Epilogue #2
Hetty had discovered that while Mrs Fairway often remarked that The Dog and Duck wasn’t fit to be considered competition to The Mermaid, she was still fiercely jealous of any patrons who dared to frequent it.
Hetty exchanged a glance with Mrs King, who smiled placidly. “Oh, they’ll be back in time. As if Jasper would miss one of your delicious cakes?”
Mrs Fairway preened a little at this. “True,” she remarked, tweaking a napkin a tiny degree to the right.
“Now, we only hope that the weather is kind to us,” Mrs King said, eyeing the rather overcast sky with concern before she hurried off to greet the new arrivals.
Though Mrs King had arranged the party only that morning, assuring everyone that it was an informal little gathering to celebrate among friends, the guest list was still an impressive one.
Hetty looked around, delighted to see Gee-Gee and her grandmother sitting together and gossiping happily. The Duke of Hawkney had even condescended to make an appearance, bringing with him a wickedly handsome man whom Hetty recognised at once as the Earl of Sheringham.
“My Lady Henrietta,” the earl said, executing a polite bow. “How delightful to see you again and looking perfectly ravishing as always. I understand congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you, yes, my lord,” Hetty said with a smile.
She rather liked the earl, who was not in the usual run of dull aristocrats and had an acerbic tongue one would do well to avoid.
Tonight, however, she had no interest in verbal sparring with the amusing fellow, for she had spied her husband arriving on the terrace with Mr King.
Without considering how it might look, she gave the man a rather inelegant apology.
“I beg your pardon, but if you will excuse me, Mr Bramwell has just arrived.”
Hetty hurried away without a backward glance.
The Duke of Hawkney glanced at his friend, interested to see how this rather curt dismissal had been received.
Sherry turned a mournful gaze upon him, putting his hand on his heart.
“Dismissed, by God, and for her husband. What is the world coming to? Am I losing my touch, Hawk, tell me honestly. Do you know, I thought I saw a white hair this morning and almost swooned. Happily, Morris assured me it was simply the sunlight shining upon it, glinting, you know. Still, it gave me a turn,” he said with a sigh.
“Pack it in,” Hawkney muttered, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t swoon if you found me with my throat cut, you hard-hearted devil, so you may stop play acting the frivolous dandy. I’ve known you too long.”
Sherry smiled, a slow, devilish smile that Hawkney had long ago learned to recognise as one that spelled trouble. “Is she here?”
Hawkney stiffened. “Is who here?” he demanded, though he had a prickling niggle of unease that he knew precisely of whom Sherry referred to.
“Why, your little bluestocking, of course. I’m simply desperate to meet her.”
A jolt of something electric and unsettling shot through Hawkney at his words, upsetting him to such a degree that he spoke rather more harshly than he’d intended.
“She is not my anything, Sheringham, but she is an unwed lady with no relations to look out for her, so I would take it very ill should you decide to make her the object of your curiosity.”
Sherry gazed at him with an arrested expression that only increased Hawkney’s irritation. He ought not to have reacted so. To react at all showed emotion, which he never did, and Sherry damn well knew it. He cleared his throat.
“And, no, to answer your question. She is not here,” he replied tersely.
“A pity,” Sherry replied softly, before wandering off to pay his respects to the dowagers.
Hawkney let out a breath, watching him go, and decided he would make it his business to ensure Sheringham and Miss Halfpenny never crossed paths.
“Well, my lady, this is a rather lovely gathering.”
Hetty leaned into Gideon, gazing up at him with the kind of besotted expression she suspected was only allotted to newly married ladies.
To be fair, Gideon’s expression was equally doting as he gazed down at her.
He lowered his head, whispering in her ear, “Lovely as it is, I’d still rather take you upstairs and—”
Hetty bit her lip, shivering with delight as hit warm breath fluttered against her skin, and Gideon explained precisely how he’d prefer to spend his time. She tried and failed to give him a stern look of reprimand.
“Later,” she promised, struggling to keep the laughter from her voice. “For now, we must socialise.”
“Must we?” he said with a sigh, and Hetty’s heart squeezed with affection. He would never be the life and soul of the party, he simply wasn’t that kind of man, moreover, he looked a little tired, if exceptionally happy. The last weeks had been rather eventful after all.
“We must, but only—”
“There you are,” Cilly exclaimed, rushing up to Hetty and pressing a glass of champagne into her hand. “Isn’t this a marvellous gathering, and isn’t everyone marvellous? I think it’s marvellous.”
Hetty eyed Cilly warily. She had been a little… edgy the past few days, unnaturally effervescent, like the contents in a champagne bottle in the moment before the cork flew.
“Marvellous,” Hetty agreed cautiously. “How many of those have you had?” she asked, gesturing to the glass Cilly was sipping from.
“Oh, not many. Three, four…six? I forget.”
“Perhaps I’d better fetch a glass of lemonade?” Gideon suggested, to which Hetty turned a grateful smile upon him.
“Stuff the lemonade,” Cilly said crossly. “I do wish the pair of you would stop cosseting me. I’m very happy that you are both so happy, but I’m in no mood to be babied.” She turned on her heel only to walk directly into Gideon’s brother.
“Ooof!”
Damian stepped back with a muttered oath as champagne spilled down the immaculate silk of his pale-yellow waistcoat.
Cilly scowled, glaring up at the Viscount. “You are in my way,” she said tightly.