"I made the creampuffs I've been makin' for thirty years. If the Lady Kesseley didn't like them, she'd had plenty of time to complain before now. Good morning." Mrs. Potts left the room, cursing under her breath.
Henrietta opened the linen and lifted out a flat, browned creampuff. She snapped it open like a hard biscuit to see clotted-over whipped cream turning to butter.
"You look beautiful this morning, Miss Watson, as you always do," a male voice echoed in the room.
Henrietta shoved the puff into her mouth and turned to see Mr. Van Heerlen fully turned out in tight doeskins, Hessian boots and a light blue jacket with large brass buttons that accented his bright eyes and fair features. He didn't approach her or return a bow, but instead circled the edge of the room, falling in and out of the shadows, his gaze locked on her face.
"You should know your father is a brilliant, brilliant man," he said. "I had no idea the true genius of his mind-his numbers-until I came here. He is a mastermind of math and physics."
"Your words mean so much to me, for I've always believed in him. And, well, the societies have been so harsh. It breaks my heart to see him so dejected."
He put a hand on her cheek. A column of tightness rose from Henrietta's lungs to her throat. She resisted the urge to back away.
"Your fierce love and loyalty to your father is commendable. Would I be presumptuous to desire the same love and loyalty for myself?" He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. "Miss Watson, I love you. I always viewed marriage as a necessity, not a want. For how could one mere woman keep me enchanted, for quickly I would tire of immature opinions and insipid conversation? But I feel that I can never have enough of your company, your presence. You perform the most difficult mathematical calculation while asking me if the paint color suits the study. You are the most bewitching lady I have ever met."
His blue eyes, once cold and reserved, were filled with a terrifying mixture of fear, hope and vulnerability. She felt a rush of compassion for the astronomer. She wished she could return his affections, that she wouldn't have to break a heart like hers had been broken. How perfect the match would be for her father's career.
Yet, she just couldn't.
She reached deep for her courage, hoping that she wasn't destroying her father's dreams, that she shouldn't feel ashamed or guilt-ridden for the words she was about to say. "I-"
He grabbed her shoulders, letting her blanket fall to the floor, then drew her to him and pressed his lips on hers. They were warm, full and not entirely unpleasant. He shivered and tightened his hold on her, squeezing her against his chest. He didn't have Edward's musky scent-he was sweeter-and she didn't tingle at his touch. There was just a feeling of detached observation, a pleasing curiosity.
He opened her mouth with the pressure of his lips, brushing his warm tongue against hers. She pushed him away.
"I'm sorry," he said thickly.
Out in the hall came the sound of the rusty creak of the old great door being opened. Kesseley's heavy steps echoed through the corridor.
Mr. Van Heerlen squeezed her fingers. "Promise you'll come back, dearest Henrietta. That you will consider all that I have said."
The door to the parlor opened.
"Say it!"
"I..."
"Please."
"I-I prom-"
"Have I interrupted something?" Kesseley inquired, his gaze latched on to Henrietta's hot face.
Oh Lud, what had she done now?
As the rising sunlight cracked over the horizon and Kesseley's footmen hoisted Henrietta's trunk into the carriage. She stood quiet, holding her arms about herself.
Usually Kesseley played the funny jester to lighten her mood, but he was tired and in poor humor. He hated traveling any distance longer than two hours and had been up all night seeing to the small details at Wrenthorpe, writing detailed instructions for ridding his barley of parasites should an infestation occur during his absence, as well as diagramming the dimensions of the drainage ditch he required for the clover. He had concluded that the estate would crumble to the ground in his absence. Additionally, he'd received a stack of correspondences from various politicians who, upon learning he was coming to London, were busy setting up appointments to meet him. He liked the proxy vote-it left little room for compromise-and he detested compromising when it meant bad agricultural reform. On top of it all, his mother carried on like some doomsday prophet. He just wanted to stay home.
He stepped into the carriage. Samuel was sprawled out beside his mother, who sat asleep with her head cradled on the side of the carriage.
Kesseley shook Samuel. "Down, big boy."
He picked the hound up and put him on the floor. Then he swept the dog fur off the seat and offered Henrietta his hand. She reached up and latched on with her small fingers. He lifted her up, bringing her head on level with his, the moist vapor of her breath warming his cheek. Her lips were rosier than usual, slightly puffy. White anger flashed through him.
"Did Van Heerlen kiss you?"
She brushed past him to take her seat.
"It was nothing," she murmured.
He turned on his heel, poking his head out the carriage door, a week of frustration squeezing into a hard ball of anger. Maybe if he could just land Van Heerlen a facer, he would feel much better.
Henrietta grabbed his taut arm, trying to pull him back inside. "Please, let's just go. He is watching from the window."
Kesseley certainly hoped so as he rammed his fist into his palm.
"Let me guess." He adopted Van Heerlen's accent. "Miss Watson, I have fallen in love with you, only you can ease my suffering, and by the way, if you want me to sponsor your father, you'll consent to be my wife."
Henrietta looked at her hands, bound tightly in her lap. "I didn't give him an answer."
"Would you like me to?" he said. Because nothing would give Kesseley greater pleasure at that very moment than knocking the daylights out of Van Heerlen.
"Let us forget it for the duration of London."
"You're actually considering him?"
"Thomas, do sit down. I'm sure Henrietta could adequately break his heart if she chose to," Lady Kesseley said languidly, waking from a light doze. She stretched her arms before her and yawned. "Good morning, Henrietta. You look none the worse for being mauled."
Henrietta launched into a stiff, rehearsed speech. "Lady Kesseley. I am so honored that you have allowed me to be your companion. I shall strive not to disappoint you. Anything you require for your comfort, I shall acquire. I can read, play cards, help you pick out fabric and-and-"
Henrietta faltered under his mother's cold gaze. Kesseley felt his belly clench. His mother was doing her best to make this difficult. He just wanted to call the whole thing off. He wouldn't ever get married and his cousin in Winchester would make a fine Earl of Kesseley.
"I-I've brought some creampuffs for the journey." Henrietta offered them up, her eyes nervously downcast like a terrified villager offering a sacrifice to an angry volcano god.
He looked at the unappetizing brown balls and declined. His insides were too knotted to consider eating.
Samuel perked up and sniffed the air, then climbed into Henrietta's lap, swallowing a puff in a single loud gulp. Then he proceeded to curl up there as if he were a small fluffy dog and not a five-stone hound.
Chapter Five.
"We're here!" Henrietta cried.
Well, almost.
After a long day's journey and a crowded inn with a room beside the privy door, she could see London waiting just beyond the tollbooth-a horizon of slanting slate roofs holding thousands of chimney pots, each streaming little black ribbons of coal into the heavy gray sky. Yet they were stuck with a dozen other carriages, unmoving, as a flock of sheep passed the road. Kesseley stepped out of the carriage, and for a one horrified minute, she thought he was going to inspect the sheep, but he shooed them along and spoke to the groomsmen. He returned to his seat, a mischievous smile on his lips.
"Care for a small tour of London?" he asked.
"Oh yes!" Henrietta slid to the edge of her seat and squeezed his hands. "Please."
The carriage lurched forward into the mass of other vehicles bearing down upon one another, jostling for position in the dark, narrow streets. Buildings towered on either side, thin stately things, no more than the width of their carriage and painted in soot.
The inhabitants of London concealed themselves in dark coats and capes. Their hard, pale faces seemed closed, like boarded-up windows, and their eyes distant. They moved in great waves through streets, stepping in front of carriages and horses, unconcerned for their own welfare. Henrietta's nose stung with the sour scent of their perspiration mixed with the stench of animal dung.
She looked at Kesseley questioningly. This wasn't the London she had read about. He just sat back, expressionless. "It gets better," he said.
The carriage jerked to a stop. Their groomsman shouted in some menacing, unintelligible language. A heated discussion ensued. Samuel stuck his nose in the air as if he could smell the altercation, and starting emitting deep howls. The carriage turned sharply, and the driver of a wagon of cabbages waved his hands in threatening gestures, letting out a loud stream of foreign profanity.
"Did he speak cant? Real cant?" Henrietta asked.
Kesseley chuckled at her.
"What do you think he said?"
"Something about your mother isn't married to your father."
"Stop encouraging her, Tommie," his mother said.
"I didn't know you could speak cant, Kesseley?" Suddenly this seemed more romantic than French or Italian or any of those Romance languages.
"Well, I did go to Cambridge."
The lane twisted through intersecting streets, carriage wheels scraping together, horses biting each other, everyone fighting it out to advance.
Henrietta was watching one exchange between a lady in a loose garish gown and a thick bearded man carrying a barrel on his shoulder, when Kesseley touched her knee. A spark of warmth traveled up her body.
"Look," he said, nodding out the window.
On the opposite side of the street was a boxlike white building, dominated by four rising columns that jutted out onto the sidewalk.
"Haymarket! Kesseley! There's Haymarket Theatre!"
"Oh, dear God," Lady Kesseley muttered.
Henrietta refrained from shamelessly pasting her face to the window like Samuel. There was more shouting, and the carriage made a sudden turn, sliding Henrietta into Lady Kesseley. Henrietta shot back over to her side.
They had left the busy street and entered an open, stately square with a water fountain protected by a black iron gate. Here the houses gleamed a luminous white, seemingly immune to the filth covering the rest of the city. Imposing Greek columns rose up five or six stories to the roofs, so high they were almost lost in the dense clouds. Through the tall windows, Henrietta could see the swag of rich brocade curtains and the gleam of the polished mahogany. Carriages pulled up at the doors and let off ladies who could have stepped from the pages of La Belle Assemblee. La Belle Assemblee.
They drove around the fountain and then turned into a dark, narrow lane. Kesseley pointed to a flat, unremarkable building. "You should know this place."
Henrietta shook her head.
"It's Almack's." He laughed. "I thought all ladies knew Almack's."
This squat building was heaven? She had expected angels, pearly gates and St. Peter standing at the door with a guest list. It looked rather pedestrian.
The narrow street led to a larger thoroughfare bordered with tall stone buildings of understated elegance. On the sidewalks, the most fashionable men that Henrietta had ever seen clicked their canes on the pavers, sporting cravats so elaborate they made Henrietta think of fancy rooster tails.
"St. James Palace," her tour guide said, but Henrietta only vaguely heard. For coming out of a wine merchant's door was a young man with flowing mahogany locks and a pale blue coat.
Edward!
Henrietta's hand touched the window glass. She wanted to scream his name. The man looked up as if he heard her silent call. A long, narrow nose ran like a line down his face, ending at a small bump of a chin. It wasn't Edward at all. Henrietta slumped back in her seat, her heart still racing.
The carriage weaved through two enormous squares of connected white-columned homes, one looking just like the next, and then a large expanse of green opened before them, as if London came to an abrupt end.
"Hyde Park," Kesseley said.
The Hyde Park! Where the most fashionable people in the world paraded! Henrietta strained in her seat, looking between the trees to see the riders along the famed Rotten Row. Could one of them be Edward? Hyde Park! Where the most fashionable people in the world paraded! Henrietta strained in her seat, looking between the trees to see the riders along the famed Rotten Row. Could one of them be Edward?
The carriage rode along the edge of the park, the boughs of oak trees arching over them. On their left she saw grand white houses that resembled decorated Queen cakes with curving bay windows and terraces.
Oh Lud, was one of these Kesseley's?
But the carriage took a swift turn away from the park and into a grid of row houses, coming to a stop before a plain brown brick dwelling with a wrought-iron gate.
Henrietta sat still as Kesseley and his mother gathered their persons. Surely this couldn't be their London home?
"We're here," he said.
Think of something nice! "It looks so-comfortable." "It looks so-comfortable."
"A sensible house," he said after they had exited the carriage and stood on the pavement, gazing up at the drab building.
"Those were your father's words the day he bought it," Lady Kesseley said quietly. "Of course, he had to fleece a man at some gaming hell in Soho to get the funds."
The door opened and out stepped a robust man in neat gray livery and a powdered wig curled in tidy tight rows. He had a fleshy sagging face, serious eyes and tight lips.
"Boxly, thank heavens you were free. The agency said you might not be available this year," Lady Kesseley said.
He bowed. "When the master comes to town, I am never busy."
Master. Henrietta never thought of Kesseley that way. Of course she heard him called it numerous times by the servants at Wrenthorpe, but that was in the country. The way the word resounded from this man's deep, respectful voice sounded so reverent as if Kesseley were, well, an earl. Yet in her mind's eye he remained the straggly boy always running about the village, his shirts stained with whatever berries he had picked along the roads, various bugs trapped in his pockets. Henrietta never thought of Kesseley that way. Of course she heard him called it numerous times by the servants at Wrenthorpe, but that was in the country. The way the word resounded from this man's deep, respectful voice sounded so reverent as if Kesseley were, well, an earl. Yet in her mind's eye he remained the straggly boy always running about the village, his shirts stained with whatever berries he had picked along the roads, various bugs trapped in his pockets.
She followed Kesseley, his mother and Samuel inside. Beyond the entrance, the house dramatically improved. The interior exemplified that clean elegance she could never achieve at Rose House. Cool French blue walls trimmed with a white frieze of delicate plastered vines. A staircase striped with slim white balusters curved down from a stack of small balconies.
"I have a wretched headache," Lady Kesseley said, pressing her fingers into her temples. "Please take care of everything, Tommie." She lifted her skirt and hastened up the stairs to the next floor and then disappeared down the corridor.
Henrietta released a deep, mind-clearing sigh. Lady Kesseley's presence made her so anxious. She felt as if she had been holding her breath since she left the village.