“Would you all kindly cease your endless prattling?” Hetty hissed.
The room, as one might expect, made no effort whatsoever to comply with Hetty’s plea for silence.
Nell continued murmuring low phrases in Latin to her hen. Mari, now neatly folded atop the ottoman with her knees drawn beneath her skirts, began calmly listing potential hiding places for Theo’s body. Lottie had taken firm hold of Theo’s sleeve and was frowning down at the damp embroidery on his waistcoat, turning it this way and that as though weighing whether it might suit her better.
Lord Tolliver, oblivious to the chaos, had engaged the footman in an enthusiastic lecture on the proper method for sweeping brokenglass from parquet flooring when feathers were present. Lady Tolliver and Georgie, naturally, had taken to planning the wedding.
“The ceremony must be held at St Bartholomew’s,” Lady Tolliver declared, tapping her fan against her chin. “The roses shall be in full bloom by then and the vicar still owes me a favour after that unfortunate business with the choirboys and your Aunt Belinda’s wig.”
“I shall draw up the guest list at once,” Georgie replied crisply, already rifling through a drawer in search of paper and quill. “The Ashbrooks must be included – though Mrs Ashbrook will arrive in violet and insist she thought it white. Lady Weatherby too, though she will feign outrage, claim she must depart immediately, and then remain the entire evening.”
“And do omit the Tolberts,” Lady Tolliver added, with a sniff. “They have been insufferably pleased with themselves ever since unearthing that wretched barony from some dismal corner of the family tree. And she once described my gown as ‘adventurous.’”
“She meant peculiar, Mama,” Georgiana replied absently. “But yes, they shall be struck off.”
Amidst the frenzy, Theo stood damp, muddy, and besieged. His sleeve was still caught in Lottie’s grip, his boots squelched when he shifted and he had entirely lost track of his dignity sometime between the dogs and the hen, with no indication of when it might be recovered.
Hetty approached, her chin high and expression thunderous. “Charlotte, take your hands off Lord Langley this instant.”
Lottie looked mildly affronted but released his sleeve all the same.
“I require a moment with the earl,” Hetty added, not bothering to soften her tone. “Alone.”
Lottie, with a shrug and an insouciant grin, stepped back and wandered towards the newly arrived syllabub as if that had been her intention all along.
Theo glanced down as Hetty drew nearer, refusing to look at him. She dropped her voice low, so that only he might hear. “If you do not find some swift and miraculous means of undoing this absurd engagement,” she hissed, “I shall marry you out of spite, and you will most assuredly suffer for it.”
With that, she turned on her heel and swept from the room with all the imperious grace of a queen abandoning a poorly attended court, her skirts swishing and curls bouncing.
Theo remained utterly still, and then, with the resigned dignity of a man who had glimpsed his own doom wearing satin slippers and a scowl, reached for the nearest glass of syllabub, downing it in a single draught.
Chapter 9
The first banns were read the following Sunday, during divine service at St Bartholomew’s, much to the ire of the vicar, who had received the request via no fewer than three urgent notes, two personal visits from Lady Tolliver, and one rather harassed footman bearing a sponge cake by way of persuasion. By Monday morning, Hetty found herself officially half-married in the eyes of God, Society and the better part of the county.
“Well,” she muttered, standing in the front hall and clutching the twelfth congratulatory bouquet of the morning, “it is comforting to know that universal delight may be achieved, so long as my opinion is excluded entirely.”
The card attached read:To the future Lady Langley – how splendid! What a triumph for your mother. Do let us know if the earl has a younger brother.
There was no signature, which made it all the more aggravating.
By mid-afternoon, she had received seven handwritten notes commenting on the handsomeness of her betrothed, four invitations to dine (one of which included a subtle inquiry as to whether Lord Langley might be inclined to invest in sugar futures) and two sketches of wedding gowns from Miss Pomeroy, along with an encouraging postscript:So happy for you, dearest. What a strange world, indeed!
By Tuesday, Hetty was keeping a decanter in the morning room, and by Wednesday, she had informed Georgie in no uncertain terms that if another person used the phrase “what a coup,” she would commit an act not suited to polite society or English law.
And so it came to be that by Thursday, Miss Henrietta Tolliver was promenading arm in arm with Theodore Winslow, Earl of Langley, parading down Rotten Row like a perfectly matched pair – entirely at her mother’s insistence, and most decidedly against her own will, judgement and natural inclination. Trailing discreetly behind them was the said Lady Tolliver, perched in her phaeton like a minor monarch. She nodded regally at every acquaintance and did not, for one moment, cease smiling. All of London, or at the very least the particular half of it devoted to horses, husbands and happenstance, seemed to be watching. Hetty, for her part, kept her chin high and her gloves immaculate, and bore it all with the expression of a woman politely tolerating her own execution.
It had now been four days since the public declaration of their engagement, and one thing had become abundantly clear: Theo Winslow had done absolutely nothing whatsoever to halt it.
He had sent no clarifying letter to the papers; there had been no visit to her father, nor protestations that this was all a terrible misunderstanding. There had been no pleading at her feet – not even a poorly timed declaration of affection to make things worse! In short, he had failed her entirely – and so, once again, the business of preserving her freedom fell squarely upon her own shoulders.
“Well,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed ahead as if she had not just passed three ladies openly whispering behind lace parasols, “as the damage is already done, we may as well use this engagement to our advantage.”
Theo glanced sideways at her. “I shudder to ask.”
“I have devised a solution,” she continued. “We shall remain engaged until the close of the Season. That is all.”
“That is all?”
