Henrietta sat on her bed, staring into her open wardrobe. She was accustomed to spending very little time on deciding what to wear for dinner, generally alternating between a serviceable blue dress with a silver sash and an equally serviceable brown dress with a gold sash. If she suddenly appeared downstairs in one of her three special-occasion dresses, Henri knew her parents would notice immediately.
And it wasn’t their attention she wished to attract.
Raphael Augustin. She murmured his name out loud, testing the sound of it on her tongue. Of course, she could tell herself that her attraction was merely because so few men crossed her path. Indeed, the last man to show any interest in her had been a solicitor her father’s age. Henri shuddered, thinking back to his straining waistcoat and sweaty forehead.
Perhaps it was the fact that the King’s agent was French. She couldn’t deny she’d initially found Tristan very attractive – even lamenting that Roseanna had met him first. But on seeing her cousin’s betrothed again this morning, she’d felt nothing.
She dragged her thoughts back to what to wear for dinner. That neither of her parents would approve of her infatuation was certain, and the last thing she wanted to do was to draw the wrong kind of attention to herself by dressing in a gown she would normally save for visits to Blackmore. Sighing, she climbed to her feet and picked out the brown dress, which her mother always maintained brought out the warmth of her hazel eyes.
Pulling off her woollen day dress, she swapped over quickly. Despite a cheerful fire burning in the hearth, the bedchamber had not yet warmed up. The weather had changed from mild and damp to unusually cold within the space of hours, which was yet another reason to choose the brown dress since it had been sewn from heavy taffeta.
Pulling the pins out of her hair, Henri dragged a brush through it, bemoaning the fact that Eliza, their one and only lady’s maid, was busy with her mother and Aunt Hope, leaving the younger women to style their own locks.
Grimacing at her reflection in the mirror, Henrietta went to pull open a drawer, intending to pick out her usual ribbon when all of a sudden something hit her bedchamber window. Startled, Henri almost dropped the candlestick she was holding. Seconds later, there was another cracking sound, and for a moment she thought the pane was broken. Holding the candle high, she stepped towards the window and parted the curtains, staring out into the dark. When the noise came the third time, she saw the stone as it ricocheted off the window.
Clearly someone was out there, but all she could see in the candlelight was her own reflection.
Hurriedly putting the candlestick back on the mantelpiece, she went back to the window and peered downwards. Seconds later, she drew in a disbelieving breath.
Standing below, shivering in the cold, was her cousin Roseanna.
With a muttered expletive, she dropped the curtains and hurried towards the door. Seconds later she was rushing down the stairs, only slowing down as she crossed the entrance hall. As soon as she reached the narrow inner hallway leading to the scullery and back door, she sped up again, trailing her hand against the wall to avoid stumbling in the dark.
Finally reaching the tradesman’s door, she unlocked it with trembling fingers and wrenched it open, leaning forward to peer out into the night.
Seconds later, her cousin materialised out of the gloom, shivering uncontrollably. Without preamble, Henri yanked her inside, whispering heatedly, ‘What the devil are you doing here, Rosie?Howdid you get here?’
Roseanna shook her head, clearly unable to frame a coherent sentence, and, forcing down her panic, Henrietta shut and locked the door, then as swiftly as she could, guided her cousin back towards the main part of the house. This time, instead of heading out into the entrance hall and up the main staircase, she turned towards the little-used back servants’ stairs. A couple of minutes later, after checking the coast was clear, she dragged her cousin into her bedchamber.
Seating Rosie in a small chair close to the fire, Henrietta dragged the heavy coverlet off the bed and wrapped it round her cousin’s still-shaking shoulders, finally kneeling down at her feet.
‘How did you get here, Rosie?’ she asked again, looking up into her cousin’s pale features.
‘I came on the stagecoach with Doris,’ Roseanna stammered after a few seconds.
Henrietta sat back on her heels and shook her head. ‘How on earth did you persuade your mother’s maid to do such a thing?’ she breathed. ‘Doris could lose her position for this.’
‘She was visiting her family in Paignton, and I told her I’d travel on my own if she refused to allow me to accompany her,’ Rosie retorted wearily, laying her head back against the back of the chair.
Henri grimaced in disbelief. ‘Did you tell Frankie what you were going to do?’ she asked.
‘She’s staying at Ravenstone,’ Roseanna returned. ‘Mother and Father stopped overnight to break their journey here.’
‘Surely they wanted you to go with her?’
‘Of course,’ Rosie answered, ‘but once I knew Uncle Roan had invited Tristan and Uncle Nicholas to Torquay, I was afraid something terrible had happened.’ She leaned forward and took Henrietta’s hand. ‘Please don’t give me away, Henri. I’ll stay here in your chamber – you won’t know I’m here…’
‘And what about Tristan?’ Henrietta quizzed her. ‘What will he do when he finds out you’re here?’
Roseanna’s expression turned mulish. It was so incongruous on her usually affable,wouldn’t say boo to a goosecousin that Henrietta actually laughed, much to her impromptu guest’s chagrin. Henri took a deep breath and continued, ‘I think I needto explain everything that’s happened sweet. And then you really need do to speak with Tristan…’
By unspoken consent, the conversation during dinner avoided the subject of unexpected inheritances and murderous conspiracies – not least because of the unexpected addition of impressionable nine-year-old ears at the table.
Naturally, Tristan was very subdued, and Henrietta could only imagine how difficult it must have been for him to accept the bizarre turn of events. Indeed, there was every chance he still hadn’t entirely absorbed what most people would assume was nothing more than a bag of moonshine. And not only that, but to discover the names of his parents in one breath and be told they’d been murdered in the second would give anybody a fit of the blue devils, even if it did make him a marquis.
Whatever other ramifications might come from Roseanna’s arrival, Henri knew that Tristan at least was going to be very glad to see his betrothed. Unfortunately, she hadn’t quite worked out how that was going to happen without alerting the whole household, especially if she was to avoid utterly ruining either her or Rosie’s reputation while she was at it. Clearly, she’d not inherited her grandfather’s propensity to come up with a Banbury story at the drop of a hat…
A loud slurping sound brought out of her reverie, and glancing to her left she realised that Finn practically had his head in his soup bowl as he attempted to get as much onto the spoon and then into his mouth as possible, only slowing down after his father laid a hand lightly on his arm.
