“I’ll search his bedchamber and my aunt’s room.” Henrietta gave the maid a push toward the door. “Ask the housekeeper to look for it in the library and the reception rooms. He might have tossed it into a fireplace. Go now, quickly, Molly.”
“But what can you do even if you find the letter?”
“Go after him, of course.”
“What! Oh no, Lady Henrietta.”
Henrietta threw open the door. “Do as I tell you, Molly, and not a word of my plans to anyone.”
In her father’s bedchamber, she searched the drawers of his desk, then turned to his armoire and the pockets of all his clothes. Nothing.
But a jeweler’s box containing the Beaumont sapphires had been left on the bureau with a note addressed to her.“I hope to be there when you wear these,” he wrote. “Enjoy your time in London. I’ll return very soon. All my love.”
She stared at the sparkling gems. Did he really believe he’d return? She shook her head and rushed to her aunt’s bedchamber. She must have that letter.
A candle burned on the dresser. Alarmed by her aunt’s deep and noisy breathing, Henrietta tiptoed to her bed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair around the edges of her cap looked damp. “I’m sorry, you’re so ill, Aunt Gabrielle,” she whispered. “I love you.”
She spied a letter, lying on the dressing table. She snatched it up and slipped from the room. Then sat in the candlelight to read it.
It was from a Frenchwoman. Mademoiselle Bourget had taken in Uncle Philippe after she found him wounded. Writing in her native French, mademoiselle stated she lived on a farm, a half day’s ride from Le Havre near the village of Saint-Aignan. Philippe had asked that she write to allay any fears. He would complete his journey when he had recovered.
Henrietta rubbed her brow. Her father hadn’t taken this message at face value, nor did she. It was possible her uncle was seriously hurt–and in danger of discovery. Papa had been right to go. What could she do except wait to hear from him? It would be difficult, for patience had never been one of her virtues. It would be hard to even wait until morning. She wouldn’t sleep a wink.
Henrietta woke before dawn and fell asleep again. She woke with a start to find the sun high in the sky, the house ominously quiet.
Frightened, she threw on her dressing gown and ran to her aunt’s room, dreading what she might find. She flung the door open, then sagged with relief. Aunt Gabrielle was propped up on lacy pillows while a servant fed her soup.
“Aunt!” Henrietta rushed to the bed. “Are you feeling better?”
“I would be if I didn’t have to eat this horrid gruel the doctor has prescribed,” Aunt Gabrielle said in a querulous tone. “If only I knew the men were safe. You know what has happened, child?”
Henrietta swallowed and nodded.
“We must be strong and play the waiting game.”
Her aunt didn’t look at all strong, but certainly better than she had been the last evening. “You must concentrate on getting well, aunt.”
“Yes, my dear.” Aunt Gabrielle sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
“You may go, Mary. You too, Henrietta. Have something to eat and try not to worry. I’m going to take a nap.”
Henrietta found Molly sobbing in the corridor outside her chamber. “What’s this? My aunt is recovering well.”
“It’s not that. It’s Will, my Tom’s brother. He just came to see me. He says Tom can’t marry me. He’s lost his job with the farrier.”
“Oh, Molly.” Henrietta shivered. The fortune teller had been proved right. Would all predictions also come true? She’d said someone was to die. “You must return to Beaumont Court, Molly. I’ll give you money for the stage.”
“But, what about your clothes?” Molly shook her head. “Who will dress you?”
“Don’t be silly, as if that matters. You must go to Tom.”
“Thank you, Lady Henrietta. You are too good.”
“Go today. Write to me when you have news.”
Henrietta petted the two dogs languishing in the corridor outside her aunt’s room, while her mind searched for answers. What of Mr. Hartley? Had he not offered help should she need it? She might send him a note, but what could she tell him? And what could he do? As she puzzled over the matter, the knocker sounded at the front door. The butler opened it and a lively discussion erupted in the vestibule. Frankston was insisting in frigid tones that her aunt was indisposed. He asked the lady to please leave her card.
A French voice. Insistent. “It’s Lord Beaumont I wish to see. I must speak to him.”
