Chapter Twenty-Nine
The day after the wedding Henrietta left for London with her aunt and uncle. Her father and Verity were so happy and caught up in each other; it had been a good decision to give them some privacy. Almost as soon as they walked into her aunt’s mansion, Aunt Gabrielle began exclaiming over the invitations that had piled up in their absence. A giddy round of routs, dances and balls awaited them.
Henrietta gritted her teeth and threw herself into the social life, hoping to meet Christian somewhere along the way. She wasn’t entirely confident, however. She knew he didn’t attend many balls. She danced until her feet hurt, and went to the opera, always searching for his face among the crowd. Men paid their attentions to her, but Henrietta’s cool, disinterested manner gave them pause, and they drifted away in search of friendlier debutantes.
By Season’s end, she’d hadn’t seen him. Aunt Gabrielle expressed disappointment that Henrietta was to return to the country without one offer of marriage. She’d urged Henrietta to smile more often when she danced, but she didn’t press it. Although aware of her aunt’s worried looks, Henrietta couldn’t seem to regain her spirits.
Baroness Le Trobe’s ball closed the season, and this was the one ball Henrietta was eager to attend. She’d first danced with Christian at the baroness’ North London mansion. She took great care with her appearance, choosing her prettiest gown, a muslin embroidered with yellow flowers and a yellow sash. The maid dressed her lightly powered hair with tiny rosebuds.
But Christian didn’t come. The night drew on, and she lost hope. Not wishing to dance again, she wandered through the smoky card room where guests gathered around the gaming tables. A lady in gold silk with a low décolletage, lost at roulette. She tossed a huge, diamond and emerald broach onto the table, shrugged and left the room.
Two men commented on it.
“Countess Grey is at it again. The Count won’t be pleased,” one man said.
“No, indeed,” said the other. “But have you heard about Hartley?”
Henrietta’s paused and pretended to watch the game in progress. Her heart began to beat so hard she thought she would faint. She strained to follow their conversation as the noise in the room rose to a crescendo when someone won the broach.
“Christian Hartley, the diplomat? No, what’s the news?”
“Wounded somewhere overseas. They’ve got him home.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound good.”
“Poor fellow. Where was he?”
“No idea. Some smoky government business. Oh, look Barnstable has thrown his cards in. I need a word with him.”
They drifted away. Henrietta held onto the table edge as her knees threatened to give way. It couldn’t be Christian the gypsy spoke of. The one who would die? No! She would not believe it.
* * *
The next morning, Henrietta was out of bed as soon as it grew light. Confident that her aunt slept late after a ball, she dressed in a subdued navy-blue walking gown and donned a hooded cloak she borrowed from a servant. She left the house and shivered, the breeze cold on her face as she hurried through the streets to Christian’s townhouse. She ran up the steps and banged on the knocker. Minutes passed before a manservant answered. He adjusted his coat, shaving soap on his whiskers, and stared at her in surprise.
“I am here to see Mr. Hartley. He’s expecting me,” she said, brushing past him. She removed her cloak in the hall and handed it to him. “Where is he?”
“You can’t see him, Miss...?” When she simply stared at him, refusing to answer, he sputtered, “He’s indisposed.”
“I’m aware of that.” She seized the man’s coat and shook it. “Is he here?”
He stepped back, smoothing his coat. “Mr. Hartley is abed with a malady.”
“Take me to him. Immediately.”
The butler sighed. “It will be more than my life’s worth if I do.”
“Nonsense. Don’t be so dramatic. My father is a good friend of Mr. Hartley’s. I must speak to him. A matter of urgency.”
“A matter of some urgency, is it?” He seized this explanation like a drowning man grabbing at wreckage floating in the sea. “I must announce you. Your name?”
“I wish to surprise him.” She followed he butler upstairs.
The butler paused on the landing. “Wait here, if you please.” He knocked at a door, and when a deep voice responded, he entered and shut the door in Henrietta’s face.
She tapped her foot. Several minutes passed. She grasped the doorknob and opened the door to find the servant explaining to Christian in a broken voice that he was sure it was an urgent matter. Henrietta pushed past him.
“Henrietta!” Christian lay in bed; his shoulder heavily strapped his face pale in the early morning light.
“Oh, Christian.” With a sob, she rushed to the bed, and perched on it beside him. “You’ve been hurt!” She plucked at the sheet and patted him gently. Peeked at his bandage. “Does it hurt very much? What happened? Tell me!”
