Part 5 (2/2)

He turned and studied his father's old chamber, crammed with opulence. Red carpets, glossy mahogany furniture, art hanging on every available s.p.a.ce of wall. All this, Kesseley thought, while he drove his tenants to poverty and scoured his soil. It had taken Kesseley eight years to put to rights the rundown estate he'd inherited. Just now he could walk through Wrenthorpe at ease, not having some awful memory sneak up on him. Yet here, his father was all about him, thick in the air.

He would have called the carriage to take him back to Norfolk if it weren't for Henrietta. She adored London. He wanted to believe the lies he'd told his mother, that he no longer held any romantic feelings for Henrietta, that he was merely helping her escape an unwanted suitor. But each touch or small smile electrified his body.

She had to feel same attraction, he was sure of it. What else could explain the s.h.i.+ver he had felt run through her body when she kissed him? The nervous flutter when he mentioned his room was next door?

He turned and stared at their adjoining wall. A small hope began stirring in his heart once more.

Kesseley's valet, Baggot, came in holding a forest-green coat in his one arm. Baggot had been Kesseley's most reliable groomsman until an accident hitching a carriage severed his arm. ”I noticed all the gentlemen fellers wearing yeller here, so I chose this nice dandylike yeller coat. Then you'll look as fine as them all,” he a.s.sured Kesseley.

Kesseley sucked in a breath, bracing himself to make another vain attempt. ”That coat is green.”

Baggot scrunched his face, his bottom lip hanging loose in confusion. ”That coat is as yeller as the day I was born. Ain't I the valet?”

Kesseley sighed. It was useless. There were only so many times he could explain John Dalton's theory of color perception deficiencies to Baggot. Perhaps it was best to let the valet remain in his blissfully ignorant yellow world.

”Yes, you are the valet. Please help me with the yellow yellow jacket.” Kesseley poked his arms into the sleeves and Baggot tugged with his one arm until most of the wrinkles were removed. jacket.” Kesseley poked his arms into the sleeves and Baggot tugged with his one arm until most of the wrinkles were removed.

Kesseley came down to the parlor. The tension between the two women hit him like a fist. His mother was busy at her bureau desk, addressing letters. Henrietta sat by the front windows, writing on her lap desk.

She raised her head and smiled at him. However, it was his mother who spoke. ”I don't know why I bothered writing instructions to the journals. They all posted our arrival a week early. Look at all these invitations. Was everyone waiting with their pens like the start line at Newmarket?”

Before her lay two piles of letters, one considerably higher than the other. He reached for the top letter of larger pile. ”That's an invitation to an exceptional ball tomorrow night at Lady Huntly's,” his mother said. ”Her niece is making her debut this year. She has a 10,000 pound dowry and an easy, quiet temperament. It is said she sings and arranges flowers well. The following night, we shall go to Lord and Lady Dougherty's ball. This is their daughter's second Season, but I understand she expected an offer from Mr. Yarrow before his tragic hunting accident, so we can't hold that last Season against her. That leaves Wednesday night open, perhaps for Almack's or the opera.”

”Almack's!” Henrietta exclaimed from across the room.

”Lord save us,” his mother muttered.

Couldn't she be nicer to Henrietta?

He pulled up a chair next to Henrietta. On the top of her lap desk rested a sketch. Before looking carefully, he said, ”How nice,” trying to compensate for his mother's simmering hostility.

Henrietta cut her gaze to his mother, and then held out the drawing. Kesseley swallowed. On the page was a flat rendition of the street outside that would make a draftsman shudder. On the sidewalk, she had drawn two finely detailed dandies like scientific dissections, lines pointing to their jackets, pants, boots, hats, with detailed descriptions of color, length and cut. She had even written the name of the cravats. Kesseley stared feeling his heart sink. For a few hours, he'd thought Henrietta had forgotten about her little charade. But he was wrong.

”You can take that to Schweitzer and Davidson,” she a.s.sured him.

”Thank you,” Kesseley responded, setting the drawing on the side table.

She opened her lap desk and drew out a tin box and a book that was covered in white cloth and embroidered with ivy leaves. ”This is for you,” she said. ”It's the diary I made for you and some other things that I thought might help you.”

He opened the box and found a stack of clippings. He picked up the top one and held it to the light. It was an ill.u.s.tration of a fop in a blue coat with ridiculously padded shoulders. His father would have worn such an atrocity.

”I think a blue-gray coat like the one in the picture would match your eyes nicely,” she said.

Kesseley yanked at his cravat. ”I have to get out of here!”

His mother's head shot up.

”I'm sorry, what did I say?” Henrietta asked, alarmed.

”I mean, I would like to go to the park and have a nice stroll,” he said, trying to smooth over his outburst. ”Let's all go to the park.”

Chapter Six.

Henrietta observed a bank of dense, gray clouds building to the west. The air was growing sticky. By evening it would rain. But for now, she and the throng of people pa.s.sing through the iron gate at Hyde Corner were optimistic the sky would hold if just for one fas.h.i.+onable hour.

She had never seen so many smart people in one place, except in the pages of magazines, and they weren't real. Promenade and walking dresses in sheer muslin, flounced with dainty lace and lined with rich sa.r.s.enet. Imagine actually owning gowns exclusively for walking in the park, Henrietta thought, as she looked down at the white muslin gown she had worn both to the parson's for dinner and church. How fine the expensive fabric had seemed when she bought it in Ely. She had run her fingers over the thin, almost translucent muslin, imagining the gown she would create, thinking how fas.h.i.+onable she would be. Yet here it seemed so commonplace. Forgettable. She was just an ordinary bluebell in a large, exotic flower garden.

Even the men were beautiful. s.h.i.+ning Hessians, tight doeskins, cravats in all sorts of elaborate knots, and carefree curls that seemed to tumble into just the right spot on their forehead. They strolled in smooth motions, their eyes half shut as if bored by the scene.

Kesseley seemed so out of place, a walking, unmatched ma.s.s of wrinkled fabric and wild hair. Like a tall seedling weed rising above the flowers, begging for the gardener's sickle.

Three rather goggled-eyed and homely young misses burst into giggles upon pa.s.sing him. Henrietta reeled around, a primitive, protective instinct burning in her breast. One clever girl was discreetly pointing to a gra.s.s stain stretching across Kesseley's thigh while her friends laughed behind their hands.

Some inner feline sharpened its claws. She restrained herself from pulling every little silk bow and bead from the ladies' fine pelisses.

But another sight stole the girls' attention, causing them to release a collective gasp. A handsome buck cantered along the fence separating the riders from walkers.

Henrietta's heart squeezed shut. Everything vanished from her thoughts-the goggle-eyed girls, Kesseley and his mother-everything but the graceful rider.

Edward.

His beautiful face s.h.i.+ned out from all the other faces. Even from a few feet away, she could see the sparkling glint in his eyes. He tilted his face to the sun, letting the wind tousle the curls peeping below his curled hat.

Did he not see her? Could he not feel her? She stepped forward to follow Edward's progress and inadvertently brushed against Kesseley.

”Pardon,” she murmured.

He looked down and smiled, clearly innocent of Edward's presence.

Up ahead, Edward had caught up to a diminutive chestnut horse holding an elegant lady clad in cornflower blue. Henrietta could not see the rider's face, only the ridiculous daisies poking out of her bonnet. He tipped his hat to the lady, that beautiful, almost crooked grin curling his lips.

Henrietta closed her eyes and bit down on the soft skin of her lower lip, hoping the pain would keep the tears away. That smile belonged to her. He was hers.

When she opened her eyes again, two big white horses' mouths were shoved in her face, lips open, displaying square yellow teeth. Henrietta jumped back.

The matching bays drew a curricle containing two of the most exotic women Henrietta had ever seen. She could only stare.

They had the contradictory appearance of being at one time older and younger than they were. Their rosy cheeks and lips belied a hint of wrinkles about the corners of their eyes.

A dark brunette held the reins in her slender fingers. Large glossy curls framed her fine-boned face. The lady's almond eyes were a brilliant copper.

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