Part 16 (1/2)

He shook his head and let out a quick snort of a laugh. ”Have another grape. In love or out of love, it is a glorious day. We should enjoy it while it lasts and not squander our emotions on circ.u.mstances or people we can't alter. By the way-forgive my changing the subject-I heard you beat Lady Bertram at cards the other evening.”

”What do you know of me?” Henrietta said, alarmed.

”I asked around. Aside from what you just told me, your name is Henrietta Watson, from Norfolk.”

Where had the footman gone? He was supposed to protect her from such scary men in the park. She reached for her letter and stuffed it in her reticule.

The man put his large hand on her arm. ”Now wait, you didn't even ask my name. I'm Danny Elliot from Kent. Pleased to meet you, too.”

”I have to go.”

”Sit back down. I'm not in love with you, and I won't ask for your hand in marriage. All I want is to enjoy a pleasant day with pleasant company. Everyone else is.”

She hesitated, hovering half bent above the ground. It was true-a family was eating together on a blanket, while the grandfather helped the young daughter feed sc.r.a.ps of bread to begging ducks. Two men lay on the bank, hats pulled over their heads, letting the fish play havoc with their poles.

”Come on, sit down. Where else are you going to find more interesting conversation? I can tell tales from all over the wide world. Just ask me.”

”Tell me about sands of the Sahara,” she challenged.

”Ah, I remember them well...”

Henrietta didn't intend on staying, but his stories were luscious things you could curl up in and be lulled asleep by. How the sands in Africa blow up bigger than waves on the ocean, blocking the sun and burying everything. Jungles where hairy manlike animals lived in trees. Large snakes that could curl about a man and choke him.

She could see the footman approaching in the distance, both he and Samuel dripping wet. Oh, dear.

”I must go,” Henrietta said, standing up. ”Thank you, but I really can't say if we should meet again.”

”If we are to meet, we will.” An enigmatic smile lighted his face.

Chapter Thirteen.

Henrietta trudged home behind the footman and Samuel, looking particularly pathetic so that Lady Kesseley might say, ”Why don't you go back to bed, dear. You look so sad, broken-hearted, miserable, sick and exhausted. Kesseley and I will go out this evening.”

No such good fortune. Lady Kesseley waved a note before Henrietta's face, clearly annoyed. ”Tommie says not to wait for him this evening. I certainly hope he doesn't think I am going to stand about the walls watching debutantes dance. So I'm going to Covent Gardens with Lady Winslow and the princess. You must come. I cannot think staying in bed and moping will help you.”

But that's exactly what Henrietta wanted to do! ”Thank you, Lady Kesseley, but I-”

”I think you need a new gown tonight. My lady's maid will alter one of mine. Come, let's find one.”

Lady Kesseley's kindness confused Henrietta. Did she feel sorry for Henrietta after witnessing how Edward had deserted her? She sighed and followed Lady Kesseley upstairs, surrendering to the strong current running against her today.

For some unknown reason, Henrietta had envisioned Lady Kesseley's chamber as the same muted gold she wore so often. But it was a breezy place, as if Henrietta could open the long white curtains draping the front windows and see the sunlit Mediterranean sea, not gray London. The walls were smooth bright white with simple stucco work. A tall mahogany bed faced the window, draped in a fabric of yellow buds entwined on a vine. Several volumes were stacked on a table beside her bed, as well as a vase containing a single yellow flower. A light whiff of residual perfume floated on the air. Henrietta felt like a little girl coming into her mother's chamber, gazing at the perfume bottles, creams and jewelry boxes.

Lady Kesseley disappeared into a small morning room. Henrietta waited, looking at a miniature of young Kesseley that sat on his mother's commode. Were they ever that young? she thought, studying the young boy with long curls.

Lady Kesseley returned. She held a delicate, s.h.i.+mmering pale rose silk gown with small ruffled sleeves and tiny rolled silk swirling on the low bodice.

”Do you like it? I think it will compliment your beautiful complexion,” she said, holding the gown to Henrietta's body. ”See, look.” She pointed to the mirror above her commode.

Henrietta's brown eyes glowed like whipped chocolate, her hair s.h.i.+ny against the rich fabric. She looked exotic, like a Spanish dancer.

Lady Kesseley opened the top drawer and drew out a necklace of intertwining strands of diamond cl.u.s.ters falling to a single larger diamond in the center. ”I've always admired your mother's pendant. The ruby reminds me of her. She was always so vivacious. But for this dress, perhaps you would like to borrow my diamonds.” Lady Kesseley laid the necklace over the tiny pendant and Henrietta gasped. She had never worn anything as exquisite.

Lady Kesseley smiled at Henrietta's reflection. ”Now, this should make you feel better,” she said.

Lady Winslow invited Lady Kesseley and Henrietta to her box on the middle balcony. It was close enough to afford a nice view of the stage and an even better view of the audience. Lady Winslow was clad in a s.h.i.+mmering, orange silk gown with a matching ribbon twisted with gold beads in her hair. She had brought two gentlemen along. One wore a sloppy black cravat and had curls so wild they made Kesseley's hair look tame. ”He's an artist,” Lady Winslow explained as if the poor man were afflicted with a disease. The princess had squeezed into a slim lavender gown that dramatically plunged in a deep V at the bodice, showing off her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her hair was piled high on her head and fell in little spirals around her face. Beside her sat a diminutive man who constantly pinched snuff from his gold box.

The balconies inside the theatre were stacked so high it was dizzying. Even at the tiptop, slammed against the stunning oval ceiling, people sat peering over the rail. Using the constant of gravity, Henrietta tried to calculate how long it would take a person falling from that height to hit the gallery. Approximately 1.5 seconds, she decided.

The burgundy curtain at the back of the box opened. A handsome gentleman stepped inside and bowed. He wore a simple cravat decorated with a diamond pin. A well-tailored black coat and tight breeches covered his athletic physique. His graying blond hair was cropped neatly about his tanned, muscular face. He scanned the box, his eyes coming to a rest on Lady Kesseley. She audibly swallowed and looked down at the lace fan on her lap, running her finger along its folds.

”I thought you were avoiding us,” Lady Winslow greeted him. Her voice held a sharp edge as she twirled her opera gla.s.s on her finger.

”I think you are mistaken,” he said. ”How could I stay away from such beauty?”

Lady Winslow let out a throaty laugh. ”How charming you are. But I do not for a minute believe it was my beauty or Princess Wilhelmina's that drew you.”

He pulled up a chair behind Lady Kesseley and sat down. A waft of his sweet cardamom-and-musk scent filled Henrietta's nose.

”I did not see your son this evening,” he said in a low voice to Lady Kesseley. ”May I stay?”

”We shouldn't ...I'm not sure...” she began. She sounded breathy and fl.u.s.tered.

He touched her shoulder. Her chest rose with her breath and a pink flush spread over her bosom. ”Come now,” he said. ”I thought we were friends again?”

She nodded.

A lazy smile lifted the edges of his mouth. He relaxed back in his chair and turned his attention to Henrietta. He raked her figure with his eyes. ”You must be my lady's little companion.”

Henrietta looked to Lady Kesseley for the introduction. ”Miss Watson, may I present Sir Gilling,” she said tightly, as if she were embarra.s.sed by her friend.

”A pleasure to finally meet you,” he said. His indolent smile widened. ”I have heard so much about you.”

”Have you ever seen so many birds of paradise?” Lady Winslow scanned the audience with her opera gla.s.ses. ”You would think it was the Cyprian Ball.”

Her remark caused a ripple of laughter among the gentlemen. Henrietta didn't understand. ”What's the Cyprian Ball?”

”Lady Winslow, show some decorum,” Lady Kesseley warned.

”Really, Ellie, you shouldn't keep the little gel in the dark.” Lady Winslow leaned forward in her seat until she could see Henrietta. ”My dear, you go to the b.a.l.l.s where the respectable ladies dance, but sometimes there are b.a.l.l.s-”

”Tomorrow night, for instance,” interjected the snuff-pinching gentleman.

Princess Wilhelmina whacked him with her fan.

”I said,” Lady Winslow continued, ”sometimes there are b.a.l.l.s where the unrespectable women dance.”