Part 28 (2/2)
The man stepped forward. The light from a candle sconce fell at a slant across his face. Mr. Elliot's wild white hair was slicked back in an old-fas.h.i.+oned queue. His beard was gone, revealing a hard cleft chin and two soaring cheekbones. A pale white scar sliced down his left cheek. His eyes glowed like those of a coiled cobra from the stories he had told her of India. Houghton's cool controlled demeanor vanished. His voice boomed like thunder. ”Lord Damien! What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?”
”What I wasn't strong enough to do two decades ago. I'm saving a lady.”
Henrietta's eyes shot to Lady Kesseley. The color drained from the lady's face, and she started to sway, her eyes rolling up in their sockets.
”Kesseley, your mother!” Henrietta screamed.
Too late. Lady Kesseley's body crumpled. Her head made a sickening thud as it struck the marble floor.
”Mama!” Kesseley cried and fell to his knees. He frantically rubbed her temples with his thumbs. Her eyes fluttered. She reached up and weakly took his arm. ”Tommie,” she whispered. Kesseley pulled her onto his lap.
”I've got you, Mama.”
Tears ran from her eyes. ”Why did he come back?”
Mr. Elliot-Lord Damien, whoever he was-backed away, all his chivalry gone, his face contorted with a mixture of panic, fear and helplessness. His eyes sought Henrietta, pleading for something. What? Was she supposed to save him now?
She jerked against the duke. His fingers easily gave way. She looked at Lady Kesseley buried in her son's arms weeping, then at Mr. Elliot. ”You're Lord Damien? The horrid rake? The inspiration for Lord Blackraven?”
The man in question bowed his head. A rumble of excited whispers resounded in the great hall.
Henrietta felt the little faith she had fleeing away. Nothing made sense. She reached for her mother's pendant, feeling only skin and bone. ”I'm so tired.”
Kesseley's head jerked up. Their eyes met. She saw her name form on his lips, those lips that could be both gentle and rough, capable of entrancing her or slicing her heart.
She had come here tonight to let him go. It was the only way she could think to love him now.
Release him. Let it all flow away.
”I'm so sorry, Kesseley. I ruined everything for you again. Take care of your mother. I can no longer be her companion. I'm sorry,” she whispered, turned and ran.
”No!” he shouted to her back.
The guests streamed from the ballroom, their bodies cras.h.i.+ng against hers as she pushed her way to the opposite stairs.
Kesseley shouted her name, begging her to wait. She covered her ears and rushed down the curving staircase, and out into the street. The rain splattered her face and soaked through to her s.h.i.+ft.
A hackney was pulling to a stop. She ran up to the driver. ”Can you take me to The Green Man Inn near Greenwich Park?”
”It'll be a whole crown for me to get there and back.”
”I've only got a half crown. But my father can pay you at The Green Man. He can pay you extra. Please?”
The driver leaned down from his seat and yanked Henrietta's hair, pulling out a pearl and several strands of her hair.
”I'll be keeping this pretty pearl, just to be making sure he pays alright,” he said, grinning wide enough to display his black, crooked teeth.
Henrietta pulled herself inside the carriage, hearing the seam of her gown rip. The man clicked at his horse, and the hackney took off. She wrapped her arms around herself to try to stop the cold s.h.i.+vers convulsing her body. The hackney turned by the Duke of Houghton's estate. Out of the rain-streaked window, she could see Kesseley running down the twin rows of boxwoods at the entrance of the mansion. She slid back into the shadows and covered her eyes.
Chapter Twenty.
A footman in green livery ran out from The Green Man Inn and opened the hackney door. Henrietta latched on to his hand and stepped down, feeling her heart slow. She had made it to safety. The rain was coming down harder, and she shouted above its roar, asking the hackney driver to wait.
The inn had red walls with etchings of castle ruins scattered about. A glossy black wooden balcony ran around three of the walls. Men sat about in chairs, gla.s.ses of ale on the tables beside them. Their conversations were no louder than whispers. Henrietta's presence caused several curious stares. She crossed to a small window where a bored attendant sat, reading a journal. He motioned to a footman, who led Henrietta up the stairs and down the hall to a small paneled room.
Her father and Mr. Van Heerlen sat at a table with discarded china and silver, a bottle of wine and several stacks of paper. They shot up, surprised, when they saw her.
She ran to her father and wrapped her arms around his thin frame. His scent filled her, reminding her of home and everything safe.
”My daughter, whatever is the matter? You're all wet. We were coming to get you tomorrow.”
”Oh, Papa,” Henrietta repeated over and over as she buried her face in his cravat.
”Hush now,” he said. ”You're back with me. Old papa. You haven't seen our new work.” He gestured to the papers.
Henrietta ran her finger along the numbers and symbols on the pages, grounding herself in the universe so much bigger than her problems. Planets, stars and comets millions of miles away from her, moving in the silence of s.p.a.ce. ”It looks wonderful. I'm so proud.”
She told him about the hackney driver outside, and her father went to his chamber to retrieve the money. She and Mr. Van Heerlen were alone.
The hem of her gown dripped water on the floor. She crossed her arms over her chest. Cold b.u.mps were all over her skin. ”Mr. Van Heerlen, I apologize that you should see me thus.”
”Not at all.” He pulled his chair closer to the hearth. ”Come sit by the fire. You are too cold.”
”Thank you,” Henrietta said feebly. He pulled the blanket off the back of the chair and nestled it around her shoulders. The soft fabric of his s.h.i.+rt brushed her skin.
Henrietta grabbed his hand, surprising him. ”I have received your letters, sir, with your sentiments. You should know that something terrible has happened. I'm not quite sure of the exact details, but my reputation has been compromised beyond repair. I am disgraced, it seems.”
He put his index finger to his lips, as if to quiet a child. ”Did I not warn you of London? Now you understand my concern. How I wish you had stayed at Rose House. I knew it would all end thus. But I was not in a position then to stop you.”
”But you understand the meaning of my words.”
”I do.” He knelt down beside her and tilted his head. ”Still I am unaltered in my feelings. Now rest. Tomorrow will wash all this away.”
She doubted whatever sins she carried would be washed away in the London rain. Nothing made this ugly town clean. The coal would be in the air again tomorrow, the gutters swelling with brown, stinking water and waste. And her name would be whispered in parlors all over Mayfair. But she wouldn't be there to hear it.
Henrietta started. ”I need to send a note! They don't know where I am!”
”No, you must rest. I will take care of it.” A protective glow manifested in his eyes. ”I will take care of you, dearest Miss Watson.”
Kesseley flung open the door of the house at Curzon Street, slamming the k.n.o.b into the wall. The house was dark. No sound but the splatter of rain against the windows.
”Henrietta!” he called, hearing only his echo. ”Henrietta!”
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