What he needed was time with Henrietta. Tomorrow, they would be married, and he didn’t want to spend the entire day before his wedding listening to Viscount Brightley compare the taste of Tremberley Manor pheasants to those from his Gilchrist Park.
It was bad enough that now that guests had filled the place Henrietta had to sleep on the other side of the manor. He had tried to see some way around it, but Catherine had pulled him aside and insisted on the appearance of propriety. Her undertone had been clear enough. Don’t anger John further. And even Trem had to admit that he would raise an eyebrow to an unmarried couple doing the same. It just wasn’t done nor was it worth the risk.
Well, today, he resolved, he was going to send propriety to the devil. He was going to take Henrietta out alone into the countryside. He didn’t care who he had to scandalize. He had something he wanted to show her, anyway. Something she hoped would make her feel proud of him.
Luckily, Mr. Foxcroft had planned an excursion to the lake for his guests this afternoon and it would be the perfect occasion to pull Henrietta away from the others. It was almost time for the party to set out.
As Trem came around the back of the manor, he saw the wedding guests milling about, waiting for their departure. The day was overcast but still fine, bright with a hint of warmth. All of their guests had arrived now. In addition to his friends, the Seymours, Sebastian Burnbridge and his father, and the Brightleys, there were two dozen other guests in attendance, including the mothers of Leith and Montaigne (both widows) and Montaigne’s two oldest unmarried sisters, Lady Willa and Lady Elizabeth. His second cousins, the Marsdens, were also there. They were the closest living relations he had and, as always, they seemed a little stunned by the manor and the ton milieu that orbited it. His second cousin was a country vicar and didn’t have occasion to circulate much in high society.
Mr. and Mrs. Wallis were in attendance also, with their two daughters who had just debuted and who both displayed the classic debutante demeanor: ill at ease and eagle-eyed for potential matches. All of the Wallises were currently in conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton, the Dowager Marchioness of Leith, and his mother. They all appeared to be discussing a curricle accident Montaigne had gotten into recently—the tuts of the Dowager sent a shiver down Trem’s own spine—and Mr. Pendleton, with the authority of his profession, was explaining how a sharp turn at speed could upset such a vehicle.
And, of course, Lady Trilling and Lady Wethersby were there, both close friends of the Breminsters and Henrietta’s chaperones during her first season. The older women eyed him with jocular interest. He felt distinct approval radiating from the matrons, which was a bit odd, given that John himself was so cross with him.
He moved to pass the two women but found himself snagged on the elbow by a gloved hand.
“Lord Tremberley,” Lady Trilling pressed, “I must wish you joy in your marriage. I do not think you could have picked better.”
“Thank you,” he said, bowing quickly, impatient to find Henrietta.
“Yes, my lord,” Lady Wethersby nearly sang. “Not many men are good enough for our Henrietta, but we must say we approve wholeheartedly.”
He bowed to the ladies and tried to look grateful. And he was. But, right now, Trem only cared for locating his fiancée.
As the party set off, Trem fell into step with Henrietta and she smiled up at him. He could see the yearning in her soft blue eyes and he hated that the presence of others had dampened their ability to be close to one another. When the group headed into the wooded path that led to the lake, Trem fell back and then leaned down to fiddle with his bootlace. As he knew she would, Henrietta waited for him.
Catherine and John stopped. “Are you coming, Henrietta?”
“Go on,” Trem responded. “We’ll catch up.”
He could only imagine the look on John’s face. Serves him right.
Finally, after a heavy moment, he heard them walk on.
He straightened and looked at Henrietta.
She looked eager as she met his eye. “Where are we going?”
Trem laughed and took her hand.
He led her down another path into the woods. They didn’t speak, but their hands were gripped together, tightly, and he could feel the coiled emotion in her body. Did she want him as badly as he wanted her? It had only been one night apart and need for her permeated his very being.
He cursed at himself for his eagerness. Lifting her skirts was not supposed to be the point of this excursion.
Finally, they reached the edge of the woods, which let out onto a pasture which had lain fallow for years. It had once been for grazing, but a road had been built through it, which if you followed it far enough reached the sea. Sitting in the pasture, not far from the road, sat a huge structure.
“What is this?” Henrietta asked, looking up at him.
“It’s an old barn. But it is very large on the inside. Do you want to see?”
Henrietta nodded and he tugged her inside.
The rafters were high overhead and, in a rarity, the building felt even larger on the inside than on the outside. Trem had always found it a kind of enchanted space himself and it had been one of his favorite spots to visit as a boy. It had always soothed him for reasons he couldn’t explain.
“It’s very well built for being so long neglected,” Henrietta observed.
Trem nodded in response, trying to anticipate her reaction to what he wanted to reveal. “I asked Mr. Foxcroft about the soundness of the structure and he said it is very good—that it could be used for anything. He has never had a need for it but he has also never wanted to see it torn down because it is such good craftsmanship.”
“Do you want to use it for something?” Henrietta reached out and touched one of the beams. He loved the look of her hand on it, how she touched the wood gently but possessively. Unable to take the sight of even an inanimate object absorbing the touch he wanted so much, he took her hand, closing his fingers around it.
