Grandpapa scratched his head, disarranging his already chaotic coif. “Is the woman prone to delusions?”
“No. She’s merely acclimated to controlling everyone around her. She’s a duchess, you know.”
Grandpapa threw his hands into the air with a huff. “Bah. Will she control you?”
“I don’t have any choice. She’s threatened to tell the whole ton we anticipated marriage vows if Grayson doesn’t marry Lady Willow.” She wished her corset wasn’t so tight. She wanted to melt into the seat and cry, and corsets rather restricted such activity. “Her gossip will ruin me, him, and the Blakes. I won’t bring such shame to us, Grandpapa.”
“What does the viscount say about the debacle?” He looked toward the door, as if expecting it to burst open, revealing a fevered Lord Rigsby.
Henrietta feared it, too. She feared he’d still not given up, still not come to his senses. There was only one way for everyone to make it out of the debacle with their reputations, if not their hearts, intact: Grayson and Lady Willow would have to wed. She shook her head, looking out the window for Grayson’s approaching form, longing for it but dreading it at the same time. “He’s being unreasonable. He thinks he can fix it, that we can still be wed. But it’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
A typical Grandpapa response. He sometimes failed to see reason himself.
Henrietta stood and paced to the window, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I told you!”
“You told me you were sacrificing your own happiness for others’ well-being, and I’m not at all sure those others asked you to do so or need you to do so. I call you, yet again, a coward.”
“Grandpapa! I’d like a little sympathy if you don’t mind.”
“Sit back down, Henrietta.”
She complied, still hugging herself tight.
“I have always been proud of your father, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” But what her father had to do with this, she could not fathom.
“When he first bought his factory, others expected me to shun him, be ashamed of him.” He shrugged. “But with the estate entailed to your uncle, there was very little left to split between your father and his other brothers, not to mention dower your aunts. So, when your father came into his share and used it to buy the factory, I applauded him. He looked toward his own future, despite those who blackballed him. He sponsored your aunts’ seasons and helped commission your Uncle George. This family is stronger because of him. Had he listened to the censorious voices of the ton, he would not have been able to do all that.
“You’re worried about your shop,” Grandpapa continued, “the family, the man you love. It’s a noble sentiment, Henrietta, but the right thing to do is, at times, the most difficult. In short, don’t be a coward, granddaughter. If you love a man who loves you, don’t let him get away.” He scratched his neck, looking confused. “But you already did a year ago. Ah well, time heals all wounds.”
Or uncovers all misunderstandings.
Grandpapa softly wrapped his fingers around her upper arms. “Look at me, Henrietta.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she met his gaze.
“No matter the slings and arrows the ton flings at you, weather them with confidence and an unpierceable hide.”
How could she reply to that when she felt as breakable as a butterfly wing shred beneath the Duchess’s boot?
Grandpapa ushered her out the door, pecked her on the forehead with a quick kiss, told her to send for her beau before it was too late, and let the gossips drown in their own stew, whatever that meant. “The Blakes have weathered much worse, my dear. And if it proves too much for Blake Textiles to withstand, there’s always France. You’ll not be socially shunned there. I hear they love a good scandal.”
She stood alone in the entryway, considering the front door. Was she a coward? Was she being too sensitive? Perhaps the choice she saw before her—between marital happiness and a flourishing family business—existed only in her imagination. Perhaps she could have both if she simply grew an unpierceable hide.
The solitary early morning called to her. Anonymity and safety awaited her in an early morning ride through the park. “Ha!” she barked. Who had ever referred to early mornings in Hyde Park as safe?
Those seeking refuge from the ton’s disapproving glare, perhaps.
She turned away from the door. She had much to do this morning. Since she was already up, she might as well write to Ada and explain everything. She’d put it off long enough. And perhaps her grandmother also deserved an explanation for what had happened at Hill House. The saintly woman had allowed Henrietta to cry on her book all the way back to London with no explanation whatsoever. And then another letter—her father needed to be told that the engagement with Grayson, though delayed a year, would be renewed.
And she needed to speak with Grayson, of course. More than the others, he would need to know she’d decided to marry him. She’d not let the Duchess of Valingford’s threats rule her.
A shiver of delicious energy shot down her spine and lifted a corner of her mouth into a slight smile. So much to do before she took her daily ride in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour.
Henrietta Blake was no coward.
