“I simply can’t understand it. I’m a fairly good judge of character. I truly thought you two were a certain match, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Henrietta did mind. But what could she say about it? “Of course I don’t,” she hastened to say. “I think you simply misinterpreted our interest in each other.”
“I may not be able to sew a straight seam to save my life, but I’m an expert at interpreting males,” Esme said. “What’s more, I know Darby. When I left the two of you in the drawing room, he had the look of a man about to steal a kiss. And, darling, having been in the ton for too many years to remember, and having kissed a huge number of men, that is one look that I recognize!”
Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how one looks at it), Henrietta didn’t have to answer because the ladies of the sewing circle streamed into the room, all chattering at once. Esme heaved herself to her feet and waved at Slope to remove the empty plate that had once contained lemon tarts; Henrietta rose to greet Lady Winifred, Mrs. Barret-Ducrorq and, to her surprise, her stepmother, Millicent.
Henrietta knew immediately why Millicent had joined the sewing circle. Her stepmother never attended charity functions, having declared them boring as dust years ago. But Darby’s presence in the house made it different. She undoubtedly wished to observe his behavior around Henrietta. Or vice versa.
Mrs. Cable bustled in a bit late, after the rest of the ladies were settled with a cup of tea. “Hello! Hello!” she shrilled, darting around the room and issuing kisses. She stopped short before Henrietta and said, “Well, Lady Henrietta!”
Henrietta curtsied. “How nice to see you, Mrs. Cable.”
“I saw you but you didn’t see me,” Mrs. Cable said archly, shaking her finger at Henrietta.
Henrietta felt a sinking in her stomach.
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Cable said, with the shrill pleasure of a woman holding a piece of ripe gossip. “I was there.”
“There? Where?”
“Well, I was in my traveling carriage, actually,” Mrs. Cable said. “We were going to visit my sister who lives a mere five miles away, but my husband always says to me, ‘Mrs. Cable, make yourself comfortable whenever you wish.’ So I had, my dear. I had taken the traveling carriage even for such a short distance.”
When Henrietta still looked blank, she said, “I was in the traveling carriage. And if you don’t mind my saying so, I truly think that you might well wish to be more circumspect, Lady Henrietta. As the Second Book of Titus says, a good woman is discreet, chaste, and keeps at home.” There was an edge to the sentence. “I could have had a young child with me. One of my nieces, for instance.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t—” Henrietta began, but her stepmother interrupted.
“Mrs. Cable, I would hazard a guess that you witnessed the admiring kiss that Mr. Darby bestowed on my daughter?”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Cable said, plumping herself into a chair. “That is exactly what I saw, my dear lady, but if I might say so, that kiss showed more than admiration!” She tittered.
Henrietta sat frozen on the settee, but Millicent had taken over. “The poor man offered for her hand, ladies.”
Everyone looked at Henrietta and then glanced away as if she showed signs of the pox.
“Of course, Mr. Darby didn’t understand the circumstances,” Millicent finished.
Lady Winifred, who was seated next to Henrietta, patted her hand. “That must have been very difficult for you, my dear. If only the old customs prevailed, and gentlemen had the decency to approach one’s parents or guardians before expressing their feelings! In my day, this never would have happened.”
“True, true,” Mrs. Barret-Ducrorq said shrilly. “I have instructed dear Lucy that she is not to respond at all to an importunity from a gentleman unless he has spoken to me and I have given my assent.”
Henrietta shaped her lips into what she hoped was the smile of someone importuned against her wishes. Now she knew why Millicent had joined the sewing circle. It wasn’t so she could observe Henrietta conversing with Darby. It was so that she could defend Henrietta from the consequences of that scandalous kiss.
Esme joined the battle. “My nephew is simply devastated by the news,” she said with a convincing catch in her voice. “I’m afraid that he truly lost his heart to Henrietta. He told me that it was the effect of being offered absolutely no encouragement, ladies. Now isn’t that an improving tale for young women? I daresay you know that my nephew is quite authoritative in the ton. So many young ladies have tried to engage his interest. But it wasn’t until he met Henrietta, and encountered her utter lack of interest in him, that he felt the wish to marry.”
Millicent nodded. “I could tell that it was a tremendous blow, when I had to inform the poor gentleman of Henrietta’s circumstances.”
Everyone looked sympathetic.
“I daresay he’ll recover,” Esme said sadly. “But not for a good period of time. I only hope that I might see a grandnephew or -niece during my lifetime.”
That was overdoing it, to Henrietta’s mind, but the ladies were nodding.
“It must have been a terrible disappointment,” Mrs. Cable murmured. “There, I could tell from the way he was—was holding Lady Henrietta that his heart was engaged. And all because you showed him no interest! ’Tis truly a pity that more young women don’t have our dear Lady Henrietta’s circumspection.”
“I’ve had to tell my niece more than once to be more prudent in her behavior,” Mrs. Barret-Ducrorq noted a bit sourly. “Mind you, Lucy gave Mr. Darby no encouragement. Said she thought he was not terribly nice. But there you go, we’ve always been a very perceptive family.”
Darby sat in his small bedchamber and wrestled with his conscience. There was absolutely no reason to go downstairs for tea. What he ought to do was return to London. He came to Limpley Stoke to discover whether his aunt was carrying his uncle’s child, which she was. Actually, he felt ashamed of his suspicions. The fact that Esme might well have a lover on the premises, given that Sebastian Bonnington seemed to be masquerading as a gardener, was none of his business. There was nothing to keep him here.
The problem was that he couldn’t remember ever wanting something the way he wanted Henrietta Maclellan. In the past four days it seemed all he could think about was that he should have taken the reins of that absurd little curricle and driven them back to the house and then—and then—
Even thinking about her made his mouth dry. Thinking about the way she shivered when his hand swept down her back and clasped her bottom made his groin leap to full attention. Thinking of her throaty little cry when he pulled away from their kiss made him certain that if he could have maneuvered her into a bed, she would have been the partner of his life.
That was the hell of it. He’d never even considered another woman as a partner for life. As an exclusive occupant of his bed.
Never.
A gentleman never discussed such things, of course, but he knew that he and Rees were pretty much in agreement on the subject. They both liked wild and unruly women. In Rees’s case, the women seemed to have big voices to match their big chests; in his case, they just had to have a keen sense of humor. A way of moving and wearing clothing that was sensual. And an eye that met his across the room and said, clear as daylight, come to me.
Henrietta had the sense of humor—but nothing else on that list. She wore silk as if it were sackcloth, and moved as if her body were made of wood.
Of course, he could come up with a new list, one that included a frank honesty that took his breath away. A passion that was genuine, but limited to sensual gestures and silky garments. A way of laughing at him that was tender and intelligent and made him feel as if he was admired for himself. Not for his power in the ton, nor his physical attributes. Himself.
The whole train of thought made Darby feel as if ants were crawling up his back. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about a wife. Of course he had. He wanted a wife as much as the next man: that is to s
ay, in a fuzzy, future-bound sort of way. He had a dim idea that perhaps his marriage could be better than his parents’ had been. It would be best to feel affection for one’s spouse. And to be able to enjoy spending time in each other’s company.
Yet until he met Henrietta, he had never visualized spending years of his life with one woman. He’d also never considered the pleasures of introducing a woman to sexual pleasure. He tended to bed seasoned women, as adroit in their bedroom affairs as they were in the management of household staff.
But with Henrietta…things could be different.
A sharp knock on the door brought Slope with a note from Esme.
You were seen kissing Henrietta; I think it would be best for all if you did not join us for tea today.
Best for all if I returned to London.
Best for Henrietta if I never saw her again.
Except how could such a sensual woman live her entire life without a man? A memory of the way her tongue danced around his made his body stiffen again.
But Esme’s note settled the burning question of whether he should join the sewing circle downstairs. He would leave for London as soon as it could be arranged.
22
A Council of War
The ladies were gathering up their sewing baskets, as Slope carried off a smallish stack of hemmed sheets (there had been too much excitement for proper concentration on needlework). Henrietta gratefully rose to her feet, but Esme reached up and grasped her hand.
“May I borrow your stepdaughter for an hour or so?” she asked Lady Holkham.
Henrietta said, “No!” rather more forcefully than she meant to.
“Not for dinner,” Esme said, sending an unspoken message to both women that Darby would be present at dinner. “My dear friend Lady Perwinkle and her husband are arriving for a brief visit, and I would be most grateful for Henrietta’s help with preparations for a small dinner in their honor. Of course, this will be a very small, sedate dinner, since I’m in mourning.”
Henrietta looked as if she were going to refuse again, so Esme put a hand on her belly. “It is difficult to find strength these days,” she said sadly.
“Henrietta will help you however she is able,” Millicent assured her. “I will send the carriage back for her in an hour or so, shall I?”
“Well,” Esme said as she closed the door behind them. “So you and Darby have nothing in common, hmmm?” Her eyes were sparkling with laughter.
“I can’t marry anyone,” Henrietta said awkwardly. She was afraid that she would burst into tears if she explained the situation.
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that,” Esme said, plopping back heavily onto a couch. “I gather you can’t be married because it is inadvisable to undergo conception of a child due to your hip, am I right?”
“Exactly,” Henrietta said. A lowering depression seemed to be sitting in her chest. She shrugged. “After my stepmother explained the situation to Darby, he quite properly withdrew his proposal—if he had ever had the inclination to make it.”
“Of course he had the inclination. Gentlemen—and Darby is a gentleman—do not plaster a woman against a carriage in the broad daylight unless they have matrimony in mind. At least, if the woman in question is a lady.”
“Well,” Henrietta said dully, “I suppose it is a coup that Darby thought to marry me.”
Esme leaned forward. “I am going to be utterly frank, Henrietta.”
Henrietta nodded.
“What I am going to say is absolutely unheard of in polite conversation, but believe it, it is practiced regularly. There are ways to limit one’s offspring, and I don’t merely mean abstaining from a shared bed.”
“Really?”
“Various methods. Would you mind if I shock you further?”
At that, Henrietta smiled, if a bit shakily. “I haven’t found you too shocking so far. I have seen women cry before you moved to Limpley Stoke, you know.”
“Wretch! Well, the truth is that Sebastian Bonnington was not the first man in my bed—other than my husband, that is.”
“Oh.”
Esme felt a crawling embarrassment, but she barged ahead. “When Miles first left our house, I was enraged. I wanted his attention and tried to get that attention any way I could. I flirted with every gentleman in the ton who showed the inclination. I didn’t bed them. But I gave every indication that I was doing so. Do you understand, Henrietta?”
“I think so. You were trying to make your husband angry. Did it succeed?”
“No,” Esme said a little sadly. “No, it didn’t. You see, we really weren’t suited as a couple. My father insisted that I marry Miles, and Miles knew that I had been forced to do so. He was the most good-natured person in the world. My behavior only made him feel more guilty, and less as if he had a right to reprimand me for my wanton behavior. He was utterly pleasant, whenever we met.”
“I expect that made you even angrier.”
“Yes…I was very young and very foolish. Eventually I found myself in the bed of an older gentleman who was more experienced in such matters than I was. He provided himself with a means of preventing contraception.”
Henrietta’s eyes widened.
“By a year or so later, I tired of affairs. But during that period I used something called a sheath. It’s very simple. Frankly, I think the advice you’ve received about not marrying is all foolishness. Given the existence of this and other methods that prevent pregnancy, your circumstances are no bar to marriage. I’m surprised that Darby didn’t point that out to your aunt.”
The hope that had flared in Henrietta’s breast died again. “Darby must not have really wished to marry me. Surely he knows about these methods.”
“Naturally he does. The fact is, the male brain is arranged in a quite nonsensical fashion. I expect he thinks that a gentlewoman would never touch such an object. Or that a lady’s sensibilities are too delicate even to hear of it. But I never had any hesitation to use the sheath, and I firmly suspect that other gentlewomen do the same. After all, how many women do you know who have produced no more than an heir and a spare? Clearly the method works. It certainly did for me.”
“Then why did no one tell me about it before?”
Esme had a rueful look on her face. “Perhaps it takes a fallen woman to share such secrets. None of the ladies of the sewing circle would want to introduce the subject, Henrietta. It simply isn’t a topic for polite conversation.” She hesitated. “There is also an idea that women don’t enjoy making love anyway, or shouldn’t enjoy it.”
“I know it is an uncomfortable procedure.”
Esme suddenly laughed, a throaty little laugh that had made men crumple to their knees from London to Limpley Stoke. “I will leave it to my elegant nephew to change your mind about that, Henrietta. Believe me, there is discomfort and then there is pure pleasure. But, if ladies have been told that the act is supposed to be unpleasant, I expect it is difficult for them to admit that they engage in the act for reasons other than impregnation.”
“That seems logical.”
Esme laughed again. “I can’t fathom that we are having this conversation! My close friends are married, but until recently none of them has been living with a husband, so we had no opportunity for such frankness.”
“None of your friends live with a husband?”
“I wasn’t living with Miles, obviously. And my friend Gina’s husband actually left the country twelve years ago, when they first married. So not only was she not living with a husband, her marriage was never consummated.” She paused and grinned. “Of course, that situation has changed. Gina and Cam returned from Greece together just before Christmas.”
“Gina is the Duchess of Girton,” Henrietta said, putting the stories together. “The woman who was engaged to your—to Marquess Bonnington.”
“Exactly. And I told you already about Carola and her husband Tuppy. They are together now and will be arriving tomorrow for a short stay. You met Helene, Countess Godwin.
Her husband is utterly dissolute,” she said with a face. “Rees is now sharing the family home with a young opera singer. For a while, he had six Russian ballet dancers residing with him. Oh, and he’s Darby’s closest friend.”
“Goodness,” Henrietta said rather faintly. “Is Darby as flagrant in his personal life as his friend?”
“Oh no, Darby is discreet in everything he does. He and Rees have been friends since they were children. I do think you and Darby are very well suited. Since we are being quite frank, he needs your inheritance, and Josie needs you as a mother. I have to admit that I find that story you told Josie about little boots searching for their mama quite heartbreaking. I almost started crying in the midst of your tale.”
“That would have been a change,” Henrietta said with a touch of irony. “But as for marrying Darby, he’ll never ask me. He must believe that I am too ladylike even to consider this sheath. And I can hardly announce my understanding to him!”
“The real question,” Esme said, “is whether you wish to marry him.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Henrietta swallowed. “Of course I would like to be a mother to Josie and Anabel. Quite desperately, in fact.”
There was real kindness in Esme’s eyes, but she didn’t say anything.
“And I do have a fortune,” Henrietta said awkwardly.
“True. But marriage is difficult. Mentioning Carola and Helene reminded me of that fact. Are you quite certain that you would wish to marry Darby in particular? Because if you came to London for a season, we could find you a nice widower with children. In fact, I can already think of an inestimable gentleman, Mr. Shutts. He must have at least three small children, and—”
Henrietta discovered, to her dismay, that the very name Shutts put her teeth on edge, and so she stumbled into speech. “I should like to marry Darby. I would—I would quite like to marry your nephew.”
Esme seemed unsurprised. A tiny smile played around her mouth. “In that case, we need a plan.”