Part 4 (1/2)
”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 b.u.t.ter.
”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 bra.s.s b.u.t.tons 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 compa.s.sion 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 s.h.i.+vered 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, brus.h.i.+ng 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, rehea.r.s.ed 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 G.o.d.
He looked at the unappetizing brown b.a.l.l.s 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 pa.s.sed 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.