And Then She Fell (Cynster 19 Cynster Sisters Duo #1) (15 page)

The look she bent on him was faintly exasperated, as if she’d expected better from him. “I’m not such a weak thing—I’ll be perfectly well by this afternoon, and I won’t have to set out until then. Ellsmere Grange is only in Essex, after all.”

“Yes, but . . .” He frowned. They’d originally agreed to attend the house party at Ellsmere Grange in order to pad out and ultimately to finalize the short list for his necessary bride; even though that was no longer their aim, he’d assumed they would use their time there—in a setting removed from the hubbub of the ton—to further explore their alternative path. However, he was now very aware that his concern for Henrietta’s well-being trumped any consideration of his quest, however urgent. Setting down his cup and saucer, he met her eyes. “There’s no pressing need to attend, is there? And a quiet few days would allow your nerves more time to settle.”

Henrietta’s expression turned stubborn. “My nerves are already well on the way to being settled again. The incident might have been a shock, but it was only an accident, after all. A poor thing I would be to allow that to affect me for more than an hour or two. Besides”—she glanced at Louise—“Lady Ellsmere is expecting us. It’s far too late to cry off now.”

James looked at Louise, expecting—at least hoping—that she would support him.

Both Louise and Mary, he realized, had been quietly sipping, and watching the exchange between him and Henrietta. Now Louise set her cup on her saucer and stated, “I have to agree with Henrietta.” Louise met his eyes, her gaze that of the softhearted and kindly grande dame that she was. “I would be very surprised were any daughter of mine to need days to recover from an incident such as this, and Henrietta is correct in saying that for both of you to cry off at this late hour, with no broken bones or similar disaster to excuse you, would be seen as a snub to the Ellsmeres. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that, and I certainly couldn’t countenance it, certainly not for Henrietta, so she, at least, will be attending as expected.”

Despite the kindliness, a spine of steel lurked beneath Louise’s soft-seeming exterior. She held James’s gaze for an instant, then arched her brows. “So, given Henrietta will be going, am I to take it you will attend as planned, too?”

He didn’t look, but he could feel the weight of Henrietta’s gaze, and Mary’s, as well. He kept his gaze on Louise’s blue eyes—very like Henrietta’s—then, lips tightening, capitulated. “Yes. Of course.” He glanced at Henrietta and was met by a brilliant smile. At least he’d made her happy.

Apparently his surrender had made Mary happy, too; her smile was simply dazzling.

Which left him feeling confused. Deeming retreat the course of wisdom, he rose. He bowed politely to Louise, then looked at Henrietta. After that kiss in the street, he would have liked to speak privately with her—just a word, a touch, perhaps another kiss—but at the same time, he didn’t want her to bestir herself unnecessarily. He inclined his head. “I’ll see you at Ellsmere Grange this afternoon.”

She held out her hand, her face uptilted, her expression grateful and relaxed. “Indeed—and thank you again. I’m steadfastly
not
thinking about what would have happened had you not joined me this morning.”

He wished he could do the same, but that thought was firmly embedded in his brain. However . . . he bowed over her hand, then, releasing it, nodded to Mary and strode from the room.

Henrietta watched him go. She really had no business feeling so very thrilled over the outcome of a potentially fatal accident, but what had been revealed by his responses and hers—that scorching kiss they’d shared in the middle of Upper Brook Street, which thankfully no one of any note socially had seen—had been their truth. In that moment, what was evolving between them had flared like a flame, indisputably true; to know that, to have been afforded that insight, was worth almost any price.

And she hadn’t, after all, been harmed in the least.

Transferring her gaze to her mother’s curious face, she smiled reassuringly. “I truly am fine.”

Louise’s lips curved with that deeper understanding only a mother possessed. “Indeed, so it seems. Now go up and have your bath, and you would be wise to take a nap. Mary and I will be out for luncheon, but we’ll be back to see you off this afternoon.”

A
fter quitting the back parlor, James paused in the front hall, then glanced at the butler, Hudson. “Have you heard whether the groom caught Miss Cynster’s mare?”

“Yes, sir. Gibbs caught up with the beast on the other side of Grosvenor Square, when some carriages blocked it in.”

“So the animal’s back in the stables?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“And where might your master’s stables be?”

Directed to the mews, James found the stables easily enough. The stableman, an older, experienced man, was walking the black mare, now perfectly placid again, on the cobbles before the stable doors, studying the horse’s finely shaped black legs, no doubt checking for any wounds.

Hands in his pockets, James walked up and halted beside the man. “Good morning. Hudson told me where to find you. I was riding with Miss Cynster this morning—I’m a friend of Mr. Simon Cynster.”

“Oh, aye.” The stableman regarded him. “You’re the one who saved our lassie.” He nodded respectfully. “You have our thanks and more besides, sir. Miss Henrietta’s a game rider, but from what Gibbs—her groom—said, she’d never have been able to rein in Marie here.”

“Indeed. Miss Cynster told me the horse came from her cousin Demon’s stable. And that, I admit, makes me curious.” James tipped his head toward the horse. “Marie here was perfectly placid earlier, all the way until she screamed and reared, and I can’t imagine Demon Cynster allowing any of his female cousins to possess a horse with an uncertain temper, or any other susceptibility that might result in what I saw this morning.”

“No, indeed.” The stableman’s face darkened. “You’re right there, but it’s no wonder that Marie screamed as she did.” Moving to the horse’s rump, the stableman lifted a corner of the blanket currently draped over Marie’s back. “Just look at what some bastard did to her.”

James looked at where the man pointed. A small wound was still seeping blood. It took him an instant to realize what it meant. “A dart?”

Straightening, he looked incredulously at the stableman, who nodded grimly. “Aye—that’s my guess. Some idiot boy out for a lark, I suppose—throw the dart and watch the fine lady flying off her horse.” The stableman snorted. “If me or my boys could lay hands on the blighter, he wouldn’t be smiling.”

“No, indeed.” But they’d have to get in line. James quashed the sudden impulse to violence, and nodded at the stableman. “Thank you for showing me—I thought it must have been something like that.”

They parted with goodwill and good wishes all around.

James walked slowly back up the mews, lips twisting as he wondered . . . but there was no reason to suppose that the dart had been aimed specifically at Henrietta’s horse, and not, as the stableman assumed, simply at the horse of some fine lady.

Chapter Seven

J
ames left London early in the afternoon. Driving his curricle, he reached Ellsmere Grange in good time. After greeting his hosts, Lord and Lady Ellsmere, friends of his parents, and being shown to his room, he descended to the drawing room to lounge and chat with the other guests who had already assembled.

Miss Violet Ellsmere, the daughter of the house, had recently become engaged to Viscount Channing. James and Channing had known each other for years; James duly ribbed Channing over his soon-to-be lost freedom, which, James noted, Channing bore with the smugness of a well-satisfied cat.

Which only made James all the more restless as he prowled the gathering while constantly keeping one eye on the forecourt.

Finally, a black carriage rolled up the drive—the right black carriage; James recognized the Cynsters’ coachman. By the time the coach rocked to a halt on the fine gravel of the forecourt, James was stepping off the porch, waving the footman back as he reached for the carriage door.

He swung it open. Henrietta blinked at him, then smiled. Happily. She was clearly suffering no ill effects from their morning’s excitement.

Extending her hand, she let him help her down. “Thank you.” When he offered his arm, with a laughing smile, she twined her arm in his. “Are you intending to monopolize me?”

He smiled back. “Why else do you imagine I came?”

Her soft laughter made him smile even more as he led her into the house.

She went through the usual process of greetings, then Violet escorted her upstairs to the room she’d been assigned, but soon enough they both returned, rejoining James and Channing in the drawing room.

The four of them sat and chatted while the rest of the company ebbed and flowed around them. Afternoon tea came, was consumed to the last tasty crumb, then they settled to an exchange of the latest ton stories.

Guests continued to arrive; by the time the dressing gong resonated through the house, James had counted twenty guests, not including their hosts, Violet, and Channing. All those lounging in the drawing room rose and, in couples and groups, headed up the stairs.

James ambled beside Henrietta, and thus discovered that the room she’d been given lay down the corridor to the left of the main stairs, three doors along on the right. After seeing her to her door, he walked briskly back through the gallery and on to the room he’d been given toward the end of the opposite wing.

While he washed and changed, he considered what they might make of the evening and decided they would have to play it by ear. While on the one hand he wanted to press ahead and secure Henrietta as his bride—and that compulsion had grown only more powerful in the aftermath of the incident that morning—simultaneously he was conscious of a fundamental desire to give her all and everything a young lady might wish for, including all she might wish for in a courtship.

“We have two full days,” he muttered to himself, chin raised as he tied his cravat. Even though it was essential that they marry before the first of the coming month, he still had twenty-five days in hand. “She’ll want some time to enjoy our engagement before we face the altar, but . . . we can afford at least a few days wooing. No need to rush.” No need to shortchange her just because he was in a hurry and had an inflexible schedule.

With that resolution firmly fixed in his mind, he descended the stairs and strode to the drawing room. It was inhabited only by males; no ladies had yet made an appearance. Joining Channing, Percy Smythe, and Giles Kendall, James was quickly drawn into a discussion of that perennial topic of male regard—horses.

Five minutes later, Rafe Cunningham walked into the room. He glanced around, hesitated, then walked over to join James and the others.

“What-ho, old boy!” Channing shook Rafe’s hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Rafe shrugged lightly. “Lady Ellsmere’s my godmother.” Rafe glanced at James and nodded. “Glossup.”

James nodded back, wondering if he was correct in detecting a note of restrained animosity in Rafe’s deep voice . . . and if Miss Fotherby numbered among her ladyship’s guests. James hadn’t seen her earlier, but he hadn’t seen Rafe, either.

Eventually the ladies started drifting in. James was rather pleased when, upon his leaving the group to join Henrietta, she met him halfway. They shared a private smile, then together turned to engage with other guests; standing side by side, they chatted with Miss Finlayson and Miss Moffat, and were soon joined by Channing and Violet.

Miss Fotherby, James noted, joined the gathering a bare minute before they were due to dine. Even more telling, on stepping into the drawing room, Miss Fotherby looked swiftly around, saw Rafe Cunningham watching her from across the large room, and froze. For an instant, she looked like a deer poised to leap and race from a hunter, but then she stiffly looked away and, her features set and pale, walked across to speak with Lady Ellsmere.

Henrietta had noticed Miss Fotherby, too. She glanced at James, arched a brow.

Before he could reply, her ladyship’s butler appeared to announce that dinner was served. Lady Ellsmere commanded their attention and told them the seating would remain informal for the duration of their stay, and recommended they oblige her and find their own partners. Everyone laughed, very happy to do so—except for Miss Fotherby, but Robert Sinclair was standing beside her and offered his arm, and she quickly accepted his escort.

With Henrietta on his arm, James dipped his head to whisper, “As she’s here, I believe it would be wise for me to tell Miss Fotherby of my decision regarding her . . . ah, application as soon as may be.”

Watching the byplay between Miss Fotherby and Rafe Cunningham, even though both were partnered with others, Henrietta nodded. “Be that as it may, I think tomorrow morning will be the earliest you’ll be able to do so. If this event runs along customary lines, we’ll have music or charades after dinner tonight.”

James inclined his head in acceptance.

Once seated beside him at the long table, Henrietta found herself enjoying the gathering more than she’d anticipated—certainly more than she had previously enjoyed such events. She’d attended innumerable house parties through the years, but she had never before had . . . a focus. A locus for her attention, a pivot about which she could circle. That, she realized, with a swift glance at James, currently chatting with Violet on his other side, was what was different. James’s presence widened her experience of everything about her; the conversations, the sallies, the quick quips and repartee all seemed sharper, more engaging, when viewed through the expanded prism of his likely reactions as well as hers.

In the sense of scope, he opened her eyes. Never before had she viewed the world about her and considered how it might appear to, or might impact on, another.

That, she supposed, smiling and shifting so she could better hear something Miss Hendricks wished to impart to her, was what forming a relationship was all about; learning and empathizing with the feelings of one’s other. Presumably that was what the affectionate tag “the other half” implied.