“In time you may.” He held her at arm’s length, gazing down at her. His expression softened. “It’s too quiet here. You have too much time to dwell on things.”
“Yes, I hate embroidery and can’t seem to concentrate on reading.”
“Why don’t you come out with me today? I’m riding out to visit old Mr. Cornell. I’m told he’s been ill and his roof needs fixing.”
“I’d like that. I’ll bring him one of Cook’s rhubarb and apple pies.”
As Henrietta came down the stairs in her riding habit, a letter arrived. She took it from the maid servant. It was from Philippe.
Papa was at his desk in the library. She handed him the letter and leaned over his shoulder while she fussed with the feather on her riding hat.
He slit the letter open with a silver paperknife, perused it, then patted her hand. “Excellent news.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Phillippe has received a letter from Mademoiselle Josette. She has returned to her farm. Apparently, she was found innocent of any wrong doing. Phillippe writes that a cousin of hers sat on the tribunal and influenced its outcome.”
“That is wonderful.”
“Yes, Philippe is overjoyed. Such a brave lady. She showed tremendous courage in hiding us.” He put down the letter and rose. “Let’s take that ride.”
As they rode out over the Beaumont lands, Henrietta recalled the gypsy’s words. Someone you know will die a violent death. She was relieved for Josette, a heroine in her eyes. But who was it? Not Christian, Verity or Philippe, thankfully. An alarming thought struck her. Had those life-altering predictions the gypsy spoke of already happened, or was there more to come?
The gardens at Beaumont Court were dusty with snow when Verity’s carriage arrived. Henrietta rushed out to greet her, excited to see her again. She emerged from the carriage in a blue velvet pelisse the hood lined with sable.
“Snow in October! Doesn’t the landscape look pretty?” She grinned and waved her sable muff.
How proud and happy her father looked as they walked arm in arm to the house.
“You’ve heard Marie Antoinette has been executed?” Verity asked as she removed her pelisse.
He looked grim. “Yes. Sad business.”
A special license had been purchased. The wedding was to take place in two days’ time. A quiet affair, their tenants and servants would fill the pews in the village parish church and Uncle Phillipe and her aunt would come from London.
Verity joined Henrietta in the parlor where she sat on the rug by the fire, playing with one of Juliet’s kittens. This one was mainly white with a black patch over one eye. Henrietta named him Pirate.
Verity perched on a footstool. “We haven’t had a chance to talk.”
“You’ve been a little preoccupied,” Henrietta said with a smile.
Verity blushed prettily and smoothed her skirts. “I’d like to make amends for that now.” Her eyes became serious. “It saddened me to hear that you and Christian aren’t to marry. That must have been upsetting, Henrietta. Are you, all right?”
Henrietta pressed her hands to her cheeks. Took a deep breath. “He had a change of heart, which was a shock.”
Verity frowned. “I trust he explained himself?”
Henrietta dangled a bit of wool, and the kitten jumped to hook it with his tiny claws. “He wants a quiet life. And he felt it wouldn’t suit me.”
Verity pushed a golden ringlet over her shoulder. “That was the extent of it? I find that difficult to believe.”
“Do you know, so do I?” Henrietta sat up straighter. “It doesn’t make sense. I can’t believe he was toying with me in France.”
“He was passionately in love with you while we were in France.” Verity shrugged. “Perhaps something happened here in London to change his mind.”
“But what could it be?” Henrietta frowned. “Papa says Christian thought he was doing the right thing for me. But if that is the case, he should at least have asked me.”
Verity shrugged. “Men!”
