“He has taken responsibility and is quite ashamed he might have caused you harm?—”
“He didn’t harm me!”
“Your reputation, Hen.”
“I don’t care about my reputation. I just don’t want Papa to be angry with Mr. Hartwell. Will they still be friends? Does Papa know Mr. Hartwell didn’t do anything wrong and this is all my fault?”
Her mother smiled sadly and stroked Henrietta’s hair. “Your father understands men because he is one.”
“Mama—”
“But your father has also lived nineteen years with you. He knows how you’re apt to do things out of the goodness of your heart without a thought for the consequences.”
Henrietta hadhada thought. Her thought had been that Mr. Hartwell was crying and she might comfort him. True, she hadn’t thought much beyond that. She certainly hadn’t thought of a kiss. A kiss from Mr. Hartwell was the stuff of secret, impossible dreams.
Let alone an offer of marriage.
Henrietta bent her neck to lean her head on her much shorter mother’s shoulder. “What’s going to happen now?”
“I want you to sleep for a bit, if you can. All right? Then, when you wake up, you can hear what Mr. Hartwell has to say, and you and I and your father will have a confab. Don’t worry, dearest.We love you, and we would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
But what did Henrietta want to do? What did she want, besides everyone to be happy?
Everyone.
But especially Mr. Hartwell.
Four
Even though only a few hours remained until dawn, Crispin went to his wife’s bedchamber and stripped off his clothes and crawled into the bed beside Georgiana. He needed to be with her. He needed the comfort of her body, the wisdom of her words.
She put her book aside and turned into his embrace, and he rested his chin on top of her head.
“Oliver is a very lucky man,” his wife said, her cheek against the ginger pelt on his chest.
Crispin snorted. “Lucky I didn’t throttle him.”
Georgiana pulled away from him, something she almost never did. She stared up at him with the big, blue eyes that always undid him.
“Don’t say that. He’s your friend. And a threat like that is beneath you, Bey. ”
Yes, his wife liked when he became her savage Beowulf during their love-making, but she had high expectations for how he conducted himself as a civilized father and a duke.
He tugged her back into his arms. “Yes, of course, I wouldn’t have killed him, sweetling.” He paused. “But it’s a good thingAlexander wasn’t there. I’ll have to get to the boy first thing and calm him down, tell him Oliver has offered for Hen’s hand.”
Georgiana sighed. The heir’s hot temper was a frequent source of worry for both of them, and they often discussed their hope that Alexander would mellow with age. But, so far, no luck. The young man was still a veritable petard, ready to go off with very little provocation.
“Yes, please. No duels. Oliver will let Alexander kill him and that would break his sister’s heart.”
Oliver didn’t have a sister. Crispin frowned. “Whose heart?”
Georgiana rolled onto her back and stared up at the canopy. “Hen’s.”
Crispin should be well-used to feeling he was three steps behind his wife’s nimble brain, but her quick leaps still surprised him.
“Why would Hen’s heart be broken?”
Georgiana reached out and brought his hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckle that had a scar on it from when he had knocked out the tooth of his archenemy.
