“Who?” she said, her eyes still locked on his face.
“Your husband—Mr. Crawford. I thought you were referring to him when you said—”
“You’re right. I mean—that is whom I was referring to.” She turned her face from his and looked out onto the garden.
“He was lucky to have had you. I hope he realized that.”
She shifted her stance and continued to gaze out into the garden.
Henry cursed himself inwardly. He’d made her uncomfortable with his free talk.
“Shall we continue walking?” he asked, wishing to change the subject.
“Yes, but first tell me, how shall I address you now?”
“As you did before. Call me Henry.”
She shook her head. “I’m Alice’s nanny. I cannot address you—a baron—by his first name.”
“You can. Haven’t you noticed that my cousin doesn’t run a traditional household?” He smiled. “Her servants seem to make up the rules as they go along. And I like the way my name sounds when you speak it.”
Her cheeks colored. “Regardless, the other servants will talk, and I don’t want—I mean, like—to draw attention to myself.”
“Then call me whatever you like in public, but don’t deny me the pleasure of hearing my name on your lips in private.”
The color in her cheeks deepened, and she lowered her head. Henry sensed her discomfort. He’d gone too far—been too forward. They proceeded along a path of clipped hedges. “I enjoy your company,” he said, trying to downplay his true feelings. “I like talking to you and taking walks with you. We are friends, and I don’t wish that to change.”
“Speaking of friends,” Anne pulled a crumpled piece of newspaper from her pocket. “Did you know this Lord Craventhorp, who was betrothed to Miss Leonard? I mean, I imagine you ran into him once or twice since you’re both peers.”
Henry ran a hand through his hair.
Did he imagine the accusation in her voice, or was it real?He decided that he best tell the truth. He’d withheld it from her long enough.
“We were at Eton and Cambridge together, but I never liked him. He’s the cruel, bully type. I’m not at all surprised Miss Leonard tried to escape him. He treats women with utter disdain.”
“Do you think he murdered her?”
Nausea swam in Henry’s chest. He wondered if the guilt he felt was evident on his face. “It doesn’t matter what I think. No one will believe Craventhorp is guilty. He’s a viscount.”
“But you grew up alongside him and have spent time in his company, so youmusthave an opinion.”
Henry frowned. “Why are you so taken with this case? One would think you have a personal interest in Miss Leonard.”
“I do. As does every woman, I imagine. If someone of Miss Leonard’s stature and wealth isn’t safe, then how can any woman be safe? I think all women ought to take notice of this case.”
Her words settled on Henry’s chest with the weight of an albatross. “I should have done something to help—if I hadn’t been—” He stopped.
“Help? How could you have helped?”
Henry swallowed. No doubt she would abhor him for his cowardice, but he had to speak. If she despised him, it was no doubt what he deserved.
“I saw her—or rather—she ran into me one evening. It was at a ball in Mayfair. I’d stepped into the garden for some fresh air. That’s when a young lady flew into my arms out of nowhere. I had no idea what was happening, but I could sense her fear. I asked her if she needed help, but she ran off. That’s when I saw Craventhorp watching her with that same look—the one he used to get when he’d cornered one of the younger boys. He liked to see them cower in fear.”
The color drained from Anne’s face. “You saw her? You know—”
“It all happened so fast. And I was—well, in an unfit state. So, I have no memory of her face. If I hadn’t been…” Shame prevented him from continuing.
“Go on,” she urged.
