Lady Willow nodded.
“Blake is my father. Jem Blake.” She lowered her voice, set her fists on her hips and rocked back on her heels. “Self-made man,” she said, mimicking her father’s confident way of introducing himself.
Willow laughed loud, an unexpected bark. Had such a raucous sound come from such a dignified little body? Henrietta couldn’t help it. She laughed, too, then had to suppress a gasp when Lady Willow bobbed a curtsy and said, “Nice to meet you, Miss Blake.”
An uncomfortable melting feeling filled Henrietta’s chest. It felt inexplicably like friendliness. Her confusion must have registered on her face.
Lady Willow’s gaze dropped, and she mumbled, “I was much too loud. My apologies.”
“No, my lady. I’m the one who should apologize,” Henrietta said. “I should have never approached you, I know.”
“Why ever not?” Lady Willow asked, as if she hadn’t just pointed out the impropriety of Henrietta’s actions herself.
“As you pointed out, we’ve not been formally introduced. But also, I suppose, because you’re a duke’s daughter, and I’m the daughter of a factory owner.”
“Yes, true. But I’ve never met anyone who owned a factory.” Lady Willow’s head tilted to one side.
“Do I look like my father is in trade?”
“You look like everyone else. But nicer.”
Henrietta’s heart warmed. Oh, no. Absolute disaster. She liked Lord Rigsby’s new fiancée.
“Thank you.” What was she to say now? She should have planned this exchange better. She smoothed her skirts, thinking. Oh, yes! Skirts. And bodices and fine undergarments.
“Thank you. I felt rather bored until you came over,” Willow said.
“You looked it,” Henrietta replied without thinking. Mercy, had that response been gauche? She wouldn’t cringe, though, and she wouldn’t apologize. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Were you sleeping?”
Willow’s cheeks reddened. “No. I simply do not know what to do or who to talk to. I don’t know anyone here except for Mama. And Lord Rigsby. And Papa gave me a very short list of people I’m allowed to speak with.”
“Oh? May I ask who occupies such a list? Surely not me.”
Lady Willow hesitated. “No-o, you are not on it. There’s Mama and Papa and Lord Rigsby, of course. And our hostess.”
Henrietta waited for Lady Willow to continue. “And who else?”
“That’s it.”
Henrietta tried not to let her dismay show, but a wince may have escaped. The woman’s father allowed her to talk to exactly four people at a house party brimming with interesting acquaintances.
“It’s not so bad,” Lady Willow said all in a rush. “Mama always has more to say than I do, and Lord Rigsby is a gallant conversationalist.”
Ah. They were to come to him so soon. Skirts, Henrietta, speak of skirts, not of him. “So, the rumors I hear are true, then? You’re engaged to Lord Rigsby.” She could not avoid bad decisions, it seemed.
She frowned. “Not precisely. Not yet, at least.”
“How frustrating. Surely, you’d like to have everything settled.”
Lady Willow’s frown deepened. “He’s a very nice man,” Willow assured her.
Nice? Henrietta wanted to inquire. Such a tepid word to describe the man you were going to marry. Instead, she said, “Yes, he is.” Mercy, she likely shouldn’t know whether or not he was nice. “I mean, I’ve heard he’s an affable sort of gentleman.”
Willow nodded slowly, but her features drooped as she said, “Yes. Perfectly affable.”
“My congratulations, then. Not every young lady gets an affable, handsome gentleman to wed.”
Lady Willow’s eyes glazed over and her head tilted to one side. “Is he handsome?”
