As the servants carted away dessert, Lady Kesseley rose and beckoned Henrietta with a curled finger. "Please join me in the parlor."
Henrietta obeyed. With her shoulders slumped and eyes downcast, she resembled a chastised child as she followed his mother through the adjacent door.
Kesseley gulped down his port. He had wanted this first evening to be special. He had to salvage the night for Henrietta's sake.
He dashed up to his chamber and opened his desk. Carefully lifting his business papers, he slipped out the three volumes of The Mysterious Lord Blackraven The Mysterious Lord Blackraven she had lent him. That would get her out of her doldrums! He checked his hair again, slapped on some more cologne. she had lent him. That would get her out of her doldrums! He checked his hair again, slapped on some more cologne.
Before entering the parlor, he ducked into the dining room, hooked three glasses between his fingers and wedged a decanter of wine into his elbow. He then said a small prayer to whatever saint would listen and entered the parlor.
Henrietta sat on the sofa, alone, her hands clasped between her knees.
Where was Mama?
"Lady Kesseley has excused herself momentarily," Henrietta said, answering his unasked question.
Kesseley felt a smile spread across his face. Determined to make the best of Mama's absence, he poured two glasses of wine, setting Henrietta's on the table beside her. She gave him a small appreciative smile. He took a seat next to her on the sofa and wiped his hands on his pantaloons.
"I have a gift for you." His voice cracked.
"A gift?" A blush returned to her cheeks. "I don't need a gift. Bringing me to London is a gift."
"Just close your eyes." He took her hands from her lap and nestled the volumes into her palm. "Now open," he said, still holding her hands.
"The Mysterious Lord Blackraven!" she exclaimed, looking up at him, her eyes shining. He'd done something right! "You read it!" she exclaimed, looking up at him, her eyes shining. He'd done something right! "You read it!"
"Yes."
"Did you love it?"
I love you. "No, but I liked the ending. Insane people should be kept together in remote places like Blackraven castle, away from the general population," he teased. "No, but I liked the ending. Insane people should be kept together in remote places like Blackraven castle, away from the general population," he teased.
"Are you not at all romantic?"
"Not if by romantic you mean histrionic, insipid and overly sentimental," Kesseley quipped.
"You didn't read the novel correctly."
"I started on page one and proceeded to volume three, page three hundred and thirteen."
"You see, that is what I mean. You're too rational, too down-to-earth." She was smiling again. "You need to relax into the words, let them flow over you like water, let their passion and emotion sweep you away. You make everything so commonplace, so plebian. I know you can't be so passionless underneath."
Passionless? She thought he was passionless?
Kesseley sat back and rubbed his whiskers, considering her assessment of him. "Perhaps you should read it to me. Show me how to be more passionate, more emotional. What do you say? Like our old toy theatre? Remember?"
"Are you mocking me?"
"I would never mock you," he teased.
She bit the edge of her lip, causing a dimple on her left cheek. "Fine, if it is a play, then you must be Lord Blackraven, and I shall be Arabellina."
He nodded, enjoying himself.
She took the second volume and flipped through the pages. "Here, this is one of my favorite scenes. She has escaped from the asylum where he put her and has returned to Blackraven castle."
"Weren't all those nuns at the asylum nicer to her than Blackraven?"
"But she knows Lord Blackraven truly loves her now. She must tell him that she never loved his evil half brother, only him."
"It all seems so logical when you explain it."
She wagged a finger at him. "You see, you're mocking me."
"Was I? I'm sorry. I'll be good. Please continue."
Henrietta took a deep breath, the little ruffles on her bodice rising with her breasts. She lowered her face and looked at Kesseley under her lashes. Her voice was dark and dramatic. "Ravenmist castle had changed. A darkness hung over its chambers. The wax remains of candles, long since burned to their death, hung like condemned men from the grand chandelier. Once, under its brilliance, she had danced in his strong arms, thinking how they would be consumed in its light, its fire. Under her feet, the woven tigers waited, silent in the Persian carpet. How they used to terrify her. He would laugh as she trembled. Now thick dust blinded their eyes. The delicate gilt upon the wall-"
"Why couldn't he have burned down the castle?" he muttered.
"I heard that," she said, trying to repress a smile. "The delicate gilt upon the wall was tarnished and black. A small noise, a mere creak, penetrated the silence. Her gaze rose to the balcony, where a shadowy figure stood. Even as her eyes did not recognize this wild beast of a man, her heart knew him, knew his soul bleeding before her. He came into the light. She could see his tormented eyes wild with sorrow. Tears leaped to her eyes, sweet and painful. Running to her, he said-" Henrietta slid the book carefully to Kesseley, trying to preserve the dramatic moment. "Now you read," she whispered, pointing to the spot.
"What are you doing back, you cracked chit?"
"Kesseley! That is not what it says! You said you would behave!"
"Fine. I missed you."
"No!"
"Yes, see." He pointed to the text. "I-missed-you. His voice was ragged with-"
"I know what it says, but that's not how he said it." Henrietta picked up the book, held the place with her finger and gently whacked him with it. "You're as difficult as Papa, and worse because you know it. Now think. How do you look, how do you speak, to someone you love?"
Kesseley took a sip of wine, sloshed it around his mouth. Dare he? Suddenly the moment seemed the heaviest in his life. Every desire piled on the other. One small slip and it could all crumble.
He couldn't. He was too scared. "Why don't you show me?" he said, his voice harsher than he intended. "How would you say, 'I missed you' to Lord Blackraven, assuming he has put you in an asylum to show how much he cares rather than, say, jilting you for a richer, more socially connected lady?"
Her mouth fell open and her eyes had an unbelieving look as if he had just reached out and slapped her. What the hell did I do? What the hell did I do?
Her lips started trembling, little tears moistened her eyes.
Damn it! No!
Kesseley grabbed her arm, panicked. "I didn't mean-"
She closed the book and traced the embossed gold title with her finger. Her tears fell in little lines down her cheek.
"I missed you," she cried, then covered her face. "I miss you." She broke down and buried her head into Kesseley's chest. "Edward was in the park today. He rode by us. He didn't even see me."
Every emotion drained out of Kesseley. He was hollow. Stiff. He could feel her on his shoulder, yet inside him, just emptiness.
She raised her head, her wet eyes looking into his. "You are so much more handsome than any man in that park today. Will you just try to look more fashionable?" She squeezed his hand. "I know you could turn Lady Sara's head if you tried."
The anger came like little explosions, going off everywhere in his heart.
I did all this for you. All this. And you can only think of Edward, who betrayed your trust and treated you like you were nothing. Kesseley's hand shook, and for a horrifying moment he thought he might slap her-and like it. He shot up from the sofa, afraid of himself. Kesseley's hand shook, and for a horrifying moment he thought he might slap her-and like it. He shot up from the sofa, afraid of himself.
"Just go to Schweitzer and Davidson, just let them help you," she pleaded.
"Henrietta. Enough. I'm tired of your little jabs at my person-"
"I never said anything about you!"
"Just clothes, my sensibilities and my manners."
"I'm trying to help you."
"By degrading me?" He was shouting now, his voice booming everywhere around him.
"I'm not! You promised to help. You said-"
"I said what I did because-" He paused, trying to rein in his temper. "Because I wanted to make you feel better. Did you ever consider that I might have more honor than to steal another man's betrothed?"
"They're not betrothed yet!"
"And if they are not, there are thousands of other ladies for him to choose from." His anger was driving him over the edge. He looked down over the mental cliff to the hard place far below and just kept going. "Have you ever considered you didn't have enough charms to hold him? That perhaps it is you who needs to change? Perhaps it is you who needs to grow up and stop living in this dream world."
"Dream world!" She stood up, her whole body shaking. "You're the one living in a dream world! I'm not blind. I see how you're always touching me, watching me. You're not here to find a wife! You just wanted to play house with me!"
Henrietta gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth. She didn't mean those words. Why had she said them? She was just so angry she wanted to hurt someone-and he was there! She grabbed his hands. "Oh God. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. It's just been such an awful day seeing Edward and-"
He yanked himself free from her grasp. "I'm sorry I took you to London and ruined your day." He strode out of the room.
She chased after him. "Kesseley, please, I didn't mean it. Oh, please forgive me."
Lady Kesseley was coming down the stairs.
"You ladies have a wonderful evening," he spat, as he passed her.
Lady Kesseley watched her son's angry back as he stomped up to the first balcony, then disappeared as he continued up the next flight. She turned back and glared at Henrietta with eyes as hard and pale as arctic ice. She slowly came down the stairs and into the foyer, backing Henrietta into the parlor.
She shut the door behind her. "Sit down, Miss Watson," she said and then waited for Henrietta to obey. "Tell me, do you have any intentions of marrying my son?"
Henrietta felt like a wiggling insect pinned to a board. She couldn't make up pretty lies anymore.
"I feel deep affection for your son, perhaps sisterly love, but none that I believe would translate into a marriage."
There was something so logically cold about her words that for the first time it sank inside her heart that soon she and Kesseley would be irreparably separated. He would find a wife and she...Oh Lud, she couldn't see her future anymore. Just daisy bonnets.
She felt dizzy and slumped down on the sofa. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears from following. But they started to trickle down her cheeks.
"You have quite modern thoughts. Love and marriage. Many young ladies-including myself-have to marry for familial obligation. You seem to care nothing for being a countess?"
"I-I just want to die in the arms of the man I love, l-like my mother. Sh-she said I could live as I wanted, choose who I w-wanted." Henrietta's throat burned. She pressed her hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them again, Lady Kesseley had moved by the mantel. Her head was turned away and Henrietta couldn't see her face.
"If you have no intention of marrying my son, then his clothes or his manners should be no concern of yours," she said quietly.
"I am trying to help because I care so much about him. I just want him to be happy. You must have seen the ladies laugh at him at the park! No lady could find him attractive with the way that he dresses and his provincial manners."
"Provincial manners!" She whipped around. "What do you know of the manners of society?"
"I-"
"Have you ever been to London?"
"No. B-but I have visited many great homes with my father, and I read journals."
"You read journals." Lady Kesseley lifted an elegant, curving brow. "Well, I suppose that makes you very wise." Fury tightened her features. "You know nothing of the cruelty hidden beneath the well-polished boots and folded cravats of fashionable men. Of course they must read love sonnets because they don't know of love beyond themselves! When they make love, they don't mention all the other hearts they destroyed before yours. They slice your heart open and lay in a mistress's bed while you bleed!"
Lady Kesseley trembled, her eyes large, turned inward to some horrible memory Henrietta couldn't fathom. Was this what Kesseley's father had been like? Had he done these things? Henrietta flew up to embrace her, but Lady Kesseley stepped back.
"My son is not like them," she said, shaking her head. Her voice had turned breathy and thin. "He is thoughtful and gentle. So he may need a new cravat or coat. This is nothing. And I am proud of his 'provincial' manners."
"I didn't mean-"
She held up her hand, not wanting to be interrupted. "I know you wangled this little invitation out of my son so you could be near that cousin of yours. Maybe you think you can win him back. But let me assure you, you are an ignorant, immature and selfish girl. You are no match for Lady Sara. And not good enough for my son."
Her loud words echoed in the corners, and then the room fell silent but for the clomp and rattle of carriages rolling down the street outside.
Lady Kesseley studied her for a moment, the hardness falling from her eyes. "How like your mother you have grown," she finally said quietly. "Your father so loved her. She filled your home with happiness. I couldn't provide the same for Tommie." She shook her head. "How can you be so blind to all the love that you have been blessed with?"
Chapter Eight.
Early in the morning Henrietta gave up on trying to sleep and stared at the ceiling. The shadows of tiny cracks in the plaster looked like spidery veins. London was as sleepless as herself. All night she could hear the clomp of horses' feet echoing down the alley, then the sliding of heavy mew doors.
She was so tired but her mind would not stop replaying her conversation with Kesseley. What had happened was irreversible. In her heart burned the memory of Kesseley's face, the disbelieving hurt in his eyes, which were always so trusting, so gentle. She felt she had destroyed some innocence, like those dreadful village boys who pelted rocks at the robins' nests, killing the fragile babies inside their bright, blue eggs. Kesseley never did that. He fed orphaned birds ground meat and milk through a tube until they could fly.
I am a horrid girl.