Chapter Six
Henrietta’s first important dance was at Almack’s Assembly rooms, the Palladian-styled building in King Street known as the Seventh Heaven of the Fashionable World. The ballroom was crowded as the ton performed a Scottish reel beneath the multi-tiered chandeliers. The air stuffy with hot bodies, perfume, and dozens of candles. Ambitious mamas kept a sharp eye, anxious for their daughters to present well and ensnare a prosperous husband.
Henrietta was grateful to find her aunt less sharp-eyed than most. She held Henrietta on a loose rein, merely nodding and smiling when she took to the dance floor with the man of her choice. She was fast learning the complicated rules that must be upheld to keep her from disfavor. She had been instructed to appear docile and modest, something not natural to her. When the Marquess of Ramsbotham, a man of middle years, came to claim her hand for a second dance, she offered him her prettiest smile and told him she was otherwise engaged.
He bowed and left her, but not before she saw reproach in his eyes. She had an overwhelming desire to poke her tongue out at his broad back clad in gold silk taffeta, but with admirable restraint she turned with a bright smile to greet her next partner, a thin young man who lacked the Marquess’s presence, but had a nice smile. Neither sparked the remotest interest. In the semicircular balcony above, the orchestra struck up a lively tune for a country dance, and she lost herself in the steps.
“Ajeune filleshould be simply dressed,” her aunt had said earlier that evening. “The pale silk with the pearls, and rosebuds in your hair, is the perfect foil for your innocence and fresh beauty.”
Henrietta did not consider herself an innocent. Although she had not experienced love in the full sense, she had grown up in the country, and was confident she understood the mating dance. Some of her partners were unashamed flirts. In their powdered wigs, silks, and satins, they showed her a fine leg. No one touched her heart, however, and when they returned to her aunt’s mansion at the end of the evening, the image of Mr. Hartley refused to fade from her mind.
She searched and had not found him in the ballroom or the supper room where the rather uninspiring fare of bread and butter and small cakes was served along with tea and lemonade. Almack’s had failed to live up to her expectations. It would not be to Mr. Hartley’s taste either, she suspected. Where might she meet him again?
As she blew out her candle and pounded her pillow into an agreeable shape, she suddenly understood his reference. What a slow-top she was. He rode in the park every morning, he had told her so. And he passed by this very window on his return. Tomorrow, she would happen to be on the balcony at around the time she had last seen him. His irresistibly wicked gaze made her cheeks burn. If he should climb up to her balcony, would she throw water over him? She was no longer sure.
The next morning as soon as she woke, Henrietta leapt from her bed. The city’s churches tolled the hour of nine of the clock. She donned her dressing gown and sipped the cup of hot chocolate the kitchen maid had brought her. Once alone, Henrietta stepped out onto the narrow balcony. A beautiful sunny morning greeted her, and her spirits soared. The street was as busy as ever with people strolling about, and carriages traveling up and down. London was so exciting. She finished her chocolate, a breeze playing with the hem of her gown, cooling her legs. There was no sign of Mr. Hartley. She shivered slightly.
A merchant pulled his cart up below her to make a delivery to the house. He stood hands akimbo and ogled her openly. Annoyed and embarrassed, she stepped back inside her chamber again to find Molly waiting. “I’ll wear the blue brocade, Molly,” she said grumpily. Mr. Hartley was not an ardent suitor. That was clear, but really, why should she care? Today she was to go with her father to hire a suitable horse for her to ride in the park that afternoon. He promised to do so before he returned to the country.
Henrietta quickly dressed and hurried to the breakfast room. She found Aunt Gabrielle there drinking coffee.
“Good morning, Hetta. You slept well?”
“I did. Thank you, aunt.” Henrietta had never known a bad night in her life. “Has Papa gone riding?”
“No, perhaps he’s still abed.”
“I’ll go up. I want to see him.” She turned to the maid. “Is my father’s valet attending him?”
The maid bobbed. “No, Miss. His lordship’s bed has not been slept in, Lady Henrietta.”
“Did he not come home last night?” Henrietta put her hand to her mouth. “I hope he hasn’t met with an accident.”
A knowing gleam lit in aunt’s eyes. “Don’t be alarmed, child. I am sure he is perfectly well. Your father is entitled to a life of his own, is he not?”
Henrietta gasped. “He has never….” She paused, rendered silent by the prospect of her father taking on the appearance of a lover. Her aunt’s sympathetic smile made Henrietta defensive. “Papa said Mademoiselle Verity looks like Mama. Do you think so?”
“The shape of her face, perhaps and her coloring.” Aunt Gabrielle looked thoughtful. “But in every other way she is nothing like my sister. I doubt your father’s interest lies in that direction.”
Henrietta spread butter onto a roll warm from the oven. “What direction is that?”
“I always hoped he would marry again. But I doubt he considers it with Mademoiselle Verity.”
The door opened, and her father entered, fresh from his barber. “Good morning, my two favorite ladies.”
“Papa, where…” Henrietta began. She faltered when Aunt Gabrielle gave a quick shake of her head.
“Mm?” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll have baked eggs this morning, Trotter.” He drank from his coffee cup. “What is it, my dear?”
“Are you planning to hire a horse for me, today?”
“I am. We’ll choose one at the park stables. We shall join others in their pursuit of a canter in Rotten Row late this afternoon.” He shook his head. “It’s not like the country, Hetta, you can’t gallop in the Row. Please remember that when I’m no longer in Town.”
“Do you plan to return home soon, Anthony?” Aunt Gabrielle asked.
The footman appeared and removed the cover on a dish of eggs and ham.
Her father shook his head. “Not immediately. There is something which holds me here in London for a while.”
