Wyatt looked over at the Dowager Duchess, his grandmother, who was chatting with Lady Gemma's grandmother. As theywere so often, the two elderly ladies were chattering away between mouthfuls of pudding, conspiratorial grins on their faces.
No doubt talking about those rat-like dogs of theirs again.
Both were dressed in their typical flamboyant style, the Dowager Duchess in bright purple, and the Dowager Marchioness adorned with butter-yellow feathers. Their wrinkled fingers glittered with jewels as they emphasized their conversation with waves of the hands. In spite of his inner turmoil, the sight of them brought a faint smile to Wyatt's face. There was something so liberating, he imagined, about getting to such an age. About not needing to care so much what the world around you thought. And right now, the thought of that seemed utterly blissful.
He forced down a mouthful of pudding. Meringue, he guessed. Strawberry? Whatever it was, it was making his teeth ache. He chased it down with a mouthful of wine, and the collision of flavors made him wince.
As he scooped up a second obligatory mouthful, his eyes drifted over to Lady Gemma. As though feeling his gaze on her, her attention was pulled away from her sister. Her eyes caught his for a fleeting moment, then she looked away hurriedly.
Jonah tossed his napkin beside his emptied bowl of pudding. “If you'll all please excuse me, it's been a rather long day.”
Henrietta's mother stood and clapped her hands together. “Thank you, everyone. Dinner has concluded.”
Wyatt felt his stomach knot. He knew he could not put off speaking with his betrothed any longer. In spite of Henrietta's harsh words earlier that day, an apology was long overdue.
Henrietta was already standing up from the table, watching after Jonah as he disappeared out of the dining room. Her attention snapped toward Wyatt as he made his way toward her. Her friend hovered protectively at her shoulder—Wyatt realized it was the young lady she had been speaking to earlier that day.
“May we speak?” he asked. He realized that, inexplicably, his heart was thumping hard. Henrietta had never roused such a physical response in him before. Was it this new knowledge of her true character that was putting him on edge? Or was it—surely not—his awareness of Lady Gemma on the other side of the room?
“Of course, Your Grace.” Henrietta gave him a sickly sweet smile. “You do not mind if Miss Gardiner joins us, do you?” She nodded toward her friend.
Wyatt hesitated, caught off guard. What was she playing at? Did she wish to embarrass him further by having her friend overhear their conversation? Or did she simply not wish to be alone with him?
I suppose I cannot blame her.
Nonetheless, Wyatt nodded. “If that is what you wish.” He gestured to the sitting room, his betrothed and her friend following. Henrietta stood in front of her unlit hearth, folding her hands neatly in front of her, but making no move to sit.
“What is it you wish to speak about, Your Grace?” she asked sweetly, wide blue eyes taking him in.
Her pleasant tone caught Wyatt off guard.Surely this is an act. She must know why I have sought her out.
This was the Henrietta he knew—impossibly sweet and innocent. But something about this no longer felt right. After hearing her speak so harshly to Miss Gardiner, after hearing her say such dreadful things about his family, everything about her felt false. Like an act. In spite of himself, he plowed on.
“I wished to apologize for last night,” he said, looking at her squarely. Henrietta's perfectly made-up smile did not falter. “I am sorry if I embarrassed you with my behavior.” He felt oddly reluctant to mention Lady Gemma's name. As though, for some inexplicable reason, he did not wish to drag her down into this mess.
For a moment, Henrietta looked him up and down, as though examining him, trying to determine if his apology was genuine. Finally, she nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. She ran her long fingers down his arm for a fleeting moment, before pulling away and smiling sweetly. “I appreciate the apology.”
He felt nothing, Wyatt realized. Her touch had elicited not the barest hint of desire, or even faint interest.Am I truly to marry a lady who makes me feel so empty?
For not the first time, Wyatt reminded himself that Henrietta's sole purpose in his life was to provide him with an heir. Interest, desire, fulfillment—they could all be found elsewhere.
That thought did nothing to allay the heaviness pressing down on his heart.
I need to confront her about what I heard.She would be angry, no doubt, at his eavesdropping, but she needed to go into this marriage knowing her place. Knowing what he would and would not accept from his wife. And casting his own motherand grandmother out of the house most certainly fell into the category of things he would not accept.
“Miss Henford,” he began, fixing her with his most unwavering gaze, “there is something else I wish to discuss.”
She raised her neat blonde eyebrows. “Oh yes?”
“It concerns our life together once we are married.” He cleared his throat, hating how stilted and formal his words were coming out. “I want you to feel at home at Larsen Manor. But please understand that it is also my mother and grandmother's home. And I have no intention of changing that.”
Henrietta's face remained unmoved. If she had any sense that Wyatt had overheard her conversation with Miss Gardiner, she gave no inkling of it. “Of course,” she said sweetly. “I would never dare go against my own husband's wishes.” Her eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. “Unlike some others at this party,Iknow a lady's place in society.”
The sudden coldness in her eyes chilled him, as did her barb in Lady Gemma's direction. When the door flew open with barely a knock, and a scrappy brown and white dog flew inside, Wyatt let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.
“Ah, there you are my dear,” said the Dowager Duchess, showing not the slightest hint of remorse at having interrupted their conversation. “I have been looking for you everywhere.” She grabbed his arm and began tugging him out of the room, with little more than a nod of acknowledgment in Henrietta's direction. Wyatt was all too happy to comply.
Chapter Six
