast and sent Henry’s heart rate into dangerous territory.
Especially if it was a woman, which excepting their hostess, he’d previously ignored in favor of the men.
But now, thanks to his sister, he had a vested interest in each and every one.
And it terrified him more than the likelihood of pirates on the island.
Which of these young ladies would appreciate a week-long flirtation and not be hurt when it ended?
None of them.
Devil take it, that was why women came to parties like this, was it not? To expand their social circle—to be matchmade. Anyone would read more than a little into his actions.
Which was why he needed to flirt with all of them.
And somehow he needed to do it while also furthering his main goal: information on piracy. He had better start with women who lived on the island.
He gulped down a bite of toast, avoiding Julia’s eye.
No time like the present.
He turned to the woman at his side. “You look lovely this morning, Miss Watts.” It was true. The young lady might not be called a diamond, but she was dressed in the first air of fashion and had a genial expression gracing her face.
She seemed startled at his attention and even glanced over her shoulder as if to check if he was speaking to someone else. But then she smiled—a bit halfheartedly—and dipped her head. “Thank you.”
“You live nearby, do you not?”
“Oh. No. My aunt does, though. I am from Hertfordshire.”
Thunder and turf.
“I see. And are you enjoying your visit?”
“Very much so. My aunt is a delight, and Windvale is incredible. Mr. Warren and I are to tour the portrait gallery this morning. Oh, there he is now. If you will excuse me.”
Henry smiled, eyes catching Julia’s, who raised a brow, before scanning the room for his next victim. Or, rather, his next performance.
“Lady Hemmersley.” The woman in question turned heavily lashed eyes on him as he approached. As Henry understood it, she lived on an estate at the south end of the island with her grandfather.
He settled in the chair beside her, leaning an elbow on the table. “You seem nearly done with your breakfast. Might I interest you in a walk through the gardens?”
She gave him a long look and glanced at her aunt before answering. “Ah, I apologize, Sir Henry. I am already engaged this morning.”
He nodded. This would work perfectly. If no one was available, then he could tell Julia he tried his best, and move on for the morning. “No apologies needed. I shall endeavor to secure your time earlier when next I seek it.”
Lady Hemmersley gave a perfunctory smile, then rose from the table.
Her meal was not even half finished, but she abandoned it even still.
She gave a wide berth to Lieutenant Shelbourne, who sat indolently in the corner, appearing for all the world as if he’d been up half the night drinking. Likely in Dunsmore.
“My daughter was just expressing a desire for a turn about the gardens.”
Slowly, Henry turned to see Mrs. Fawcet sitting a few seats down the table, gesturing across to her daughter.
The young woman was a loose acquaintance of Henry’s, and he had to admit to a bit of surprise that her mother would throw her at him.
He supposed his title helped, even if his appearance in society—or lack thereof—did not.
Miss Fawcet ducked her head, but Henry stepped forward, accepting defeat to his wishes. “Were you? I should love to accompany you.”
The woman glanced at her mother. “Oh. Well, certainly, Sir Henry. Thank you. I am ready now, if you wish it.”
“There is no need to rush. You are more than welcome to finish your meal.” Though perhaps it would be nice to get it over with.
That wasn’t particularly charitable. Miss Fawcet seemed nice enough, and she was rather attractive. Yet he felt no desire to spend the morning with her.
Her eyes strayed over Henry’s shoulder. An unidentifiable emotion flashed across her face, but then she met his eye. “No, I am ready. Shall we?”
He stood back while she rose from the chair, then offered his arm.
Miss Fawcet took it gently, and they began their trek out of the room toward the garden.
Henry managed not to look behind him to see if Julia was noticing his efforts.
He was certain her eyes were trained on them that very moment, regardless.
They spoke on light topics as they walked. Her family. His waistcoat. The weather. Essentially, by the time they were a few strides into the gardens, they had exhausted all readily available subjects.
Silence fell but for the crunching of the path beneath their feet. At least they were far enough from Julia now that he did not need to play up the ruse. But something to break the quiet would be appreciated. As she was from London herself, she would be no help in his information gathering.
They traversed a corner, and Henry was surprised to see a figure standing in the middle of the path, basket on arm, and shears in the act of cutting a long-stemmed rose.
“Mrs. Seymour,” Miss Fawcet greeted.
Their hostess straightened, smiling. Deep red curls swung, grazing her cheekbones. “Miss Fawcet, what a fine morning for a stroll.” But then her eyes alighted on just whom she was strolling with, and they narrowed marginally. “And Sir Henry. How do you do?”
“Well, thank you. Those are beautiful blooms you’ve chosen.” She might have decided he was sent to Coventry, but he would not treat her likewise.
She looked down at her basket. “Thank you.”
Their trio stood awkwardly for several shifting moments. Mrs. Seymour blocked their forward progress but did not seem to notice.
“What are the flowers for, Mrs. Seymour?” Miss Fawcet asked at long last.
“Oh, just a few blooms to fill vases in the house.” Her eyes flicked to Henry, then away.
Miss Fawcet nodded. “They are lovely.”
“Thank you.” Her glance landed again on Henry, and she seemed almost derisive in her perusal. “You are feeling better now, I hope?”
“I had meant to ask the same, actually,” Miss Fawcet added quickly.
He ducked his head, his neck growing hot. “Better than ever.”
Mrs. Seymour’s hands were tight on her basket. “Good. I apologize, I am blocking your way.”
They all smiled obligingly as their hostess moved to the side of the path.
It was not a large path—Henry’s arm brushed hers as he passed.
He looked down at the connection, then met Mrs. Seymour’s equally surprised eyes.
The moment seemed to hang in the air between them for an elongated second.
But then they were past, and Henry returned his attention to the lady he was walking with.
She really was quite pretty. Light hair, wide eyes, a seemingly happy disposition.
But there was something more than pretty in Mrs. Seymour—something striking.
Particularly her vibrant hair. It was natural that any other lady would pale in her presence.
If only he could flirt with her for a few days.
A week ago he might have. But now she seemed to dislike even his eye contact.
Besides, admitting everything to Julia had somehow made it even more real.
He would feel a bounder if he now toyed with his hostess’s emotions, knowing he had no intention of acting on them.
Henry cleared his throat, feeling ever more uncomfortable. “Do you enjoy the summer, Miss Fawcet?”
“Oh, not particularly. It is far too hot.”
Henry nodded. Personally, he enjoyed the heat. “How do you usually spend the summers?”
They held a respectable distance between them even with her on his arm.
“Either at home or with friends. I am dear friends with the daughter of the Duke of Stafford. We had hoped to go to Bath together this summer. But she is traveling with her new husband, so our trip must wait.”
Henry nodded. Stafford, yes. Two daughters married in recent years, if he was not mistaken. One to the infamous Lord Norwich. He’d hated that man at one time, but found none of the animosity remained for the earl who’d stolen away a woman he’d been interested in.
She’d been an heiress. One of those who had taught him his lesson on chasing money attached to skirts.
“And you, Sir Henry?”
How long had they been walking? Long enough that he might begin steering them back to the house?
“Ah, I am usually tied up with business affairs during the summer months.” And all the other months. Covert poverty was exhausting. He slowly turned them down a path that should return to the house.
“Have you made any friends here thus far?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, “everyone is very amiable.”
“Did you know anyone before coming?”
She shook her head. “Lord Jennings and I crossed paths a time or two. And Lord Danbury and I share many of the same acquaintances, but I’ve not seen him for some time now.”
That topic spent, they fell quiet again. And remained quiet until they had neared the house. Henry began to feel the weight of discomfort. Was this how his entire week would be? Small talk and silence with every marriageable woman at the party?
“Thank you for accompanying me to the gardens. I cannot imagine a better way to enjoy the beauty than with a young lady such as yourself on my arm.”
She did not blush or giggle away his compliment, but she did smile and say, “Thank you for the invitation. Will you be joining us for the theatrical? The parts have not all been cast.”
Henry hadn’t planned on it, but he supposed he ought to. It would be another opportunity to subtly question members of the party.
And flirt with the rest.
He returned her to her mother with haste. She was in the drawing room with Julia and a handful of others.
He met his sister’s appraising eye. Would Miss Fawcet be enough to satiate Julia for the day, or would he need to charm someone else over lunch?
Not that he’d been particularly charming to Miss Fawcet, but his sister did not know that.
He was about to make his escape when Julia came to his side, head cocked and eyes sharp.
“Well done, brother. Though your walk was rather short. I do hope you intend to better come to know Miss Fawcet. Perhaps over lunch?”
Henry groaned internally but affixed a broad smile on his face. “I do not know that Miss Fawcet and I are well matched. But perhaps I shall, as you say, better come to know her. Will you be joining us for the theatrical?”
Her gaze was scrutinizing. “No, I do not think so. I have some correspondence to see to.”
He bowed to her. Far deeper than he needed to for his own sister. The gesture worked though, as a smile seemed to tug at her mouth when he stood again.
“I am off then, to win myself a prized role in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Try your hardest not to envy me, if you will.”