Chapter 5

Five

A t noon, Henrietta went out to the grounds with her mother. Mr. Hartwell was waiting for them in the rose garden which looked rather sad since all the blooms were fading and there would be no more new ones this year.

Mr. Hartwell removed his hat and bowed. "Your Grace. Lady Henrietta."

Henrietta couldn't look at him. She couldn't. She was the one who had put him in this awful position.

"If you please, I would like to speak to Lady Henrietta alone."

Her usually indulgent, kind mother used her sternest voice. "There's been quite enough being alone already, don't you think?"

"I would wish for you to see us at all times, Your Grace, just not to hear us. It's important Lady Henrietta speak freely."

"My daughter knows she can speak freely in front of me."

"Then I would like to speak freely. Please, Georgiana."

Her mother finally seemed to remember Mr. Hartwell was a friend and gave a reluctant nod and plopped herself down on a bench and opened her parasol. Mr. Hartwell offered Henrietta his arm. She took it, but she still couldn't look at him.

After they had strolled down the gravel path a good ways away from her mother, he said, "This is unfortunate."

Henrietta continued to stare straight ahead. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Hartwell. I hope my father was not angry with you. It was all my doing, and I was trying to tell him that. It's not fair, at all."

"It is an injustice that a young woman might be forced to marry to save her reputation. Especially when she is blameless."

"Oh, but I am to blame! I am always doing hopelessly stupid things."

He said stiffly, "You were trying to be kind to your father's friend. That is all. I was the one who committed an unforgivable obscenity upon you. Without your permission."

His kiss was not an obscenity. And, of course, she would have said yes if he had asked to kiss her. She looked at his face finally—the dark circles under his eyes, the deeply etched grooves by his mouth—and tried to think of a way to correct him without being impolite, but he was already speaking again.

"In reparation, I pledge to protect you in any way I can, including offering for your hand. But the decision is yours, Lady Henrietta. You need not marry me. The scandal might fade in time, and you might make a match with someone more suitable."

Was this a proposal? Henrietta swallowed. "I have had a Season already, you know."

"You have?" He darted a look at her. "You're a girl."

How could he say that when there was nothing girlish about her? Tall, full-figured, and, in passing, often thought to be years older than she really was. She tossed her head, willing him to see her hair was up, not down.

"I have just become nineteen years of age. I share a birthday with your son."

His dark eyebrows went up. "I see."

"I was not popular during my Season. I am?.?.?.?I am too big. The fashion is for small, slender ladies."

The eyebrows climbed even higher. "Is it?"

"And I'm not clever or funny."

He did not contradict her. She felt more of a great lump than ever, but she wanted him to know he had not ruined her chances. They were already ruined. Nil, in fact.

"So, no matter what, I don't think it likely I'll find a husband." Then a thought occurred to her. "Except a fortune-hunter who might want my dowry."

His posture became even more rigid. "If you do me the honor of becoming my wife, I will arrange for a generous jointure from my own assets. Your dowry and the accumulated income will be held in trust separately and will also go to you in its entirety upon my death."

"Your death?" She clutched at his arm. "Are you ill?"

"No. But I am twenty-two years older than you. God willing, I'll die before you."

She whispered, "Your other wives died before you."

He turned away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cried out, despairing over her own thoughtlessness. "I shouldn't have mentioned that. Of course, you'll die before me."

But what a terrible thing. Mr. Hartwell, dead. She couldn't bear to think of it.

His voice was without emotion. "If you accept me, you will want for nothing. I will provide everything for you, including ample pin money. As I said, your dowry would remain untouched."

So, this was her proposal. All talk of money and death. Not at all how she had imagined it. But she'd never dared imagine it would be Mr. Hartwell asking for her hand.

Everything was so higgledy-piggledy in her mind right now. She must get some orderly picture of what her life would be like. As his wife . Even thinking the words made her heart thump wildly.

"Would I live with you?"

"As you wish. It might be best if you did, at first, in order to quell gossip. But after a time, you might want to live elsewhere. My home is in a quiet place, and you might find the countryside not to your liking. I could buy a house in town for your use."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. No. I have no fondness for London."

"Ho, there!"

The shout came from across the rose garden. It was Geoffrey, half-walking, half-running, his boots crunching loudly on the gravel. He arrived out of breath and bowed to Henrietta, pointedly ignoring Mr. Hartwell.

"I must speak to you, Hen. Immediately."

She looked at Mr. Hartwell nervously before answering Geoffrey. "We are in the middle of an important conversation."

"What I need to say to you is far more important than anything this—" Geoffrey's lip curled in a sneer, " gentleman could have to say to you."

He seized her wrist roughly and pulled her away from Mr. Hartwell.

"Come along, Hen."

As she trotted in Geoffrey's wake, she gazed back over her shoulder. Mr. Hartwell stood, head bowed, a lonely, tall figure. As always, she felt an inexplicable tug in her belly towards him, a yearning to be close to him.

"Keep up."

A wrench on her arm and now she was quite put out with Geoffrey and his rudeness.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"I am willing to marry you," Geoffrey said angrily, still striding forward, his face red. "On the condition you give me your word you will behave with the utmost propriety going forward. Or there will be consequences."

Henrietta bridled. She wasn't a child to be threatened. Or punished. This was not how her father treated her mother, not how a husband treated a wife.

"And my father says if your father increases your dowry and includes the unentailed land next to the Ramsey barony, we can be wed quickly."

She wouldn't be Geoffrey's honored bride, but a bargaining chip for money and land. She felt so dirty, just like the earth she was being traded for.

"And you must promise me you will make an effort with your appearance."

She always made an effort with her appearance. Even with all this tumult, she had bathed and chosen a pretty gown this morning, had sat quietly for Lucy to arrange her hair. But recalling yesterday afternoon, she knew Geoffrey meant something else.

"I should try to become smaller ?" She used his own word deliberately. "I should try to look more like my sister?"

Geoffrey snorted. "I suppose Amelia is an acceptable size, and Ellen is all right from the waist up, but she's far too big—" He gestured at Henrietta's lower half.

Amelia was small and lithe, but she was barely thirteen! And Ellen was a beauty, already greatly admired even though she wasn't out yet, sure to have many offers of marriage when the time came for her first Season.

Ellen was perfect. Perfect .

A rage started to simmer inside Henrietta. How dare Geoffrey talk about her sisters that way, as if they were made up of parts that either pleased or displeased him? As if that were the purpose of their bodies?

Geoffrey's next words had a bite of menace to them. "But if you don't marry right away, neither of them will ever nab a husband."

She halted and pulled her arm out of Geoffrey's grasp. "What do you mean?"

He stopped walking, too, and faced her with a shrug. "Oh, you know."

"No, I don't. What do you mean?"

"Don't be a dunce, Hen. Scandal with one daughter spreads to the others. You must know everyone in the ton will think Ellen and Amelia are trollops."

Like you were the words he left unsaid.

But her mother had told her she didn't have to?.?.?.?oh, no. Never mind about herself. That wondrous kiss from Mr. Hartwell had ruined Ellen's and Amelia's matrimonial chances, too.

She looked at Geoffrey, the only man she had ever thought she might have a possibility of marrying. But he didn't love her. He didn't even like her. She would disappoint him. Already, she resented he didn't want her as she was.

And Geoffrey was?.?.?.?Geoffrey was?.?.?.

Her anger boiled over and all the bad words she knew spewed into her brain.

Geoffrey was a beastly, boorish, bloody bully of an arse.

She looked back at Mr. Hartwell, still standing at the far end of the rose garden, hat in hand, waiting. He was, and had always been, a fixed ideal in her mind. It must mean something that she had always been drawn to him. That she had always desired his happiness.

Could she make Mr. Hartwell happy?

She didn't know. But she could try. And this might be her only chance to snatch some future happiness for herself.

She remembered her manners.

"No, thank you," she blurted to Geoffrey. She picked up her skirts and ran all the way back to Mr. Hartwell. She gasped for air and her chest heaved as she stood in front of him in the sunshine.

"Yes. Yes, I'll marry you."

His grave face did not change. "Very well." He bowed and replaced his hat and offered her his arm. "Shall we go tell your parents?"