Henry

by Leenie Brown

  Her brother scrutinized her for a moment longer before harrumphing and turning to enjoy his paper as he ate. His eyes ran over each headline just as they always did. It was his way. He would scan the various items and then select those that interested him the most to read first before continuing to the others.

  “Does it have an account of the ball? It was quite a crush,” Aunt Gwladys said over her eggs. “Mrs. Belmont would be delighted to have made the papers, and Constance is correct in saying it was a lovely affair.”

  “Well,” Linton looked up at his aunt and smiled, “There will be rejoicing at the Belmonts today.” He folded the paper so he could read the account aloud.

  The event of the season seems to have been held last night at the Belmonts’ home. The ballroom glittered and was filled to overflowing with eager young ladies and dashing gentlemen. Though the music was without compare, the activities were not confined to dancing. A sumptuous supper was served, and many found or lost their fortunes in the card room.

  Of course, as with any soiree worthy of note, there were those activities which were not sanctioned by the hostess but are, perhaps, more tantalizing in their relation to our readers. For instance, Mr. F has once again found himself with empty pockets, and it is said that his coffers are quickly depleting. It is the advice of this writer that he soon finds himself a wealthy wife and perhaps one that is better at cards than he is should he wish to try to recover the sums he has lost of late.

  Speaking of those who seem to have not learned from past mistakes, Mr. C, after a few weeks of playing the part of a proper gent, was once again said to be keeping cozy company with Lady S.J. in the garden. Hopefully, Lord S.J. will be more forgiving of such an indiscretion than Mr. R was.

  Constance snapped her mouth shut as her brother finished reading. “Read that last part again.” Her heart raced. It could not say what she thought it said. Henry had not been in the garden with anyone.

  Her brother grimaced and shook his head. “You did your best.”

  “But it is not true!” Tears welled up in her eyes. “He was alone in the garden. You saw him. You heard him. He was alone.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “He said he was alone,” her brother agreed, “but that does not mean he was alone.”

  “Yes, it does!” She glared at her brother through her tears. “Do you think him a liar?”

  “It is not that,” Linton began.

  “Do you think him a liar?” Constance repeated.

  “No, but would he have shared such behaviour in front of ladies? His answer might have been different if he were just speaking to me.”

  Constance shook her head. “No, you are wrong. That paper is wrong.” She stood and paced back and forth next to the table.

  “Connie,” her brother’s tone begged her to be reasonable.

  “No. Mr. Edwards warned him just as he promised. That story is a lie, not Henry.”

  Her brother’s left brow rose. “Explain.”

  “And I do hope your explanation includes why a Miss L was seen entering an alcove with Mr. E,” Aunt Gwladys stood beside Linton’s chair. She had come to see the account of the ball with her own eyes. “Your brother stopped reading before he got to that part.”

  Linton snatched the paper away from his aunt and groaned as he read it.

  Constance’s eyes grew wide. “Did it only mention Miss L, not Miss B?”

  “Evelyn was with you?” her aunt asked in astonishment.

  “You are ruined,” Linton held his head in his hands. “This is what I get for allowing you to help someone like Crawford.” He shuddered and then pushed to his feet.

  “I can explain,” said Constance, grabbing her brother’s arm. “It is not as it seems.”

  Linton tugged his arm away from her. “You can fill in any missing details when I return with your intended.”

  “With my what?” Constance’s hand flew to her throat. No, he was not saying what she thought. He was not going to force her to marry Mr. Edwards.

  “You are ruined,” he repeated. “Everyone knows Edwards is a rake, and any lady meeting with him in an alcove will be presumed to be ─ ” he waved his hand instead of saying the words. “You are ruined,” he said for a third time, his jaw set in a firm line. “There is no other option.”

  “I will not marry him,” Constance whispered as she sank into a chair. “I cannot.”

  “We will discuss that when I return.”

  Constance exhaled as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Her hand covered her mouth, and she closed her eyes as her brother left the room. She could not marry Mr. Edwards. She loved Henry, and he loved her. He had said so. A sob tore through her body, and her stomach lurched.

  “Come, my dear,” her aunt said, placing an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get you to your room where you can lie down and explain to me what all this nonsense is about.”

  ~*~*~

  Henry descended the steps of his house two at a time. After one last call today, his list would be completed, and he could return to Linton’s and beg him for permission to court and eventually marry Constance.

  He whistled a jolly tune as he mounted his horse and made his way toward the park. A bit of fresh air, a good breakfast, and then one call. He pulled in a deep breath. His happiness was very close; he could almost feel it now. Constance had smiled at his admission of wanting to marry her. His chances were very good if he could get her brother to agree with him.

  “Crawford!”

  Henry turned toward the barouche that was coming toward him. “St. James,” he greeted with a tip of his hat.

  The rather portly gentleman waved Henry over.

  “How can I be of service, my lord?”

  “You can learn to be discreet,” the man answered, scooting to the side of the carriage closest to Henry. “I do not care what you do with my wife so long as it does not cost me money or the embarrassment of having her name or mine in the paper. I find life at home is much more pleasant when she is kept happy with whatever hobby she might find to delight herself.”

  “I beg your pardon? I do not understand your meaning.”

  Lord St. James chortled. “Very well, we shall pretend the bit in the paper did not exist. Just do try to be discreet next time.” He started to move back to the center of his bench.

  “What bit in the paper?” Henry’s sense of confusion was turning to one of dread.

  “The Belmont’s garden,” Lord St. James whispered.

  “I did not see your wife in the garden last night if that is what you are saying. In fact, I was not even aware she was at the ball.”

  “That is not how the paper tells it.”

  The dread Henry had felt earlier was growing into panic. “What does the paper say?”

  “Only that you were seen in the garden together last night, and then it suggests I might be displeased much like Rushworth was. However, I am not. As long as she continues to fulfill her duties to me, I do not care what else she might get up to with you.”

  “What was she wearing last night?” Things were beginning to come together in Henry’s mind. His sister was a good friend of Lady St. James, who was blonde.

  “Some blue concoction that cost me far more than it was worth,” grumbled Lord St. James. His lips pursed and his brows drew together. “You truly did not see her last night?”

  Henry shook his head. “Not that the truth matters now, does it?”

  Lord St. James tugged at the buttons which were doing a valiant job of keeping his gaping jacket closed over his round belly. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. However, no harm done.”

  “No harm done?” Henry nearly shouted. “I am to call on a lady I would actually like to have accept my offer of marriage, and neither she nor her brother are as understanding as you, my lord.”

  The man shrugged. “I do not write the papers, but that does put you in a difficult position, now doesn’t it?”

  Henry nodded and bit the tip of the glove on his thumb as he thoug
ht for a moment. There had to be a way around this. “Have you checked the veracity of the statement with your wife?”

  The gentleman in the barouche blinked. “Why should I do that?”

  Henry shrugged. “I don’t know.” He shook his head and sighed. “I thank you for your understanding, my lord, but I assure you that I have no desire to bed your wife and most certainly did not have a rendezvous with her in the Belmonts’ garden.” He tipped his hat to the gentleman once again and blew out a breath. Where should he go? How might he fix this? He needed Linton to accept him. Perhaps he would come upon an idea while he rode.

  ~*~*~

  Henry lifted the knocker and let it fall for a second time on the door of a fine Mayfair home. He turned his hat in his hand and counted. When he reached twenty if the door had not opened he would knock again. He had decided on his way to the park that he must start his day by completing his list. Miss Bellamy deserved a call, and though he knew he was likely not to gain entrance to see her, he was determined to at least call on her mother.

  He was just about to lift the knocker a third time when the door opened.

  “It is early, sir.” The Bellamy’s butler looked down his nose at Henry.

  “I do apologize, but it is rather important that I see Mrs. Bellamy.” Henry was certain he saw a look of confusion pass over the features of the staid servant. “I am afraid my cards are at home, but if you would tell her that Mr. Crawford would greatly appreciate three minutes of her time. I will even speak to her in the foyer. I do not need to be shown to a drawing room.”

  The butler motioned for him to enter.

  “Tell her I will not leave until she has seen me,” Henry added once he was inside the house. “I will wait here.” He took a seat on a chair next to a narrow table that stood in front of a large mirror and watched the butler amble down the hall to what Henry assumed was the breakfast room. Where else would a lady be at this hour of the day if she were not still in her room dressing?

  He tapped his toe as he waited and ran the brim of his hat back and forth through his fingers. Thankfully, it was only a few minutes until the lady of the house appeared.

  Henry rose to greet her. “I do apologize Mrs. Bellamy, but as I was on my way to take my ride this morning a bit of news was brought to my attention. It seems my name was seen in the paper by Lord St. James.”

  She was still scowling at him, but her eyebrows had risen in interest. It was likely she would hear him out rather than shooing him on his way as he expected her to do.

  “Someone was seen in the garden with his wife last night, but I assure you it was not me. However, I understand that you will not want me to call on your daughter any longer, which is just as well since I do not think we would suit. She is a lovely lady, and some gentleman will be happy to secure her hand, but that gentleman is not me.” He bowed. “Thank you for your time. I will leave you to your day.”

  “It was not you?” Mrs. Bellamy questioned.

  He shook his head. “It was not me.”

  She shook her head. “I am not certain I believe you.”

  “I understand. That is only natural.”

  “Thank you for calling,” Mrs. Bellamy said, motioning to the door and beginning to walk that direction. “You know I only gave you a chance because you were with Mr. Linton,” she commented as they moved the few steps to the entrance, “and he and his sister have always been so proper. However, it seems I was wrong. Perhaps not in you, if you are telling the truth, but in Miss Linton.”

  The butler had opened the door, and Henry was about to step through it but her words stopped him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Have you not seen the paper?” Mrs. Bellamy asked.

  “No, I read it after I ride. As I said, Lord St. James informed me that my name had been mentioned alongside his wife’s. Did the paper mention Miss Linton?”

  “Oh, yes. It seems she was seen in an alcove with a rake.”

  There was a disturbing look of amusement in the lady’s eyes. What was it about some women that made them delight in the downfall of another?

  “You are certain it was Miss Linton?”

  “Oh, no names were given, of course, but I am nearly certain it was her,” replied Mrs. Bellamy.

  Henry thanked her once more for her time and stepped out onto the Bellamy’s front step. The paper. He needed to read that blasted paper before he did anything else. However, if it was true that Miss Linton’s name had been linked to Edwards, Edwards was about to find himself betrothed to the lady Henry loved, and there was no way, Henry was going to allow that to happen.

  Chapter 11

  “Pardon me,” Henry excused himself as he brushed past a lady standing behind what appeared to be her daughter, who was admiring a fan the shop assistant was displaying. It was a pretty fan — blue with golden embellishments, quite like his sister would fancy. She did love exquisite accessories. However, fans were not what Henry had come to Pall Mall to find. He was in search of that particular collector of fans and clothing and all that was contained within the walls of this establishment.

  After having an abbreviated breakfast while reading the paper he still clutched in his hand, he had gone to call on Dr. and Mrs. Grant in hopes of finding his sister and learning exactly how the account bearing his name ended up in the paper. She was not at home, however, so after spending an appropriate amount of time so as not to be thought too rudely abrupt in his visit, he had come here ─ a store he knew his sister often frequented.

  He was not wrong, for at the counter just beyond the third partition in the store, stood his sister, wafting the fragrances of various boxes and bottles.

  “There is none there that will hide the pungent stench of a talebearer or the acrid aroma of a liar,” he hissed near her ear, causing her to jump.

  “Henry!” she chided. “You should know better than to creep up on a lady.” She held the bottle out to him. “What do you think of this fragrance?” She swept her hand across the top of the opening sending a whiff of perfume towards him.

  He had not meant to answer her question. He was here to speak with her about serious matters, not help her choose a scent. However, the faint bouquet hinting strongly of roses caused his lips to curl upward with pleasure. “I like it very much,” he said.

  “I thought you might,” his sister replied with a sly smile. “A certain young debutante wears this very one.”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “she does.”

  “Are you here to purchase a bottle for Miss Linton?” Mary’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “I am here to speak with you,” he said, placing the rather worse-for-the-wear paper on the counter. Then he turned and leaned in front of her. “Your help will not be needed for a few moments,” he said over his shoulder to the shop assistant. “Are you here alone?”

  Mary crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “No, Sarah is with me.”

  Good. She was annoyed. He looked down the counter on which he was leaning and then around his sister to the counter on the opposite side of the store. There, trying on a necklace, was Lady Sarah St. James.

  “Then I am in luck,” he replied. “I am certain one of you can tell me how this false account ended up in the paper.”

  “A false account?” Mary’s brows drew together, but her eyes held no true perplexity.

  “This one,” he said, lifting the paper and after clearing his throat loudly enough to draw some attention, began reading.

  “Speaking of those who seem to have not learned from past mistakes, Mr. C, ─

  “That is me,” he explained to an eager listener on his right.

  ─ after a few weeks of playing the part of proper gent, ─

  “I have been conducting myself very well, have I not?” he asked his sister.

  ─ was once again said to be keeping cozy company with Lady S.J. ─

  “That is you, Lady St. James,” he called across the aisle, holding up the paper and pointing to the article as she turned to l
ook his direction before he continued reading.

  ─ in the garden. Hopefully, Lord S.J. will be more forgiving of such an indiscretion than Mr. R was.”

  “He was right gracious when I met him on my way to the park this morning. You’ll not have a worry there, my lady,” he called once again across the aisle. “I say, it came as a shock to me, however, as I did not even know you attended the Belmonts’ soiree.”

  He placed the paper back on the counter. “It is all there,” he said to the lady who was peering over his hand to see what he had been reading. “How it got there is what I would like to know.” He crossed his arms and glared at his sister.

  “Oh, who knows how any of these things end up in the paper. Imaginations are so full of fancy,” said Lady St. James, who had crossed the aisle to stand next to Mary.

  “I happen to believe that there was someone who fanned the flames of this reporter’s imagination,” he said, not allowing his glower to waver from his sister.

  Lady St. James’s laugh was light and nervous. “I am sure we could not tell you if such a thing happened.”

  Henry shook his head. “No, you could tell me. You just will not tell me, but, I assure you that you could. For you see, I have had some time to ponder how this flagrant falsehood came to appear in a report of the Belmonts’ ball, and it occurred to me that one might plan a scandal to damage another’s reputation. However, due to one thing or another, that scandal might not come to pass as one cannot always control all the principal players. For instance, a gentleman, whom you plan to seduce, might not be in the garden as expected.” He raised an eyebrow and gave Lady St. James a pointed look. “That would ruin one’s plan, would it not? And, I imagine, if one’s plan is thwarted, one might find that highly disagreeable and resort to other means. Such as, shall we say, concocting a story to be printed in the paper. That should achieve the initially desired outcome — the ruination of my burgeoning respectable reputation.” He stared hard at Lady St. James. “I know what you had planned.” It was rather gratifying to see her eyes widen just a bit at the comment.