The knowledge was uncomfortable, but Wyatt reminded himself that, by overhearing his betrothed's intentions, he had the upper hand. He would personally see to it that she did not succeed in ridding Larsen Manor of his mother and grandmother.
“You are very quiet tonight, dear,” his mother said from beside him, a tone of displeasure in her voice. “Might I remind you thatthe Henfords threw this party in your honor? The least you could do is open your mouth and pretend to be enjoying yourself.”
What a skill it was, Wyatt thought distantly, that she managed to reprimand him, without letting her carefully preened smile falter. What, he wondered, would she think if he told her about Miss Henford's plans for Larsen Manor?
I am sure she would not believe me. He knew that, as far as his mother was concerned, Henrietta Henford was an angel who could do no wrong. Still, he was dimly aware that his mother was right—that he was planted here in his seat like a moping statue and had barely uttered a word except to ask for more wine. He was about to open his mouth to ask Miss Henford's thoughts on the position of women in society when his mother said loudly:
“His Grace plans to visit our lands in Devon later in the year.”
Do I?This was news to him.
“Have you ever been to that part of the country, Miss Henford?”
Henrietta gave the Duchess a syrupy smile but avoided looking in Wyatt's direction. “Not since I was a young child.” She fluttered her lashes. “I do hope my husband-to-be will see fit to take me with him.”
“I am sure he will,” said the Duchess, digging a surreptitious elbow into Wyatt's side. “Is that not right, my dear?”
Wyatt forced a smile. “Yes, of course. As you wish.”
An enormous hacking cough came from the far end of the table. Lord Volk, the offender, tossed back a large glass of wine and waved a hand in an attempt at an apology. Beside him, his mother shook her head in horror. But Wyatt was insanelygrateful for the interruption. He found his eyes drifting in the direction of the Volks.
Lady Gemma was tucked in neatly between her two sisters and seemed to be conversing with no one other than them. She was dressed in a plain smoke-colored gown, her brown hair pinned demurely at her neck, and not a hint of jewelry on her. She was clearly doing her best to blend into her surroundings after their apparent escapades last night. So why was it, Wyatt wondered, that made her so difficult to look away from?
There was nothing particularly attractive about her, was there? All right, yes, perhaps there was something rather alluring about those soft curves and pink cheeks that seemed to glow, despite being almost entirely devoid of makeup. And perhaps there was something rather entrancing about that creamy white skin peeking out beneath her high collar. Because as he felt his eyes linger on her soft pink lips, he found himself wondering what it might be like to kiss her.
Wyatt shook his head and gulped down a too-large mouthful of wine.
“All right there, Larsen?” asked Jonah from his other side, a teasing grin on his face. Wyatt lowered his eyes. He knew at once that Jonah had caught him gazing at Lady Gemma. But he refused to acknowledge it.
He nodded toward his glass. “Stop me after this one,” he told Jonah, voice low. “I do not need a repeat of last night.”
Jonah laughed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. He hated it when Jonah addressed him that way. Knew it was only ever done in the most mocking of ways. While Wyatt rarely made mention of his station, he knewJonah, as Baron Anderson, was all too aware of his lowly title. Wyatt knew mockery was Jonah's way through his self-imposed shame—and right now, he was more than willing to let it slide.
He glanced over in Henrietta's direction. Unlike last night, when they had sat side by side during dinner, tonight she had been deliberate in sitting several places down from him on the other side of the table. Tonight, she was dressed in an elaborate cream-colored gown, with her blonde hair piled high and glittering with pearls. Her makeup was flawless, and her every move was one of practiced grace. She was impossibly polished and beautiful. Wyatt was well aware of the statement she was making: that she was a fine prize and that he ought not to take her for granted.
And yes, Henrietta was undoubtedly stunning, with a symmetrical heart-shaped face, large blue eyes, and a wraith-like figure. But those bitter, hurtful words he had heard her spout earlier that day… They soured her beauty more than a little.
Wyatt had also gone the entire day without exchanging a word with her. The urge to apologize for last night's indiscretions had evaporated after he had heard her badmouthing his family.
Have I made a mistake by agreeing to marry her? The uncomfortable thought had been circling through his mind all day. His mother had chosen Henrietta Henford for him because she was polite, obedient, and full of grace. Everything Wyatt needed in a wife. But would the Duchess have made such a choice if she knew of Henrietta's true nature?
Wyatt told himself it did not matter. His and Henrietta's would never be a marriage of love. It was a business transaction, nothing more. Did it truly matter what kind of person she was,as long as she provided him with the heir he needed? Besides, he could hardly bring shame upon Henrietta and her family by breaking the betrothal so close to their wedding.
Especially not in their own damn house.
“Would you just look at Lord Volk?” Wyatt's mother leaned over to whisper in his ear. “What a disgrace of a man. I cannot believe I allowed your grandmother to invite him and his family here.”
Wyatt glanced at the Earl. Though his knife and fork were still in his hand, his eyes were drooping closed, and he sat slumped in his seat. His ruddy cheeks suggested he had been back at the bottle throughout the day. He watched Lady Gemma give him a hurried nudge. He blinked and straightened in his chair.
The Duchess shook her head. “And that daughter of his. You would think she would have a little more decency than to behave the way she did last night, given the state of her family.” Her eyes narrowed on Wyatt. “And I have to say, you did not help matters, encouraging her the way you did.”
“I am sorry,” Wyatt said quickly, gulping down a mouthful of wine. He had no desire to rehash the events of yesterday evening—not least because he could hardly remember any of them. All he could recall was Lady Gemma's face.
Mercifully, the Duchess's attention was drawn away by Henrietta's mother, who was singing the praises of the elaborate pink and white cream pudding that was currently being set down in front of each of them.
Jonah gave her a broad smile. “Another work of art, indeed.”
