Lord Rigsby bowed again and made a quick and quiet exit.
The fire burned low in the grate, and Valingford considered each glowing ember with appreciative eyes. The fire consumed all it touched until the very last. Even dead and smoldering, it still burned and conquered. No one had ever called Valingford fiery or passionate, but he knew he had the diligent heat of a fire inside him.
He’d found out one of Lord Rigsby’s weaknesses—compassion. What other weaknesses could he discover in a week’s worth of time?
Chapter 7
Henrietta tried the pink slippers against her green dress. The pink was too soft for such a deep green. She tossed the slippers aside. “The silver slippers, please, Annette.”
Her maid brought the requested footwear before clasping a long strand of pearls around Henrietta’s throat.
“Thank you, Annette.”
The maid bustled about her, straightening this and pulling lint off that, while Henrietta cleared and tidied her mind. Usually, she kept an abundance of concerns, tasks, and plans whirling at once in her head successfully. Eventually, she’d complete every task, cross off every concern, and complete every plan. She’d never needed to write out a list. But today’s mental whirlwind brought more confusion than clarity. It picked her up, shook her around, and tossed her upside down, and she barely knew which thread to follow first.
First, she needed to complete her gown change. She’d already changed twice, but if she wanted to impress the guests at Hill House with the quality and quantity of Blake gowns, she needed to showcase all of them. Second, she needed to continue courting clientele. Lady Willow’s patronage was a victory, to be sure, but she wouldn’t let it make her complacent. Victory wasn’t guaranteed, after all. Lady Willow’s patronage depended entirely on the third item swirling around in Henrietta’s mind: she needed to find the Devonmere necklace. Her chances at accomplishing such a task doubled if she pooled her resources with Lord Rigsby. Lord Rigsby. Lord Rigsby—he was her fourth item and biggest problem. He’d almost kissed her. Almost.
She brushed away the remembered sensations—the tingles that had shot through her when he’d leaned close, the anticipation, the remorse when he’d pulled away. Not only did she brush them away, she smooshed them completely, like a bug beneath her boot heel. There. Item four dealt with efficiently. She needn’t think on it any longer.
And it opened up mental space for item five—her brother. And since worry over item five crowded out all the other items (except for item four, if she were being honest, because kisses like that weren’t so easy to dispose of), she’d need to knock on his door and see what gnawed at brother dear before it gnawed her to death. She’d need all her wits for a conversation with Tobias.
“Thank you, Annette,” Henrietta said, then marched down the hall and stopped in front of an absolutely ordinary looking door. She lifted her hand and knocked. “Tobias?”
“Come in,” a muffled voice answered.
She found an empty room upon entering. “Tobias?”
“Dressing,” his voice called from behind a screen.
Henrietta sat primly on the edge of a chair. “Do you plan on showing yourself this afternoon?”
“I suppose I must.” He stepped out from behind the screen, tying his cravat in a quick Napoleon knot.
“Why else come to Hill House, Tobias? Something is eating at you.”
“I don’t appear to be anyone’s dinner, dear sis.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. You know, that silk would look better as a day gown or pelisse.”
Tobias looked down at the pale-orange waistcoat and shrugged. “It’ll do.”
“With the purple cravat it most certainly will not. Here I am, trying to raise the name of Blake Textiles, and I must fight you and your lack of fashion sense the whole way. If you must dress so absurdly, at least you could use another merchant’s cloth instead of Father’s. Perhaps you should stay holed up in this room.”
Tobias grinned and pulled on a navy-blue wool jacket. “It wouldn’t be fun using anyone else’s cloth. Have you come to pull me out of hiding or to push me back in?”
“I’ve come to find out why you’re hiding. It’s not like you. If you didn’t want to come, you shouldn’t have.”
“I had to come.” He pulled his waistcoat down and straightened his cuffs. “Lord Rigsby has arrived, I hear.”
“Are you avoiding him, then?”
“Certainly not. I’ve been avoiding someone else.”
“Who?”
He shrugged. “She never showed up. I have good word she won’t.”
Henrietta racked her brain. Who had she heard would appear and had not? “Avoiding a soured romantic entanglement?”
