Chapter Three
Henrietta stood before her aunt in the drawing room.
“Turn around,” Aunt Gabrielle instructed.
She pirouetted to display her ball dress of white India muslin embroidered with tiny flowers and decorated with a wide, pale pink sash. The scooped neckline featured a modest lace fichu, the sleeves long and tight-fitting with frills at the wrist.
Molly had threaded her powdered fair curls with a ribbon, and she wore the pearls her father had given her.
Aunt Gabrielle smiled. “You are beautiful, Henrietta.”
“Thank you, aunt.” Would she ever reach such heights of elegance as Gabrielle? She wore a smoke-gray silk gown striped dark red, with rubies at her ears and throat. On her breast, she had pinned a single red rose.
When Henrietta complimented her, she touched the rose and said, with a catch in her voice, “Your uncle used to give me red roses. I always wear one for him.”
Her father walked in, tall and imposing in evening clothes. How different he looked, like a handsome stranger. “With two beautiful ladies on my arm tonight, I’ll be the envy of all the men.”
* * *
Henrietta’s first engagement was Baroness Le Trobe’s ball. A French émigré, she entertained lavishly in her north London mansion. The drive was alight with lamps from the queue of carriages. Ahead, candles burned in every window of the house. Henrietta had never seen such an extravagant display. The anticipation of what might lie ahead almost robbed her of breath.
They were announced by a majordomo and entered to be greeted by the Countess.
“I have a treat in store,” she said, as a butler gathered gentleman’s coats and ladies’ evening capes. “A French acting troupe has come tonight from the Queen’s Theater. My countrywoman, the renowned Parisian actress Mademoiselle Garnier, has consented to perform a scene fromHamletwith the French actor, Henri-Louis Bouchard.”
In the ballroom, a quartet played, and dancers executed the graceful steps of the minuet. Several young men approached Henrietta and begged her to keep them a dance. Her mind whirling, she could only agree and hope there were enough dances to go around.
A man appeared at her elbow. “I do hope you have a dance left, Lady Henrietta?”
One glance at the tall dark-haired man and her heart leaped. It was he who had ridden beneath her balcony earlier in the day. Close-up, he was even more imposing in blue-black and white.
“Mr. Hartley, I don’t believe you’ve met my niece, Lady Henrietta,” Aunt Gabrielle said.
A smile warmed his eyes and played at the corner of his well-shaped mouth before he bowed over her hand. Henrietta curtseyed aware her heart beat oddly fast.
“I feel we have met before, Lady Henrietta?” Mr. Hartley raised a black eyebrow.
Was he laughing at her? She hated how her cheeks burned. She suspected he knew of her discomfort and toyed with her.
“You could not have met my niece, Mr. Hartley,” Aunt Gabrielle said. “She’s only just come to town.”
“Forgive me. I’m mistaken.” He bowed again, his eyes discreetly lowered, but not before she caught the flash of amusement in them which confirmed her fears.
The desire grew to give him a sharp set down, but with her aunt watching, Henrietta held her tongue. “I certainly don’t recall meeting you, Mr. Hartley.” She waved her fan airily. “But I’ve met so many people since I arrived in London you must forgive me. Try as I might, I cannot remember everyone.”
Aunt Gabrielle frowned at her. “You must forgive my niece, Mr. Hartley, she is new to society.”
He bent over Henrietta’s hand. “Touché,” he murmured.
He straightened. “Please don’t give it another thought, Lady Beldon. I find honesty and the lack of artifice refreshing.”
Henrietta rose from her curtsey, her eyes lowered. The horrible man was scolding her. He knew she lied.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, and shall look forward to our dance.” He turned away and disappeared into the throng of people.
“I trust you’ll think before you speak, Henrietta,” her aunt said with a frown. “London society prides itself on its manners. Although it is the French who are best at entertaining wit and repartee, I must say.”
Quickly claimed for the quadrille, Henrietta danced with an eye on the room but saw no sign of Hartley among the dancers or conversing with those clustered around the edge of the dance floor. It wasn’t done, her aunt had instructed her, for her to stand up more than twice with the same man. Three more dances followed. Each partner different and all quite dull. Her father led her onto the floor for a country dance. She had never danced with him before and felt proud. He stood head and shoulders above any other man there, except perhaps, Mr. Hartley. Her father had danced with several ladies tonight and appeared to enjoy their company as much as they did his. Henrietta wished he might find happiness again, but a selfish part of her hoped it would be with someone she liked.
