Not waiting for anyone’s reaction to this statement, the duke held out his arm for an obviously confused Miss Lanford, and they left the room together.
Walking down the corridor at his side with only the sound of her skirts swishing in the quiet, Henrietta asked, “Your grace, what is it? You know I did not ask for any book, although I confess I would like to read Lady of the Lake. But I did not desire to leave my aunt. She looks about to swoon from too much wine.”
Opening the library door, the duke guided her inside the dimly lit room. When he turned to face her, Henrietta saw his expression was grim. “I did not want to tell you until we were private, fearing you would swoon.”
“Me? I hardly drank any wine at all,” she protested.
“You may want a glass when you hear Lady Mawbly is wearing the paste pink tourmaline ring,” the duke told her.
“What! But I thought Lord Mawbly was not going to give it to her,” Henrietta exclaimed, reaching out to clutch his sleeve.
“My guess is she must have located it herself. Lord Mawbly would never have given it to her, because he feared with her knowledge of jewels, she would recognize it as paste.”
The color drained from Henrietta’s face. She felt tears of frustration form behind her eyes. “Oh, no, what are we to do? We must switch the rings before Lady Mawbly realizes the truth and a scandal breaks upon our heads.”
“Exactly. Give me the genuine ring now. I shall give it to Lord Mawbly. He will have to be the one to switch the rings when Lady Mawbly removes the paste copy from her finger.”
“Yes, it is the only way.” Henrietta fumbled in her reticule for the ring box. The tears she tried to hold back began to fall down her cheeks and she brushed them away impatiently.
Pulling the ring box out of the ivory satin bag, Henrietta gazed unswervingly up at Winterton. Her voice shaking with emotion, she said, “Thank you for helping me with this terrible predicament. I know I can trust you to see us safely out of the difficulty.”
Gazing down at her sweet and vulnerable expression, the duke had to forcibly stop himself from crushing her in his arms. He took a step closer to her and grasped the hand holding the ring box. Instead of taking the box, he pulled her arm to him. Slowly he rolled the top of her white glove down just past her elbow. Lowering his dark head, he placed a warm kiss inside the crease of her arm.
“Your grace .. .” Henrietta whispered, wishing he would kiss her again.
Outside in the hall, Lady Clorinda seethed with humiliation and fury. She was correct. Winterton did mean to set Henrietta Lanford up as his mistress. Why else would she be holding a jewel box while he kissed her arm in that lustful way? At least she had not witnessed any further intimacies between the two.
Her expression thunderous, Clorinda barely noticed in time the couple were turning to leave the room by the very doorway she hid beside. As she hurried back toward the drawing room, her thoughts raced dangerously. How Society would laugh at her, once she and the duke were betrothed, when it became known Winterton had set up a mistress at the very time of his engagement.
Her lips thinned with anger, Clorinda formed a plan.
Chapter Thirteen
The next day Henrietta rose at nine to a gray London morning. She’d spent a fitful night, waking frequently, and worrying Lady Mawbly would realize her new ring was paste.
She was equally concerned about the rift between Lady Fuddlesby and the colonel, and was anxious to see how her aunt fared this morning after all the wine the lady had consumed the evening before. Realizing Lady Fuddlesby would probably benefit most from sleeping late, she vowed to visit her bedchamber later in the day.
After breakfasting, Henrietta spent the remainder of the morning curled up in a window seat in the drawing room, reading the copy of Lady of the Lake Winterton had been obliged to give her.
Chuffley surprised her by announcing she had a caller.
“Who is it, Chuffley?” Henrietta asked eagerly, hoping it might be the duke with news of the ring.
“Lady Clorinda Eden, miss.”
Lady Clorinda! Why would she be calling? They were hardly first oars with one another. “Show her in, please, Chuffley.”
Henrietta seated herself on the brocade sofa, and smoothed the skirts of her powder-blue morning gown.
Lady Clorinda walked into the room, a vision in a red and white striped gown with a matching red spencer. “Miss Lanford, how good you are to receive me.”
“Please sit down, Lady Clorinda. Shall I ring for tea?”
Lady Clorinda sat in a chair opposite the sofa, and lowered her gaze to the carpet. She spoke in a quiet voice. “No, I don’t think I could swallow anything just now.”
Henrietta felt her body tense at the strained tone of Clorinda’s voice. “Is there something wrong?”
Clorinda’s emerald eyes filled with tears. She produced a dainty lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at the wetness. “Yes, there is something dreadfully wrong, Miss Lanford. May I call you Henrietta?”
At Henrietta’s nod she went on. “I hardly know how to approach you about such a delicate matter, so you must forgive me if I am forthright.”
Henrietta’s heart starting beating hard. She did not know what it was Lady Clorinda was about to say, but felt a sudden acute sense of dread. “I believe in plain speaking, Lady Clorinda, and pray you come to the point.”
“Very well. I was on my way to the ladies’ withdrawing room last evening at the Duke of Winterton’s town house and passed by the library. The door stood open and I ... I saw you and the duke—”
A sob escaped Lady Clorinda’s lips and it took her a moment to regain her composure.
Henrietta sat very still.
“Henrietta, I saw you holding a jewel box. I saw the duke kiss you in the crease of your arm. Oh, fie, I wish I had never witnessed anything,” Clorinda exclaimed. She flung out her hands in a display of despair.
Two crimson stains appeared on Henrietta’s cheeks. “Go on.”
“I know what that jewel box contains,” Clorinda asserted.
A new anguish seared Henrietta’s heart. Not only had an intimate moment between her and the duke been observed, but Lady Clorinda knew of the pink tourmaline ring. Was that why she was here? To tell her she would inform Lady Mawbly of Lady Fuddlesby’s folly?
Henrietta opened her mouth to beg for Lady Clorinda’s discretion, but the lady’s next words caused the sentiment to die unspoken on her lips.
“An expensive piece of jewelry often precedes a... er, business arrangement between a gentleman and a female.”
Henrietta’s eyes opened wide and Clorinda rushed on. “A life as a mistress is not a happy one, dear Henrietta. It may seem attractive now, while you are young, and of course, the duke is a handsome, wealthy gentleman. No doubt he would satisfy your every desire, for a while.”
Henrietta listened with bewilderment. She struggled to comprehend Clorinda’s words. “You think the Duke of Winterton means to set me up as his m-mistress?”
Clorinda’s eyes held an understanding warmth. “It is only natural to deny it, but you won’t be able to keep the secret long.”
Henrietta hesitated, unable to speak, torn by conflicting emotions. Lady Clorinda did not know about the ring being paste, and for that she must be grateful. But Clorinda’s assumption that she would consent to being the duke’s light-skirt filled her with an anger that took her breath away in its intensity. She sat mute, struggling to control her emotions.
Clorinda spoke softly, in a pitying voice. “I can only imagine how painful it must be, Henrietta. I feel sure you are in love with the duke, because you are not the type of girl to accept the fate of a member of the Fashionable Impure. Why, I’m certain there are any number of gentlemen in the landed gentry or the clergy, even a wealthy gentleman of the merchant class, who would be proud to call you wife.”
A heated denial of the accusation rose to Henrietta’s lips. And what was all this talk of clergymen and merchants? She wou
ld ring for Chuffley and have the woman thrown out for her insolence.
But what explanation would she give for the scene Lady Clorinda witnessed? To speak the truth about the jewel case Lady Clorinda saw would expose Lady Fuddlesby to the very scandal Henrietta was trying to avoid. With a quiet dignity she said, “Thank you for your concern, Lady Clorinda, and now I must ask you to leave.”
Lady Clorinda reached a hand out to touch Henrietta’s arm, but immediately drew it back at Henrietta’s look of distaste.
Her voice pleading, Lady Clorinda begged, “Do not think my coming here was motivated by selfishness, I beseech you. Naturally, as Winterton’s chosen bride, I do not care to begin my marriage knowing my husband has recently acquired a new mistress.”
Henrietta quickly dropped her gaze to the floor, concealing her reaction to this statement. Her head ached with pain. So the duke was to wed another after all that had passed between herself and
Winterton. After the kiss they shared the night of Lord Baddick’s attack. After that burning embrace in his curricle when they were out in the country looking for Knight. After the way he had pulled her glove down, just last evening, kissing her arm in such a way as to cause her to feel a yearning need she could not even define.
Then, through her distress, a little voice inside her head reminded her no notice of the engagement had appeared in the newspaper. No mention of any betrothal had ever been made by the duke. Only Lady Clorinda had said it was so. Maybe Clorinda was lying.
Rising shakily to her feet, Henrietta said, “Good day to you, Lady Clorinda.”
Clorinda rose. “I am thinking of your welfare as well, I assure you. Just because Winterton cannot marry you does not mean you will remain unwed should you resist the duke’s offer of protection.”
A furrow appeared between Henrietta’s brows. “What do you mean Winterton cannot marry me?”
Clorinda stared at her. “Are you so innocent of the ways of Society? Gentlemen of Winterton’s wealth and rank never marry beneath them. If he had lost his fortune and you were a wealthy heiress, then he might consider lowering himself to align his name with that of a squire’s daughter. But such is not the case.”
Studying Henrietta’s stricken face, Lady Clorinda nodded and said, “Ask anyone, and they will tell you what I have said is true. Think of your future, Henrietta.”
With those words, Lady Clorinda took her leave in a flurry of silks.
She walked down the steps of the town house, maintaining a rigid composure. She allowed a footman to assist her inside her carriage and they pulled away. Only then did she give way to gales of laughter. Eventually a stitch formed in her side, forcing her to wipe her streaming eyes and content herself with a smug smile.
Back inside Lady Fuddlesby’s town house, Henrietta was far from amused. She stood in the drawing room, her mind reeling. Her initial distress regarding Clorinda’s claim the duke meant to make her his mistress faded away, in light of the lady’s statement that someone like the duke would never marry beneath him in Society. Clorinda had said she might ask anyone and her beliefs would be confirmed.
Henrietta glanced at the clock on the mantel and saw it was one of the clock. Lady Fuddlesby might be awake. If anyone would tell her the truth, surely it would be her aunt. Besides, Henrietta was concerned about the rift between Lady Fuddlesby and the colonel and was anxious to see how the lady had fared this morning.
In the hall outside Lady Fuddlesby’s bedchamber, Henrietta met Felice. “Good morning, mees. I hope you are feeling better than her ladyship today.”
In a low voice Henrietta asked, “Is her ladyship poorly?”
Felice’s lips folded into a disapproving line before she said, “Yes, mees. She ees suffering from the effects of too much wine. If you weesh to speak to her, you will have to get past her guard.”
Henrietta looked after the maid’s retreating back and frowned. Guard? What guard? She knocked softly and opened the door.
The curtains were drawn tightly closed against the gray light of day. It was too warm for a fire, and no candles were lit. Henrietta heard moans coming from the bed and walked forward toward the bedside.
Knight appeared out of the darkness in front of her as if to block her way. Even though they had long ago cried friends, his twitching tail and unblinking stare plainly told her she was not wanted at the moment.
She hesitated, venturing a quiet “Aunt, are you all right?”
Lady Fuddlesby called out, “Oh, my dear Henrietta, I fancy the grapes were sour. Knight! Let Henrietta pass. You must forgive my darling boy, he is only being protective.”
Henrietta reached down to scratch behind Knight’s ears before coming to stand at her aunt’s bedside. “I know he is. You are looking sadly pulled, my lady. May I get you anything? Some tea, perhaps?”
Lady Fuddlesby pressed a hand to her stomach and grimaced. “No, thank you, dear. I had a cup already.”
She looked at Henrietta through tear-filled eyes. “It has happened again. All these years later. Matilda has taken my beau away from me. You might well stare. You see, I was being courted by the seventh Duke of Winterton before Matilda set her cap for him. He chose her, rather than me, because she was an earl’s daughter and I was only a miss.”
Henrietta froze. As casually as she could she asked, “Is rank so important then?”
Lady Fuddlesby wiped her eyes. Her expression stiffened and she spoke with a hint of bitterness. “Oh, yes, dear. Very important. A man of high rank would have to be deeply in love, indeed, to marry a lady not of his station. Even then, he might not do so out of respect to his name and consequence.”
A flash of wild grief tore at Henrietta’s heart. Clorinda had spoken the truth. The duke would never marry her. She marveled at her own arrogance in thinking he would. Other than his kisses, he had given her no indication he held her in affection, no less that he loved her. And kisses were easily given, she thought with newfound cynicism.
Trying to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat, Henrietta turned her attention to her aunt’s feelings. “My lady, I do not know about the previous Duke of Winterton, but you are wrong about Colonel Colchester. The gentleman cares for you deeply. It is plain to anyone who knows the two of you. I am certain last night was simply a misunderstanding, one that will be cleared when next you meet.”
Lady Fuddlesby’s mouth was set in a stubborn line. She reached out and patted Henrietta’s hand. “No, dear, I fear not. Besides, my unladylike behavior was probably enough in itself to give him a disgust of me.”
When Henrietta might have protested, her aunt stopped her before she could begin. Pressing her fingers to her temples, Lady Fuddlesby moaned, “Please leave me now, dear. My head aches dreadfully.”
“If there is anything I can do for you, my lady, you have only to let me know,” Henrietta assured her. She squeezed her aunt’s hand, and turned and fled the room for the sanctuary of her own bedchamber.
Closing the door, she went to stand in front of one of the tall windows in the room. Pulling the curtain aside, she looked out over the Mayfair scene, and remembered the dreams she had the snowy afternoon she had arrived in London.
Well, she had matured since that day, she believed. Certainly she’d had the veils of illusion stripped from her eyes. First by Lord Baddick, and now by the conventions of a Society that considered it wrong to marry beneath one’s social rank.
Turning away from the window, Henrietta’s gaze fell on the handkerchief the duke had lent her that day in the park when she had first learned of the misfortune with Lady Fuddlesby’s ring. Freshly laundered, it lay on her dressing table, ready to be returned to its owner.
Picking up the square of fine lawn, she carried it with her to the bed. She lay down, holding it to her cheek. Feeling as if she were bleeding from every pore, she stared at the bed hangings dry-eyed. Her sense of loss was beyond tears.
* * * *
The three days before the ball were spent in despondency by both women. Colonel
Colchester called on Lady Fuddlesby late in the day after the duke’s dinner party. Feeling she could not face him, her ladyship had instructed a surprised Chuffley she was not at home to callers.
This insult exasperated the colonel enough to keep him away until the very day of the ball. It also left him time to reflect on his relationship with the lady, and to pay a call at Rundell and Bridge.
At approximately four of the clock on the day of the ball, Lady Fuddlesby was supervising the placement of flowers about the ballroom when Chuffley came into the room holding a card on a silver tray.
Her ladyship picked it up and peered at it inquisitively. Mr. Edmund Shire, it read, and one corner was bent down, indicating Mr. Shire was calling in person. What could he have to say that could not wait until this evening? Lady Fuddlesby wondered. “Tell him I am busy, but will spare him ten minutes. Show him to the drawing room.”
In the drawing room a few minutes later, Mr. Shire appeared in the doorway clad in a walnut-colored coat and buckskins. He bowed before Lady Fuddlesby, who sat on the brocade sofa. “My lady, thank you for seeing me. Forgive me for calling on the day of your ball, but I felt it fitting you should know my plans.”
Lady Fuddlesby eyed him curiously. “Sit down, Mr. Shire. May I offer you tea?”
Settling into a chair, Mr. Shire said, “No, I’ll come right to the point. I’ve been out to Hamilton Cross to see Squire Lanford. By George, he’s got a stable full of pretty fillies out there.”
Puzzled, Lady Fuddlesby said, “Really, Mr. Shire, Henrietta is an only child.”
Mr. Shire guffawed. “I meant mares, my lady. And three of them recently foaled. If I weren’t forking out the blunt on putting in a new fountain at my country house, I’d be sorely tempted to strike a bargain with the squire. As it is, I’ve reached another sort of agreement with Squire Lanford.”
Lady Fuddlesby’s expression remained blank. Mr. Shire beamed and explained. “I have the squire’s permission to ask Miss Lanford to marry me. He’s no end of a good fellow. Agreed right off when I told him about my estates. We talked horses mostly.”
A Crime of Manners Page 19