Grayson mounted Trott, turning him back toward Hill House. He’d go after Henrietta, but Trott should be properly saddled, and he needed to collect Willems. Even with those delays, he would be in London before the morning. He couldn’t give up. Not yet.
The Valingford coach lumbered toward him through the woods. They, too, would be in London soon.
He’d refused to marry Lady Willow, and the duchess had promised to ruin Henrietta. He had to keep the storm from breaking over all their heads. If he couldn’t fix this benighted situation, he’d never convince Henrietta to marry him. He couldn’t let a stupid misunderstanding ruin the rest of their lives.
Chapter 20
It was too early to ride in Hyde Park, but Henrietta had several reasons to do so. First, she couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Grayson’s face when he’d said, You’re mine. He’d meant it. And sleeping or waking, she couldn’t deny the truth of the statement.
Second, the Duchess of Valingford did not engage in idle threats, and Henrietta did not doubt the reach of the woman’s power. Though the duchess had only been back in London a single evening, she’d had enough time to spread malicious whispers of Henrietta’s indiscretions. Or, of course, to send an announcement of her daughter’s engagement to Lord Rigsby to the papers. Another reason to ride in Hyde Park now instead of the fashionable hour—avoid chatter of an engagement that would slice her heart in two.
The silence of the house hummed around her as she snuck downstairs, pulling her riding gloves tight. She’d go to the shop after her ride, so she’d be out of the house the entire afternoon. Grandpapa couldn’t corner her if she—
“Coward.”
She stopped mid-step and turned slowly. “Good morning, Grandpapa.”
“Good morning. Join me for tea, will you?” He stood back from the doorway, ushering her into the study beyond.
Mercy! He must have been waiting to catch her, the sneaky old—
“Sit, Henrietta, my love.”
She sat. He sat across from her. Usually, she loved the way his fuzzy white hair stuck out all over the place and how his cravat was always rumpled and how he patted her on the shoulder thoughtlessly, a casual gesture of affection. But this morning, he radiated seriousness. Unusual. She gulped down half a cup of tea and waited.
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “Coward.”
“So you’ve said. But, Grandpapa, I’m not at all sure what you mean.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, girl. And don’t avoid me.”
She choked out a laugh. “Avoid you? What an imagination you have.”
“Don’t try any tricks, my girl. Your grandmother told me about your unusual interlude with Lord Rigsby, previously Lord Grayson Maxwell, previously engaged to my granddaughter, namely you. If you add an unusual interlude to an early, hasty exit from a house party you were eager to attend, it tallies to trouble, my dear.” He leaned forward. “What is going on?”
“I’ve been tired,” she prevaricated.
He eyed her from boot to bonnet. “You’re up before six in the morning, wearing your habit. Riding in the park at such an ungodly hour is not what a tired woman does. Nor is it whatyoudo.” He wagged his finger at her. “I know you. You ride through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour every day to show off your riding habits.”
The practice had proven beneficial. She had more requests for riding habits in her shop than the seamstresses could currently keep up with. She’d had to hire more girls.
Hardly the point, though. No, all the points, apparently, belonged to Grandpapa. She fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position. “I’m tired of people.” Ah, an excellent save.
Grandpapa huffed. “More like scared, Henrietta Blake. The question is—what are you scared of? Something happened at the house party. You grandmother doesn’t know much other than Lord Rigsby’s presence there bothered you.”
Bothered? Yes, in so many ways, most of them best not discussed with her elderly relative. Her mind, her body, her heart—all bothered.
“Do you still hold a tendre for him?”
She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry.
“Oh, Hen, dear.” His words reached out, even though he remained motionless in his chair.
She reached fingertips to her cheek. Tears. Drat. “I love him,” she admitted quietly. “And he loves me. But we can’t be together now.”
Grandpapa moved then, shifting swiftly forward and wrapping her in his warm, still-strong arms. “Why ever not?”
“The Duchess of Valingford refuses to acknowledge the end to Grayson’s courtship of Lady Willow.”
