“Of course, Father. I’ll bring it.”
“Perfection.” His father flicked a wrist toward the door. “I have much to do. I assume you’ll take care of all the travel arrangements.” He picked up a pen and sank into whatever world awaited on the paper before him.
“Of course,” Grayson answered. The solid oak doors closed quietly behind him and Grayson looked down both ends of the hallway. Empty. “Fuck!” he hissed, pacing back and forth. He pushed his fingers through his hair so tightly his eyebrows lifted into strained arches. The necklace. He’d lied when he’d said he still had it. He didn’t.
Henrietta did.
He would not only have to attend the same house party as the woman he used to be in love with, he’d have to ask her to return his engagement present, as well. All so he could then gift it to another woman, whom he unfortunately felt nothing for, to mark another engagement.
Bollocks.
Chapter 2
The last time Henrietta had attended the Countess of Stonefield’s annual house party, her heart had been broken. Needless to say, she’d not wished to return this year. But needs must, she supposed. And in the last year, she’d found serious and dedicated commitment to a goal to be the best cure for a broken heart.
And this would be the culmination of a goal more than a year in the making. She would win the patronage of the aristocrats who could transform her father from intrepid textiles merchant into the more prestigious source for fashionable ensembles in all of London, then hopefully, the world. But London first. Henrietta wasn’t unreasonable in her aspirations. In fact, they seemed quite reasonable indeed. If Blake Textiles conquered London, all of England would follow. And then, who knew? Paris might even be possible now that the wars were sorted out.
She shivered in anticipation, then shrieked as a cold, wet tongue stroked up her arm.
“Darling Henrietta!” Lady Pendleson stood much too close, her fat pug perched under one arm slobbered on Henrietta. Not that Lady Pendleson noticed. “How’s your dear Grandmama?”
Henrietta took a step back and fisted her hands in her skirts to keep from wiping away the dog’s cold slobber. She might mortify Lady Pendleson if she brought attention to it, displease her certainly. And she couldn’t afford to alienate a woman with so much power in the fashionable world. Better to ignore the slobber. Ugh. She plastered a smile on her face. “Grandmama is in good health, my lady.” Henrietta nodded to the quietest corner of the conservatory. “She’s over there if you wish to speak with her. She would love a chat, I’m sure.”
“Of course, she wouldn’t! Your grandmother has always been a quiet one. A good egg, but quiet. Kept to herself. Still does, I see.”
“I confess, she would have preferred to stay home. But I so wished to attend.”
“And the lady does dote on her grandchildren, particularly those of marriageable age.”
Archibald the pug agreed with awoof, and Henrietta remembered the dog’s brief bout of freedom at last year’s party. Archibald had been lost for two whole hours, and Henrietta had spent those two hours searching the most private corners of the house for him. And not alone.
She had not found the dog, but she had discovered she loved the feel of a man’s tongue on her—no! She shut a steel door on the memory. None of that. She refused to entertain memories of her brief and tumultuous engagement to Grayson Maxwell.
Grayson Maxwell no more. Viscount Rigsby, now.
Henrietta shook both names from her brain. She’d have to do better. She locked the steel door. “Yes, Grandmama has introduced my brother to many a woman with a determined gleam in her eye.”
“The woman’s eye or your grandmother’s?”
“Both.”
Lady Pendleson raised an eyebrow. “You’re a wit. I’m not surprised. The quiet ones usually are. You know, I found myself in one of your father’s dress shops earlier in the year. To think he has so many and across all of England.”
“One shop only, my lady, and only in London.” Henrietta’s shop, to be precise. Her father had wanted, so far, to know nothing about it but the numbers. Not that she could reveal the details of her involvement to, well, anyone. “The others are factories.”
Lady Pendleson sniffed. “Well, the fabrics are the finest I’ve ever seen. I ordered two dresses.” Henrietta warmed toward the lady. She even felt a surge of warmth toward Archibald, though his fur did ruin the look of Lady Pendleson’s yellow-and-blue evening gown. “Tell me, which fabric did you choose? I can have my father send an entire bolt of it to you.”
The Lady’s eyes widened, sparking with delight. “It was such the loveliest shade of—”
“Henrietta!” The exclamation shouted across the entire room silenced Lady Pendleson.
It sent a bolt of happiness through every inch of Henrietta. “Ada!” Henrietta wanted to fly at her dear friend, so seldom seen, but she stuck her slippers to the rug. Decorum first, decorum always.
No matter, Ada did enough flying for the both of them, flinging her arms around Henrietta’s neck heedless of the commotion she created, deaf to the censorious whispers floating around their enthusiastic meeting.
And Henrietta allowed her own arms to wrap around her friend in a short but warm greeting. When they pulled away from their embrace, however, Henrietta glanced about in relief. Other than Lady Pendleson, the few others in the room had paid the younger women no attention. She took Ada’s hands in her own. “It is good to see you. I hardly expected you would come!”
“I hardly expected it myself!”
