Oh, no. “My father opened a shop, not me.”
“Hm. As far as I can see, your father wants nothing to do with the place. Never leaves Manchester. You’re the one always bustling about. It’s yours, not his, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”
But she had to convince her otherwise or—
“Don’t look so startled, Miss Blake. I don’t care one whit that you’ve taken on a business of your own. Others might, I grant you that, but your father makes a good shield not many but me will see past.” Lady Pendleson blinked. “And I’m not telling anyone what I know. Like I said, you’re formidable, and one does not undermine a formidable woman.”
Did Henrietta misunderstand the admiration in the older woman’s words? How could she have? The woman spoke plainly. “You admire that? You admire me?”
“Of course! Who wouldn’t?”
Henrietta swept her arm across the crowd on the lakeshore. “All of you! Boldness, risk taking—they are not universally admired qualities for women. And hard work is not to be tolerated.”
Lady Pendleson nodded thoughtfully, stroking Archibald’s ear. “True. The ton is a bit scared of sweat and work. But we admire spirit. Backbone. Not to mention good bloodlines. All of which you have in spades. Close your mouth, girl. You’ll catch flies.”
Henrietta did as commanded. “My father is a tradesman.”
“Tsk. It’s not as if your father is a baker’s son. There are different rules for him. And for you. Now tell me, does your shop carry anything in scarlet? I’m partial to the color, but everything these days is pastel.”
“Many shades of it, Lady Pendleson.”
“Then tell your shopgirls to expect a visit. Oh! Are dogs allowed on the premises?”
Henrietta broke into her first real smile in days. “For you? Of course!”
“Good answer, girl.”
Did others feel as Lady Pendleson did? Did, as Ada had suggested, Henrietta make too much of her father’s place in trade, of her own business ventures? They didn’t know, of course—the shop had been her idea, her project alone. She frowned. Such revelations might not be as easily accepted. But she didn’t need people to know. She needed them to love it. She needed the shop to succeed. Her father could take the credit if he liked.
One person knew, though, other than Lady Pendleson, and he didn’t care. Grayson’s clothes dripped lake water, and he appeared frustrated with the crowd of admirers surrounding him. The fine lawn shirt clung to his chiseled chest. Henrietta’s breath caught.
“You know,” Lady Pendleson said, “I thought you and the Rigsby fellow would make an item last year. Guess not, eh? Pity. He and Valingford’s daughter don’t seem to suit.”
“Oh?” Henrietta barely registered Lady Pendleson’s words. Lady Willow and her mother had punctured the crowd of admirers surrounding Grayson, and he now stood before them drooping like a chastened dog. Lady Willow seemed distracted, but the duchess pulled herself up tall and offered what appeared to be a vehement lecture until Grayson bowed stiffly and marched back toward the house, leaving his admirers still lauding his bravery and the duchess fuming.
“We should get closer,” Lady Pendleson offered. “The duchess has been in a snit all morning. I’m curious what’s got her goat.”
Henrietta shook her head. It was none of her business. She’d gotten too close to him in the last few days, and the revelations of last night made all distance between them seem irrelevant.
Everything has changed, he’d said, but had it? Mercy, she still couldn’t decide.
“I’ll leave you to gather gossip,” she told Lady Pendleson. “But my shoes and stockings are wet. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll find dry ones.”
“Of course, dear girl, and good work today! Remember—save the scarlet for me!”
Henrietta nodded and turned toward the house, her heart full of Grayson, but her mind full of confusion. Had she assumed barriers where there were none? Did she even need Lady Willow’s patronage to succeed? Lady Pendleson suggested not. And, knowing what she knew now—about Grayson, about their misunderstanding—could she bear to help him marry another woman?
Questions chased her up the stairs and into her bedroom. Shutting the door behind her, she closed her eyes, took a steadying breath, and reached into her pocket. She removed the paper secreted there, which Ada had handed her before Pansy’s tumble into the lake. Grayson needed this to help him find the necklace. Should she give it to him and continue helping him? Or keep it and be done with him, with the painful past, for good? Her toes tingled, not with the difficulty of the questions before her, but with cold. And mud. She grimaced and rang for her maid. One couldn’t make a decision of such import with a muddy hem and squelching slippers.
Chapter 15
Grayson threw the dust cover off the wardrobe and coughed. He didn’t see why this wing of the house needed renovating. It looked fine to him. But it would be a hell of a lot more complicated to search these rooms if they were currently occupied by guests. So, despite the dust, he felt grateful. The sooner he found the necklace, the sooner he could start life on his own terms.
He surveyed Henrietta’s room from last year. Where to begin? Certainly, any items left in drawers or on tables would already have been found and returned or stolen. No use checking those. Better to start with the less obvious hiding places. Like that obnoxiously large wardrobe. He rubbed his hands together before slipping them between the wardrobe and the wall, then heaved the furniture away from the wall with a grunt. Or tried to. “Damn.” It moved an inch. He bent at the knees to try again.
“Only this morning you turned a small rowboat right side up on a choppy lake and then lifted a small girl into it, so I’m convinced of your strength, but I do have my doubts about this current endeavor. That”—Henrietta pointed to the wardrobe—“is massive.”
Grayson bolted to his feet and whipped around. Henrietta stood in the door, hands clasped before her, a slight smirk lifting the corner of her pink mouth.
