She closed her eyes for a fraction longer than a blink. She hated lying to John and Catherine. But there was no other way.
“Three weeks ago,” Henrietta said.
“Ah ha,” John replied, as if he had found the answer to a particularly difficult riddle. “So around the time of the Whitmore ball?”
Henrietta’s stomach turned. That was the night she had slept with Justin.
“Precisely,” she said, turning her attention back to her morning cake, which by now was horribly mutilated by her anxious ministrations.
“But you were with Lord Hartley that entire evening!” Catherine broke out. Henrietta wanted to close her eyes again. Or slap her sister-in-law. She had loved the woman since the moment she had met her, back when she had thought she was only a deportment tutor that John had brought from London to Edington Hall to train her for her season. But sometimes Catherine’s keen eye was damned inconvenient.
“That is right—you were,” her brother said, very clearly turning this conundrum over for the first time. “He was rather serious about you. Perhaps that is how he got so confused. He didn’t know you well enough, surely. I didn’t take your acquaintance with him seriously, of course, because I thought I would have known if you were in earnest about a man. But you have spent an awful lot of time with him this season.”
Her brother looked at her, waiting for a response. His green eyes, the color of sage, bore down on her. Catherine’s strange dark eyes—that navy, which was almost black—blinked at her too.
She cursed not only her meddling brother and his wife, but also her fiancé, who said he would visit this morning. But it was high noon—they ate breakfast late after a ball—and he had yet to make an appearance. She could use his help.
“I only ever regarded Justin as a friend,” she said, wincing not because it wasn’t true, but because she saw that she was going to have to lie about herself and Trem. “I asked him to act like he was courting me, however, because I didn’t want you two to discover that Trem and I were becoming better acquainted. I didn’t want either of you to become too hopeful that it would result in a betrothal when I wasn’t yet…sure. But it seems Justin got the wrong impression.”
“How very like a novel,” Catherine said, her eyes still suspicious. “Well, it was very foolish then of Justin to get notions. If he knew you were interested in another gentleman.”
John looked satisfied, even if Catherine didn’t.
“Good. I wouldn’t have wanted to know. It is much better to know now that you’re engaged.”
“But isn’t it a bit improper,” Catherine said, “to secretly court?”
“Darling,” John said, looking at her, “I don’t think we of all people can judge.”
Catherine swatted his arm. “Really, John.”
“Please, dear. Henrietta knows very well that you and I weren’t exactly…tempered before our wedding day.”
“Odious,” Henrietta cried out across the table. “Enough.” And she made a gagging noise to show that she was serious.
And she really was. Her brother was infuriating. He likely had Catherine in every room of Edington Hall before they were married, whereas she had to sink herself to the meanest subterfuges to keep him from knowing the very same type of information about herself.
“Your Grace,” Cresley announced, coming back into the breakfast room, “Lord Tremberley has arrived.”
Her fiancé appeared in the breakfast room. She still couldn’t believe that he was hers. He stood there, looking windswept, having clearly walked from his own townhome. While little could be an improvement over Trem in evening clothes, his casual morning attire lent him an air that was equally appealing, albeit in a different direction. He looked more approachable—every bit as handsome but friendlier. More like a husband. Henrietta felt her stomach flip anyway. God, would she ever feel normal around him?
He nodded at Catherine and John and then approached her. He took her hand and kissed her fingers. She felt herself color deeply, as if they hadn’t done many things more scandalous.
“Trem,” she managed to gasp out.
“My lady,” he said, and then sat in the chair next to her. Under the table, he didn’t relinquish her hand. The warmth of his palm flooded her with strength. Facing her brother felt more manageable with Trem at her side.
“I was just telling John about our courtship.”
“You were?” She could hear his effort to keep his tone neutral.
“Yes. He and Catherine just had to know the details.”
She heard Trem nearly choke on his tea.
“Of course,” he murmured, swallowing hard.
“So I told them about how I asked Justin to appear to court me. Because I didn’t want anyone to suspect that you and I were, well, courting ourselves. But it seems that poor Justin got desperately confused.”
