Oh, no. “My father opened a shop, not me.”
“Hm. As far as I can see, your father wants nothing to do with the place. Never leaves Manchester. You’re the one always bustling about. It’s yours, not his, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”
But she had to convince her otherwise or—
“Don’t look so startled, Miss Blake. I don’t care one whit that you’ve taken on a business of your own. Others might, I grant you that, but your father makes a good shield not many but me will see past.” Lady Pendleson blinked. “And I’m not telling anyone what I know. Like I said, you’re formidable, and one does not undermine a formidable woman.”
Did Henrietta misunderstand the admiration in the older woman’s words? How could she have? The woman spoke plainly. “You admire that? You admire me?”
“Of course! Who wouldn’t?”
Henrietta swept her arm across the crowd on the lakeshore. “All of you! Boldness, risk taking—they are not universally admired qualities for women. And hard work is not to be tolerated.”
Lady Pendleson nodded thoughtfully, stroking Archibald’s ear. “True. The ton is a bit scared of sweat and work. But we admire spirit. Backbone. Not to mention good bloodlines. All of which you have in spades. Close your mouth, girl. You’ll catch flies.”
Henrietta did as commanded. “My father is a tradesman.”
“Tsk. It’s not as if your father is a baker’s son. There are different rules for him. And for you. Now tell me, does your shop carry anything in scarlet? I’m partial to the color, but everything these days is pastel.”
“Many shades of it, Lady Pendleson.”
“Then tell your shopgirls to expect a visit. Oh! Are dogs allowed on the premises?”
Henrietta broke into her first real smile in days. “For you? Of course!”
“Good answer, girl.”
Did others feel as Lady Pendleson did? Did, as Ada had suggested, Henrietta make too much of her father’s place in trade, of her own business ventures? They didn’t know, of course—the shop had been her idea, her project alone. She frowned. Such revelations might not be as easily accepted. But she didn’t need people to know. She needed them to love it. She needed the shop to succeed. Her father could take the credit if he liked.
One person knew, though, other than Lady Pendleson, and he didn’t care. Grayson’s clothes dripped lake water, and he appeared frustrated with the crowd of admirers surrounding him. The fine lawn shirt clung to his chiseled chest. Henrietta’s breath caught.
“You know,” Lady Pendleson said, “I thought you and the Rigsby fellow would make an item last year. Guess not, eh? Pity. He and Valingford’s daughter don’t seem to suit.”
“Oh?” Henrietta barely registered Lady Pendleson’s words. Lady Willow and her mother had punctured the crowd of admirers surrounding Grayson, and he now stood before them drooping like a chastened dog. Lady Willow seemed distracted, but the duchess pulled herself up tall and offered what appeared to be a vehement lecture until Grayson bowed stiffly and marched back toward the house, leaving his admirers still lauding his bravery and the duchess fuming.
“We should get closer,” Lady Pendleson offered. “The duchess has been in a snit all morning. I’m curious what’s got her goat.”
Henrietta shook her head. It was none of her business. She’d gotten too close to him in the last few days, and the revelations of last night made all distance between them seem irrelevant.
Everything has changed, he’d said, but had it? Mercy, she still couldn’t decide.
“I’ll leave you to gather gossip,” she told Lady Pendleson. “But my shoes and stockings are wet. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll find dry ones.”
“Of course, dear girl, and good work today! Remember—save the scarlet for me!”
Henrietta nodded and turned toward the house, her heart full of Grayson, but her mind full of confusion. Had she assumed barriers where there were none? Did she even need Lady Willow’s patronage to succeed? Lady Pendleson suggested not. And, knowing what she knew now—about Grayson, about their misunderstanding—could she bear to help him marry another woman?
Questions chased her up the stairs and into her bedroom. Shutting the door behind her, she closed her eyes, took a steadying breath, and reached into her pocket. She removed the paper secreted there, which Ada had handed her before Pansy’s tumble into the lake. Grayson needed this to help him find the necklace. Should she give it to him and continue helping him? Or keep it and be done with him, with the painful past, for good? Her toes tingled, not with the difficulty of the questions before her, but with cold. And mud. She grimaced and rang for her maid. One couldn’t make a decision of such import with a muddy hem and squelching slippers.
Chapter 15
Grayson threw the dust cover off the wardrobe and coughed. He didn’t see why this wing of the house needed renovating. It looked fine to him. But it would be a hell of a lot more complicated to search these rooms if they were currently occupied by guests. So, despite the dust, he felt grateful. The sooner he found the necklace, the sooner he could start life on his own terms.
He surveyed Henrietta’s room from last year. Where to begin? Certainly, any items left in drawers or on tables would already have been found and returned or stolen. No use checking those. Better to start with the less obvious hiding places. Like that obnoxiously large wardrobe. He rubbed his hands together before slipping them between the wardrobe and the wall, then heaved the furniture away from the wall with a grunt. Or tried to. “Damn.” It moved an inch. He bent at the knees to try again.
“Only this morning you turned a small rowboat right side up on a choppy lake and then lifted a small girl into it, so I’m convinced of your strength, but I do have my doubts about this current endeavor. That”—Henrietta pointed to the wardrobe—“is massive.”
Grayson bolted to his feet and whipped around. Henrietta stood in the door, hands clasped before her, a slight smirk lifting the corner of her pink mouth.
“What are you doing here?” More to the point, how had she known where to find him?
She slipped her hand into a pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I found Willems to give you this, and he told me where I could find you.” She held the paper out to him.
Grayson took the paper and unfolded it, revealing a list of names. “You could have asked Willems to give it to me.”
She looked out of the window, avoiding his gaze. “I could have, yes.”
“What is it?”
“The list of maids’ names Ada gathered from Lady Stonefield.”
He refolded the paper and slid it into his breast pocket. “Will you help me with the interviews again?”
“I don’t see how my help is necessary.” Her hands clasped in front of her again, and she backed toward the open door.
“The maids trust you more than they do me. I swear half the girls we interviewed yesterday were scared I’d seduce them.”
“Or hopeful of it,” she quipped, then shook her head. “No. I shouldn’t.”
And yet she wavered. He could see it, so he tried again. “You would be a wonderful asset. You know it.”
She still seemed unconvinced.
“We’ll find the necklace much sooner if we work side by side.”
“No. The list must be my only contribution. You’ve got it now.” She backed toward the doorway, farther away from him, like a wild animal cornered. “But”—she took a bold step forward—“I’ll help you search this room first. Then I’m done. I’ve decided I don’t need Lady Willow’s patronage. So, it’s no longer my business whether or not you find the necklace and take a wife.”
It was very much her business. “What has changed?”
“Nothing.” She looked around the room nervously. “Nothing. But since I do appear to have had a hand in losing the necklace, it’s only fitting I help find it.” She nodded toward his chest pocket. “I got you the list, now I’ll help search this room. Then, I’ve done my duty and assua
ged my guilt.”
“As you wish.” He’d gratefully accept any time she gave him. He’d use every second of it to accomplish his goal. “Help me move this wardrobe?” He pushed his palms between the small space he’d created between the furniture and the wall. “You pull, and I’ll push.”
“I’m not sure this is an efficient use of time. How in the world would the necklace have gotten lost behind this when it takes two people to move it?” But she gripped her fingers around a slight edge on the front of the wardrobe, anyway, pronouncing, “Ready when you are.”
Grayson heaved his shoulder against the solid oak. “Now!”
The heavy furniture moved the length of his foot, and Grayson plopped to the ground.
“Are you all right?” Henrietta inquired, laughing.
“Perfectly fine. You?”
“Better than you. Have we moved it enough, do you think?” She stood over him, peeking into the darkness behind the wardrobe. “You’re closer to the floor. Do you see anything?”
Her. He saw her. And smelled her. And was close enough to yank her down onto his lap in imitation of the position they’d shared last night in the dark hallway. It was the direct way to get what he wanted. But perhaps not the wisest. He’d learned much in the last year he wished to forget, but much, as well, that might prove useful. Patience, for one. A direct attack did not have to come all at once. He turned to inspect the space behind the wardrobe. “Nothing,” he sighed.
She backed away from him. “Well, we’re not done yet. Or are we? How much of the room had you searched before I arrived?”
Grayson stood and dusted off his pants. “None of it.” He pulled more dust covers from furniture and piled them in the middle of the room.
Henrietta placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the uncovered room. “The necklace won’t be on top of anything. Someone would have found it.” Henrietta opened drawers and peered into the dark slivers of space, her movements a mixture of curiosity and determination.
But the more she looked, the less Grayson did. He watched her instead. They would never find the necklace. It had hung around the necks of generations of proper ducal brides, but it was lost forever. An heirloom, a tradition—gone.
That morning, the Duchess of Valingford had demanded the necklace and a proposal.
She knew as well as Grayson did that the necklace symbolized the future duke’s bride. But Grayson no longer cared about finding the necklace if the bride was all wrong. And by all wrong, he meant not Henrietta. He didn’t want a Lady Willow Willoughby. He wanted Hen. And he knew, after their last kiss, that she wanted him, too.
He’d only continued to search for the thing in order to fulfill his duty. Find it or find it not, he, too, would have assuaged his guilt over losing it and could be done with the ordeal.
Then, he could look toward the future.
Henrietta dropped to the floor. On hands and knees, she lifted the edge of the coverlet and peered beneath the bed. Grayson enjoyed the view, and he wouldn’t even feel guilty for looking. She was his, would be his, after all. He had a right to admire.
“It’s too dark,” she mumbled, dropping to her belly to reach further.
“Henrietta.”
“I don’t feel anything. Except dust—”
“Hen.”
She pulled herself out from under the bed and stood. “I don’t think it’s here. I’m sorry.” She smudged dust onto her forehead.
He reached out and wiped the smudge from her face. “Thank you for helping.”
Her breath hitched at his touch, a lovely little pause in the steady rhythm of inhales and exhales. “Are you terribly upset? Don’t worry. You can start a new tradition with Lady Willow. Get her a new necklace. Something grand. And you can tell your parents I lost the necklace. I don’t mind.”
“No.” He stroked the curve of her cheek.
Her breath hitched again, and she shied away. He hated that.
He would kiss her. He would ask her to marry him. Again. And he would hope with every bone in his body she said yes.
His father would object, likely. His heart had been set on uniting two illustrious dukedoms. And Grayson’s heart gave a tiny, painful thump at causing his father grief.
His brother wouldn’t have hesitated to anger their father. He’d not hesitated to run off to war. He’d died, yes, but he’d died on his own terms, doing what he wished to do.
Grayson would follow his lead, to an extent. He’d live life on his own terms, and that meant two things. He’d not abandon his responsibilities, but he’d also not abandon his heart. He didn’t have to choose between being a good duke and marrying the woman he loved. He wouldn’t.
Taking both of Henrietta’s hands in his own, he led her to the bed and sat, pulling her down beside him. “I would like to speak with you. A real conversation. No half thoughts and hurt feelings. No misunderstandings. And no running away.”
She darted a glance at the door then returned her gaze to him. “Perhaps we should. All right. Where do we start?”
A good question. He’d begin with the truth in the most direct language he could manage. “Last night, I told Lady Willow I have no intention of marrying her. This morning, I informed her mother and father of the same. They are displeased, but I could not marry Lady Willow, or any other woman, when I’m still in love with you.”
Chapter 16
Henrietta didn’t doubt his words for a moment. He’d surprised her in the last day, proving so ready to put the past behind them and move forward. And now he’d sacrificed his future with a duke’s daughter to be with her.
But Henrietta couldn’t feel as sure as Grayson obviously did. She hardly knew what to feel. Yes, physically, she felt the warmth of his body, the near constant desire when close to him to lean closer into his embrace. Her body knew exactly what to feel, but her mind and her heart remained a tangled mess.
Everything between them, or the lack thereof, in the last year stemmed from a lie, a misunderstanding. A life-shattering mistake.
She shook her head and tried to stand. “You’re not going to propose to Lady Willow?” When he gently pulled her back down, she refused to meet his gaze. “You have to.”
He placed his fist under her chin and lifted her head until their eyes met. “No, I do not.”
“But you’re the heir.”
“And if my father chooses to cut me off, he can only do so financially. The estates are entailed.” He grinned. “But I wasn’t always the heir. I was prepared to financially support you last year when we planned to wed. Nothing has changed. I may have had an adventurous youth, but it wasn’t ill spent. I learned how to make an investment or two, and I’ve not been idle in the past year.”
She waved away his concerns about money. “But everyone thinks you’re going to propose to Lady Willow. There will be a scandal.”
“The ton loves to be surprised. Besides, I never signed a contract or actually proposed. Worse has happened. Hell, Hen, I’ve done worse. Dueling, for instance.” He smirked.
She glowered at him. “You cannot simply ignore scandal, Grayson. A good future duke doesn’t—”
“I don’t give a damn what a good future duke does or doesn’t do if it’s not what I want to do. Or don’t want to do for that matter. Since I’m the future duke, shouldn’t I make the rules for what they do? Or don’t do. Am I making sense?”
“What about Lady Willow, then? You’ll ruin her! You can’t.”
“The lady does not want to marry me. In fact, she implied that life married to me would be a tedious chore.” He looked about the room. “In fact, I think she looks forward to the excitement of a scandal. But I don’t intend to visit one upon her. I’ll do all in my power to prevent it, color her the victim and me the villain.”
Henrietta scoffed. “A difficult task when men are always considered innocent in such things.”
His brows furrowed, an oddly adorable gesture. He meant it when he said he’d protect Lady Willow, and the knowledge of his kind
heart spurred her hand to reach to him, to soothe his worried brow.
At her touch, his face relaxed into a smile. He intertwined their fingers and laid them in his lap. “Henrietta, I—”
“You still love me?” He’d said so, but she still could not believe it.
“Of course.”
The same words he’d said last year, but oh how different they sounded this time. While they’d shattered everything before, now they weaved it back together. How did time melt away? She felt a year younger, a year lighter. She embraced the moment. And him, running the fingers of her free hand through his hair until she cupped the back of his neck.
Surely, she dreamed. Surely, she’d wake up any second, alone and aching for him. She’d had enough similar dreams to know the frustration of waking up longing for the man who broke her heart. But he hadn’t broken her heart. Or, he hadn’t meant to do so. And he’d come after her. Last night, she’d been able to do nothing but reel from the revelations.
Today one truth shone clearly out of the fog—he loved her. And she still loved him.
But he would be a duke one day—that would never change.
And she was still a tradesman’s daughter. No, a businesswoman in her own right. That, too, would not change.
They were completely incompatible in social terms, no matter the synchronicity of their hearts.
That would never go away, and the pressure of the truth threatened to drag her into a black hole of eternally unfulfilled longing.
But his warm body pulled her out of the dark. His soft inquiry—“Hen?”—drove her away from these unpalatable truths.
She pulled herself up and kissed him.
He cupped her cheeks with both hands and leaned into the kiss, sliding his tongue along the contour of her bottom lip before sucking it gently between his teeth. Then he pulled away a breath. “I stopped pursuing you because of your fool of a brother,” he said, “but I never stopped loving you.”
A Secret Desire Page 12