The colonel made his hands into fists at his sides. “What do you propose we do, then?”
Giles’s gaze once again fastened on Henrietta. He saw an expression of intense concentration was on her face while she listened to that country bumpkin, Mr. Shire. The sight made him strangely uncomfortable. “I believe I shall consult with Miss Lanford. Perhaps she can enlighten us as to Lady Fuddlesby’s motives. The more information we have, the better decision we can reach about our next step.”
Colonel Colchester took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You have the right of it, my boy. But it will be deuced hard to do nothing in the meantime.”
The duke looked at him sympathetically. “I know you are fond of the lady, sir, and I promise no harm will come to her.”
The colonel’s answer was gruff. “When my wife, Mary, died, I thought I would never care for another lady. I was wrong.”
Giles grasped his godfather’s shoulder. “Your wife would have wanted you to be happy again, sir. Lady Fuddlesby is a good woman, and quite ... out of the common way.”
“Quite,” Colonel Colchester agreed, and smiled, a twinkle in his brown eyes. Then he added with a piercing look, “As is her niece, my boy. From the looks of things, Mr. Shire thinks so, too.”
Winterton’s hand dropped to his side. His voice grew chilly. “Mr. Shire, as a well-to-do landowner, would be a perfect match for Miss Lanford. They are of the same station in life, and if the rumors about the man are true, Mr. Shire’s devotion to country ways and horses would delight Squire Lanford.”
The colonel looked at his godson with irritation and said, “Balderdash! The man looks a great bore to me, and pretty Miss Lanford does not deserve that. I tell you she has a respectable birth and a fair-sized dowry. She is intelligent, spirited, and kind-natured. She merits a gentleman, of any rank.”
“You have persuaded me Miss Lanford is a veritable paragon, sir,” the duke stated in a bored tone.
“If only I had,” Colonel Colchester said huffily, and walked away to join Lady Fuddlesby, leaving the duke to stand alone in brooding silence.
During this time over on the settee, Henrietta thought if Mr. Shire uttered another word about horses, she would surely scream. Had she not heard enough about the beasts all her life?
She pushed such uncharitable thoughts from her mind. Mr. Shire possessed many fine qualities and would make a respectable, solid husband. And she could do worse. She knew that from her experience with Lord Baddick. If she only tried harder, a fondness for Edmund Shire might develop. Since she must marry, she really could not hope for more when considering a suitable gentleman.
Hard on the heels of these worthy thoughts, her treacherous gaze sought out the duke. He was in what looked to be a serious conversation with the colonel. She wished Winterton might come over and save her from Mr. Shire’s company.
She desperately wanted to speak to the duke. The exchange of looks between herself and His Grace during the diva’s performance had caused her pulse to surge with excitement. Despite his bewildering and sometimes confusing manner toward her, he held her heart. He had, she realized, from the moment she met him at her parents’ table.
As if Henrietta’s fairy godmother had granted her wish, she saw the colonel move away from the conversation, and a few minutes later Winterton crossed the room purposefully to stand in front of her.
Mr. Shire rose: With a heart suddenly beating hard, Henrietta performed the introductions.
Unfortunately, just then Lady Fuddlesby walked up to her niece, remarking it was time they took their leave. Henrietta rose and cast her a speaking look, but the lady’s attention was focused on Colonel Colchester, who stood next to her, and she missed the plea.
The colonel said, “My dear lady, you must allow me to see you and Miss Lanford home. Mr. Shire
cannot want to leave his guests. I shall order a hackney at once.”
Henrietta watched him go, biting her lip. Now there would be no opportunity to speak with the duke. Tears of frustration burned behind her eyes.
“Most kind of him,” Mr. Shire stated gratefully. “I must not desert my aunt. Miss Lanford, may I hope you will join me tomorrow afternoon for a drive around the park? We can continue our important discussion about horse liniments.”
“Miss Lanford is promised to me tomorrow, Shire. I, too, have an important matter to discuss with her,” the duke said. He threw Henrietta a wicked grin that dared her to deny the truth of his statement.
How high-handed, Henrietta thought. Then this judgment was abruptly cut off when the words “an important matter to discuss with her” rang in her head. She felt a warm glow flow through her. What could he mean? She could not resist finding out.
“I am sorry, Mr. Shire. Perhaps you will ask me another time,” she added, with a tug of guilt at the gentleman’s disappointed expression.
“The next day, then,” Mr. Shire persisted.
“I should like it above all things, sir,” Henrietta dissembled. Glancing at the duke, she thought she detected a tightening in his jaw.
“I shall see you tomorrow at two, Miss Lanford.” The duke bowed and half turned to leave. Then he faced Henrietta again, reached for her gloved hand, and placed a light kiss upon it.
Dazed, she watched as he walked over to his mother.
Neither Henrietta nor the duke noticed Lady Clorinda’s green eyes narrow into jealous slits at that kiss.
On the ride home Henrietta’s mind was far away. She left Lady Fuddlesby and Colonel Colchester over the tea tray, needing to sort through her thoughts.
Although her new maturity forbade her to do so, she indulged in a daydream in which, underneath a leafy tree in the park, the duke fell to one knee and begged for her hand in marriage.
She fell asleep smiling at the love reflected in his gray eyes.
Chapter Ten
It was not an expression of love, but one of impatience on the Duke of Winterton’s haughty face when he arrived in Grosvenor Square the next afternoon. While Henrietta had spent a peaceful night, sleep had eluded Giles.
After enduring the evening ritual of a lecture from Sir Polly Grey, the duke lay awake with his fists clenched, listening to the sounds of the relaxed bird grinding his bill.
It wasn’t long before Giles’s brain insisted on repeating the nagging questions he had asked himself about Miss Lanford at the musicale. He had no answers when he finally drifted off, deciding only that he felt severely irked with the chit for being the sole cause of his not knowing his own mind.
This afternoon matters were complicated by the subject of his irritation’s strikingly becoming appearance. She arrived breathlessly in the hall where he waited, clad in a sky-blue muslin gown, trimmed with lace that flattered her bosom and shoulders. Its simple lines ended in three deep flounces and emphasized her doll-like features.
“Oh, your grace, I am sorry to be late,” Henrietta said, tying the ribbons of her chip straw hat. “It is but a few minutes after two, so please do not be vexed with me.”
“I assure you I am not vexed, Miss Lanford.”
Henrietta tilted her head to look up at him. “But you have a terrible scowl on your face.”
“I am not scowling,” the duke ground out. “Let us take our leave before my tiger resorts to walking my cattle.”
Stepping out into the sunny day, Henrietta smiled at the wizened little man holding the horses’ heads. Her heart felt light. All that mattered was that she was in the duke’s company, and he had said he had an important matter to speak about.
Just then his strong hand was at her elbow, assisting her into the open curricle. Henrietta experienced a sudden, dizzying desire to turn about in his arms and bring his handsome face to her lips.
Shocked at the terrible impropriety of these thoughts, she felt hot color burn her cheeks. Settling herself in her seat, she stole a glance at the duke, but he was busy gathering the reins and did not notice her mortification.
The tiger jumped onto the backstrap and they moved off toward Hyde Park. Henrietta admired the duke’s high-mettled horses and the way he drove them to an inch.
“Papa would approve your prads, your grace.”
“Thank you, Miss Lanford.” Glancing at her, Winterton added, “One wonders if Mr. Edmund Shire would declare them first-rate. His estimable opinion of my horses would be a distinction almost as gratifying as your father’s.”
Henrietta detected a note of derision in the duke’s voice. Feeling a need to defend the country gentleman, she replied, “Mr. Shire is a worthy man with a pleasing interest in horses.”
The duke’s mouth twisted in a half grin. “Pleasing? To whom? I recall your convictions regarding the animals to be ‘nasty, smelly beasts,’” he reminded her.
Swiftly turning her angry gaze on him, she caught the mischievous twinkle in his gray eyes, which only served to heighten her indignation. “What concern are Mr. Shire’s views to you, your grace? I doubt you judge a simple gentleman such as he a man of good taste, which is really too bad of you.”
The duke’s eyebrows rose. “Good taste? Miss Lanford, Mr. Shire is a prosy bore, and well you know it. But as you are drawn to him like a bear to the honeypot, I shall say no ill of him.”
Although she privately agreed with Winterton’s assessment of Mr. Shire, red flags of warning rose in Henrietta’s cheeks over the implication she was enamored with Edmund Shire.
The duke continued on without caution. “At least he is a vast improvement over your last suitor. Why did you become betrothed to Baddick?”
Henrietta squared her shoulders. The correct answer to this impertinent question was that Lord Baddick had made his offer when she had been despondent and weak, having moments before heard Lady Clorinda’s assertion that the Duke of Winterton was about to call on Lord Mawbly to ask for her hand in marriage.
Not about to tell the duke this truth, she glared at him, blue eyes flashing, and stated, “It appears, your grace, I am a poor judge of men. Only think, I was initially gulled into thinking you a well-bred man with agreeable manners and a superior intelligence. But I have come to find it is all a hum.”
Unexpectedly, the duke threw his dark head back and let out a shout of laughter. “Come, Miss Lanford, let us cry friends. There is no need for you to comb my hair with a joint stool.”
Henrietta’s heart lurched in her chest in response to his merriment. How much more approachable he looked when relaxed, making her fingers long to touch him once again. She grasped the strings of her reticule tightly, willing her thoughts to focus on an appreciation of the sunny day.
The park was thin of people because it was not the fashionable hour. Still, it seemed everyone who was there wished to exchange a few words with the Duke of Winterton. The duke finally guided his team away from the main drive and situated them underneath a tree near the Serpentine River.
He addressed his tiger. “Jeffers, you may descend and enjoy the view. Do not go far.”
When the little man had obeyed his master, Henrietta turned a questioning face to the duke. Unbidden, her dreams of receiving a proposal of marriage from him underneath a leafy tree sprang to her mind. Her foolish heart began its frantic beating anew.
“Miss Lanford, I did not want anyone to hear what I have to say to you,” Winterton said, his expression abruptly serious.
“Y-Yes, your grace, wh-what is it?” Henrietta stammered, and swallowed hard.
“I am afraid I have an unpleasant matter to discuss with you. It concerns Lady Fuddlesby.”
Henrietta’s emotions quickly swung from disappointment at the fact the duke was obviously not about to discuss marriage, to anxiety for her aunt. Her voice was still unsteady as she urgently asked, “Lady Fuddlesby? Wh-what is amiss with my aunt?”
The duke held the reins in one hand and reached over to grasp Miss Lanford’s gloved hand in the other. “Do not be upset. Together, we can contrive to avoid exposing Lady Fuddlesby to scandal.”
Henrietta gazed down at their joined hands, feeling a burning sensation rising up her arm.
Apparently Winterton misunderstood the look to be one of reproach as he swiftly withdrew his hand.
This occurred over the course of a mere second, however, as Henrietta’s chief concern at the moment was Lady Fuddlesby. “Scandal? Please, you must tell me what the difficulty is.”
While he told Miss Lanford the story, the duke’s voice was gentle. “Lord Mawbly approached me last evening at Lady Chatterton’s musicale. It seems Lady Fuddlesby agreed to sell him her pink tourmaline ring for a large sum of money. When the lady turned the ring over to him, Lord Mawbly recognized at once it was not a genuine stone, but paste.”
Henrietta’s mouth dropped open. She blinked and then composed herself enough to utter faintly, “Paste?”
“Yes. We can be grateful Lord Mawbly came to me, as a friend of his family, to help sort through this dilemma.”
Henrietta experienced a flash of displeasure at the mention of a close relationship between Winterton’s family and Clorinda’s. Hastily she brushed the thought aside. Now was not the time to be dwelling on such things. Her aunt had deceived a peer of the realm!
The duke interrupted her thoughts. “I have Lord Mawbly’s promise not to repeat the tale to anyone, so on that head we may be easy. Colonel Colchester has been apprised of the matter and, naturally, is most anxious to set things right. I believe we might come to a resolution of the problem with your assistance, Miss Lanford.”
Henrietta looked at him helplessly. “What can I do? I know the ring you are speaking of, but confess I am confused. Lady Fuddlesby once told me the story of the ring. Viscount Fuddlesby brought it back for her from Russia early in their marriage, and it was deemed quite valuable.”
A breeze ruffled the duke’s dark hair. He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke it was as if he was thinking out loud. “So Lady Fuddlesby decided to sell Lord Mawbly the ring for some unknown reason—money is the usual motivation for selling one’s jewelry—perhaps believing her husband’s assertion the ring was valuable, not knowing the stone was paste.”
“Oh!” Henrietta said, and gasped, her blue eyes round with distress. Her thoughts chased after one another like kittens in a basket. “Your grace, I believe it is all because of me that Lady Fuddlesby decided to sell her ring!”