He introduced her to the other guests who proceeded to ignore her. He was coerced onto the dance floor by a woman in a purple domino and disappeared among the dancers. As soon as the dance ended, another began. With a deepening sense of abandonment, Henrietta grew more nervous by the minute. And for this, she’d behaved deceitfully toward her aunt. Her father would be disappointed in her. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it with an impatient hand.
Then Mr. Foxwell stood in front of the box. It must be he. He wore the crimson domino and held out his hand to her. Henrietta accepted it gratefully, and with a small sniff, allowed him to lead her onto the floor. As they negotiated the steps of the dance, she noticed his unpowdered hair was far darker than Mr. Foxwell’s, although it might have been the light. Below the mask his chin was certainly more chiseled. Serious eyes stared at her through the slits in the mask.
Her heart began to thud. She studied his neck above his cravat which was stronger and lacked a bobbing Adam’s apple. He was broader in the shoulder. She drew away her hands and stepped back. “Who are you, sir?” She pushed up her mask, which threatened to suffocate her.
“Why on earth are you here, Lady Henrietta?” He stepped closer and pulled the mask into place again. “You can’t be seen here.”
“Why?”
He untied the strings of his mask and it fell away. Mr. Hartley looked down at her, frowning. “Surely your aunt did not agree to this.”
“No… I…” She was glad that the mask hid her shame. He was so serious and not the charming flirt he’d been on their last meeting.
He took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his elbow and led her from the dance floor. She went willingly, relieved that they didn’t return to the box. She hadn’t much liked Mr. Foxwell’s friends.
Mr. Hartley drew her to a seat in the gardens. The yellow moon had turned a ghostly silver, and the air grew colder. Henrietta shivered.
“So… you came here alone?”
“Yes, I thought there’d be no harm in it. I expected Mr. Foxwell to take care of me.” Embarrassment made her voice wobble.
“My carriage is at the gate. Allow me to restore you to your aunt’s care.”
He treated her like a child. Henrietta suffered a prickle of irritation. She could well imagine what sort of lady awaited his pleasure. A stab of jealousy coursed through her. She ripped the bothersome mask off her head. “What of your party? Surely you are not here alone? I don’t want to take you away from them.”
“My party will await my return.” He frowned and rubbed his brow. No doubt she was a problem needing to be quickly dealt with.
A group of revelers approached them, the men holding up a stumbling woman. They called for Henrietta and Mr. Hartley to join them, and one man tried to take her by the elbow.
Mr. Hartley pushed the man away. “On your way, sir. This young lady is with me.”
The man, in his cups, looked as if he would like to argue the point. But Mr. Hartley was clearly of some athletic ability and quite prepared to fight, so he changed his mind. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand and staggered off to join his companions who’d disappeared into the pavilion.
Henrietta, admiring the set of Mr. Hartley’s shoulders, thought the man had made a wise decision. Her admiration faded when he glowered at her. “Allow me to help you replace your mask.”
“Oh, very well.” She rather enjoyed his hands moving over her head, lightly touching her skin as he straightened the mask. She gazed up at him, but could see little of his face beyond the firm set of his mouth. Did his hands stay a moment too long on her hair?
He held out his arm to her. “Shall we?”
This was not the time to fight for her independence. “Thank you. I believe I will go home if you would be so good.” She could be in bed before her aunt became suspicious, and she need never learn of this escapade.
Mr. Hartley took her arm, and they left the pleasure grounds. She tried to match his long strides while wondering what he must think of her.
Safe within Mr. Hartley’s carriage, they removed their masks. He gazed steadily back at her, his eyes stern. She felt foolish and wished to rest her head against his broad shoulder. She leaned back against the squabs and gazed out of the window. He must be angry with her; she spoiled his evening. The carriage approached Westminster Bridge. The Thames stretched before them, a dark expanse shimmering like ruffled silk in the moonlight lit by lamps along the embankment. The breeze carried the stench of the river choked with sewage and offal, overpowering at low tide and the city lost some of its allure. She longed for the country where the air was fresh and the rivers so clear you could see the bottom.
“Thank you for coming to my aid,” she said chastened. “You must consider me not quite grown up and rather silly.”
He leaned forward, and in the light of the carriage lamps his expression softened. “Grown up is a relative term. I’ve had my share of scrapes when older than you. We all learn by experience.”
The sky suddenly lit up with the glow of fireworks. Henrietta pressed her nose to the window. “How pretty!”
“Vauxhall Gardens.”
She peered back the way they’d come. “And you’ve missed it.” She turned to look at him. “I am sorry.”
He examined his boot that rested on his knee. “I’ve seen fireworks.”
He sounded tired. As if he’d seen too much.
