“What is it?” She wondered if he was thinking of John. It must pain him, of course, that his best friend would be so furious with him, but he had thus far expressed little consternation on the subject. She worried that the regret would break over him unexpectedly and he would realize he had sacrificed too much to make her his wife.
To her surprise, however, he said, “I’m thinking of your mother and Mr. Ryerson.”
“What do you mean? Please, don’t be cross for my sake that she won’t attend the wedding. Really, I’m not pained.”
“It isn’t that,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s…it’s hard to explain. I admire, I suppose, his approach to the land and his community. And what she said about women and what having children does to them, what society takes from them…”
Henrietta was taken aback. She had assumed, of course, that Trem was sympathetic to her mother’s story. He had never criticized her conduct, which she appreciated. But she hadn’t thought he had been listening to her with anything more than his usual interest in people and their stories.
“Her words affected you.”
“They have made me think. What have I done with all of the wealth I have been given? I’ve thrown lavish parties for my friends and bought baubles for women. No, in fact, I’ve bought baubles, most of all, for myself.”
Henrietta was surprised by his words. Trem had always been so carefree. It was unusual to see him serious. It suited him, this new tone of voice. But then, in her opinion, everything suited him.
“But that’s only natural. For a man in your position. And especially one without much early guidance.”
Trem shook his head. “It’s no excuse. It makes me wonder what Mr. Foxcroft must think of me. He never has said anything, but how could he? He must see me as the most frivolous man alive.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Well, I’m not,” Trem said ruefully. “But I won’t let it continue. I must think about how to change—to do more. You have your magazine with Miss Seymour. I need my own purpose.”
“I think that’s a very admirable goal. And you must know that I’ll support you in anything.”
“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “And what your mother went through—having nowhere to turn, being forced to give you up to your father—that isn’t how it should be. And many women don’t even have a choice as good as that one.”
Henrietta squeezed his hand in response. She was surprised—she had to admit it. While she had always loved Trem, she had never seen this side of him. It moved her.
*
As the carriage traveled, Henrietta fell asleep in Trem’s arms. She had not quite realized how exhausted she was after the emotional intensity of the week behind her—and she knew the week ahead promised to be no less eventful.
When she awoke, night was falling, and the confines of the carriage felt rather stultifying. Raising her head from Trem’s shoulder, she saw that he was awake.
“I wish we were there already.”
“You’re awake, are you?” He smiled. “Me too. I don’t mind traveling by carriage, but even a solid day in a coach tests my patience. Shall we stop?”
“Maybe for a moment. Just to stretch our legs.”
As she spoke the words, she heard a kind of wicked undertone in them that she hadn’t even intended. Somehow, her body always knew that she wanted him before her mind did. And really she was finding the carriage confining. She did yearn for the fresh night air.
Trem rapped on the ceiling of the carriage and the vehicle slowed. Once it ground to a halt, they did not stop for Percy to open the door but clambered out. Trem had in one hand the basket of foodstuffs that they had taken with them from the inn.
“Lady Henrietta and I will take a short walk. And have a bit of supper.”
“Are you sure, my lord?” Percy said, already untying his own bundle of victuals and handing a portion to his assistant, a young man they had hired in Rampisham and promised a place at Tremberley Manor. “Don’t stray too far. It will be dark soon.” The last sentence was nearly indecipherable over a hearty bite he took of his bread and cheese.
“We won’t be gone for long,” Trem said, pulling her towards a welcoming thicket of woods.
Together, they walked through the woods until, after only about two hundred yards, they came to a clearing. Henrietta watched as Trem reached into the wicker basket and pulled out a flannel blanket and then spread it on the ground.
“You planned this?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said, his mouth bent into a half-smile. “Sit, my lady.”
Henrietta settled herself on the blanket. On all sides, they were hidden by thick trees, which grew so close together they gave a feeling of great privacy. The sky above, however, was visible through the tops of the trees. The low light of the sunset made the woods around them glow.
