She hinted she knew Henrietta’s secret. Did everyone know, then? Some secret keeper she’d turned out to be. Anyone with half a brain could divine Henrietta’s real relationship to Blake’s Dress Shop.
“I’ve eyes everywhere, and I know everything, and I know once it gets around that you’ve bedded Lord Rigsby, you’ll not only be ruined, your shop will be, as well. The doors will be shut before your grandparents can send you back to Manchester where you belong.” She raised her nose in the air and turned her back on them.
Numbness swept through Henrietta’s limbs.
The duchess never looked back, but her words rang clear in the hallway, disgust dripping from every syllable. “I will never buy your father’s fabric, but I won’t say a word of what I discovered here today if you gather your things and leave this house immediately. You will never show your face in the ton again. If you do this, no one will know your shame and your business will be safe. If you persist in marrying Lord Rigsby, you’ll be ruined. As well, your entire family will be ruined. Do you truly wish that?”
Before she could say a word or even nod her assent, Grayson darted forward, trotting after the duchess’s heels.
“Grayson?” Henrietta called after him.
He cast a look over his shoulder, hesitating only a moment. “I’ll fix it, Hen. I promise.” Then he disappeared, leaving Henrietta alone in the hallway, clutching a small, cold necklace to her stuttering heart.
He’d fix it? How like Grayson to think he could. He’d been trying to fix things, save people, the first time she’d met him at the duel. Then he’d tried to fix everything for his father after his brother’s death. And then in the last twenty-four hours, he’d relentlessly chased the truth between them until he’d fixed the year-old misunderstanding, too.
He’d fix it? How could he? If she married Grayson, the Duchess of Valingford would ruin them all, not only Henrietta, but her entire family. Grayson wouldn’t mind, at first. But he’d be a duke one day and would need a wife free of scandal to fix the doubtless numerous things he’d wish to make better.
If she walked away from Grayson, though … she closed her eyes, squeezing the tears gathering sharply in the corners of her eyes. If she walked away from Grayson, she’d never love again.
Her heart or her reputation, her family’s reputation? An impossible choice, but one she would have to make because, bold and wonderful as he was, Grayson would never be able to fix this.
Chapter 18
Every time she’d ever needed her grandmother, Henrietta had found her in the corner of a library or conservatory or garden or any other quiet place, book in hand, schedule cleared, ready to lend a helping hand. But now, when she needed her most, Grandmama could not be found. None of her usual haunts revealed a tiny, book-toting woman quietly avoiding the crowd. A shame, that, since Henrietta needed to tell her grandmother news the woman would dearly love to hear—they were leaving.
In fact, they had to leave now or suffer the Duchess of Valingford’s wrath.
Henrietta abandoned her search and ran to her room. She called for her maid. “Annette, please tell John Coachman to bring the coach round. We’ll be leaving as soon as possible.” She wrote a short note to her grandmother as Annette packed.
Dear Grandmama,
I must leave. I’m taking the carriage and Annette but will send the former back to you so you can do as you please. I’m so sorry I did not wait for you or tell you in person, but so much depends on leaving as quickly as possible.
Love, Hen
When Annette returned with news that John was readying the coach, she handed her the note. “Can you deliver this to Lady Stonefield? Tell her to please give it to my grandmother when she surfaces from whatever corner she’s hiding in.”
“Yes, miss.”
“As quickly as possible, Annette, please,” Henrietta said. “We must be gone.”
When Annette returned, she shrieked at the mess in the room. “Your gowns, miss! You can’t shove them in the trunk!”
“There’s no helping it.” Henrietta pushed harder. How had her maid fit so many dresses into such a small trunk?
Annette rushed forward and grabbed the dress from Henrietta’s grip. She smoothed out the wrinkles and gave it a good shake. “What shall you wear, miss?” The maid pulled another traveling dress from the trunk, shook it, and placed both dresses gently across the bed.
Henrietta looked down at her crumpled gown, the one she’d thrown to the ground as she’d let Grayson undress her. “Mercy.” She must change. Not only because of the wrinkles, but because it reminded her of him, and she needed to forget him as soon as she could. Or suffer greatly. “Oh, it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter at all. We must be gone, and quickly!”
Annette gasped. “But miss, what you wear always matters! You say—”
“Not today. Not right now.” Henrietta grabbed a dress and shoved it toward Annette. “This one. Quick!” She dressed in a trice. The material may have swished in a delightful way at her feet. The color may have brought out her eyes, as she liked, but Henrietta noticed not. “We’ll leave my trunk,” she said. “It can be delivered to London later.”
“But, miss!”
Henrietta bolted from the room. She couldn’t stay another moment. If the duchess thought she dawdled, there would be consequences. “Where’s the Duchess of Valingford?” she asked the first servant she saw.
“Outside, I believe. She had her carriage brought round.”
