Verity glanced at the younger woman’s innocent face. “Never mind.” She began to undress.
“There’s something else,” Henrietta said. “I’ve met the Marquess before. We danced at Almack’s.”
Variety’s fingers paused on her bodice strings. She noticed the curve of the young woman’s hips, her soft throat. Could she pass for a boy? “It seems unlikely he’d recognize you in your boy’s raiment.”
Henrietta frowned. “I hope not. I may have to push him overboard.”
Verity gave a strained laugh. She almost believed Henrietta would do it. “We must plan this carefully. Your voice will give you away. He shouldn’t pay you much attention, but if he does, I shall tell him you are a deaf mute.”
“Tis a pity we don’t have a pistol.” Remarkably composed, Henrietta bashed her pillow into an acceptable shape and lay down.
And no doubt the girl would be only too happy to use it! Now familiar with Henrietta’s somewhat devil-may-care nature, Verity decided to keep the gun a secret. “Who might we shoot? Ourselves, perhaps?”
“I hunt at home. I’m a good shot.”
“We shall deal perfectly well without the use of one.” Verity drew her nightgown over her head. “Now we must get some sleep.” She eyed the cot on the floor. “You don’t have to sleep on that. You can share this bed.”
“I’m fine here,” Henrietta said, snuggling down. “I curl up in a ball when I sleep, like a kitten, Papa says. We must find him. I hope he’ll be pleased to see us,” she added doubt clouding her eyes.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he was at Le Havre about to return to England with your uncle, when we arrived?”
Despite her fears, Henrietta gave a chuckle. “What a surprise he would get.”
“I’m for sleep.” Verity yawned. “I’m exhausted, and tomorrow will be even more taxing than today.”
