“A good duke leaves such things to the steward. And my father hired an excellent one after my brother died.”
“Such strict delineations. Cannot a future duke do as he pleases?”
He grunted, rubbed the toe of his boot into the dirt. “One would think, but one would be wrong.” His smile bent toward bitter but quickly returned to neutral. “I wish I retained my old freedom, the freedom you enjoy.” He lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes hard with determination. “However, I’ll do good with this new life. I must. It would pain my father too deeply to see me fail as my brother did.”
Henrietta’s brain buzzed. Should she ensure him of his father’s unconditional pride? No—she didn’t know the duke well enough to speak for him. Should she address his brother’s assumed failures as heir? No, not when one of his sentences buzzed more loudly than the rest. “I have greater freedom than you? Ha! If you’ve not noticed, I’m awoman.”
His eyes lit up. “I’ve noticed. I never stop noticing.”
Mercy. What had she been saying? She’d been making a point, presumably, but now it slipped her mind. She forced her brain to focus—on the day their engagement had ended, on Lady Willow, on her own dress shop. She found her focus. “Well, then, you’ve also noticed that women are not exactly allowed to do as they please.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You run a shop in London.”
Her jaw clenched, but she managed to grit out a reply. “That everyone believes belongs to my father. I couldn’t ever possibly reveal it is mine. I’d be ruined. The daughter of a tradesman, granddaughter of an earl, in business for herself? I’d be shunned more than I am already.”
His back stiffened. His hands fisted. “Who shuns you?” His words implied action, but he was no longer her white knight.
She waved away his concern.
“No,” he insisted, “I wish to know.”
With as light a tone as she could muster, she replied, “Oh, let’s see… the Baxton heiress during my first season, the Hadley twins since we were children, Lord Stubly and his set, as you know. Then of course Lady Ashworth and her daughters, the Misses Bradox, Lord and Lady Mest—”
“Stop. I see. Why, Henrietta? Why do you allow it? You are their equal in birth and their superior in every other way.”
It was kind of him to think so. It was like him to think so. Perhaps becoming heir to a duke had not changed him overly much.
“Surely your grandfather does not stand for such mistreatment.”
“He does not know. Nor will he. I fight my own battles, thank you. So, when Lady Ashworth’s daughters spill punch on my ballgown, I smile and apologize for getting in their way. When the Hadley twins scribble insults in my dance card, I simply procure a new one.”
“That’s not fighting back. That’s not like you. Have you changed so much in a year? Where is the Henrietta who showed up at a duel to keep her brother safe?”
“I’m fighting smart. I’ll win the battle slowly. When those ladies come to my shop, I’ll be victorious. But what about you? Where is the Grayson who elects to be a second in a duel over a woman he’s never met?”
“He has too many obligations to take such risks now. What would my father do if he lost his only remaining heir?”
“Grieve for his son, one hopes.”
Grayson’s mouth twisted. “He won’t have to. I will not disappoint him.”
“I hope you do not disappoint yourself.” He was noble, she’d give him that, and she understood his impulse to please. “We both wish to please others, do we not? You your father, and I the ton.”
His sharp gaze pierced but his shoulders softened, slumped forward. “Shall we never please ourselves, then?”
Excellent question, but one that led to memories of their recent kiss, so sweet, too short. Too painful. She forced a smile and turned resolute steps toward the house. “It pleases me to succeed at my business and to help you locate that necklace.” She strode away from him and the conversation. As revealing as it had been, it had no bearing on the issue at hand. “You need to find your family’s necklace in order to propose to Lady Willow. I cannot help you do so unless you focus.” Besides, why rip open old wounds that had never truly healed to begin with? “Concentrate on finding the necklace, Lord Rigsby. I respect Lady Willow, and I won’t be a party to hurting her. If you wish for my help, we must abstain from personal conversations and we must never be in one another’s company. It’s not appropriate.” She couldn’t trust herself around him, especially not if he insisted on discussing such intimate matters. She turned away from him, closing the conversation.
He eased up behind her and, because she couldn’t help it, she turned to see his face. Storm clouds gathered above his brow.
She stepped away.
He stepped toward her, a dangerous dance.
“This evening,” she said, resuming her march toward Hill House, “Lady Stonefield is opening up the ballroom. There is to be dancing. A string quartet from London. Everyone will attend. It’s the perfect opportunity to search the house. The guests will be absent from their rooms and the servants busy amusing themselves below stairs at their own celebrations. I’ll be able to go where I like.”
The storm clouds on his brow threatened thunder, lightning. “I’m aware. I must attend the dance as escort to Lady Willow and her mother. You cannot search the house alone.”
“I do not see why, my lord.” In fact, the cornerstone of her plan was complete avoidance of Grayson. She couldn’t have him following her into midnight-shadowed bedrooms. She didn’t trust her body to behave.
