Page 26 of Loving a Dowager
“I’m sorry.” Henrietta had the sense to look abashed. She continued, “I… I simply haven’t had the heart to inform Bertha.”
He couldn’t believe his ears. The Henrietta he grew up with never swayed away from difficult topics. The woman he knew had a keen ability to deliver the harshest of news with a skill that left the receiver unperturbed.
“You had best find the courage to do so and soon. Or would you prefer I take care of the matter?” Walter had never taken such a stern tone with her before. The bitter taste of betrayal upon his tongue gave his words an edge he rarely utilized.
Henrietta shook her head. “No. I shall convey the message. However, I’d prefer to do so while presenting her with alternative solutions.”
Walter spied the glint in Henrietta’s gaze that always appeared prior to her making some outlandish request. He held his breath and waited.
“I need some time. Would you be agreeable to a fortnight?”
Henrietta had lost her senses. If anyone knew how hurtful unrequited love could be, it was him. He didn’t want to mislead Lady Bertha, but he was weak to Henrietta’s pleading gaze. “A week, Henrietta and not a day longer.”
The brilliant smile he received was indeed the best payment for his acquiescence.
After quickly checking to see no one was about, Henrietta leaned in and pressed her moist, plump lips to his. Before he could react, she pulled back and said, “My thanks, Walter. You won’t regret agreeing, I promise.”
The shuffle of footsteps behind her alerted the return of Mr. Collins. Henrietta turned to meet the shop-keep. He held out a palm-sized parcel tied with string. “Shall I be putting it on his account, like we used to?”
“Not this time, Mr. Collins. My son, Landon Neale, Lord Hadfield will settle my account.”
Poor Mr. Collins’s brow creased once more. “Yer son’s Lord Hadfield?”
“Aye, he is.”
“Then there’s no account in need of settling.” Mr. Collins bowed low as if he were addressing the queen.
Henrietta raised the package in the air and said, “My thanks to you, Mr. Collins. I shall make mention of your generosity to Landon this very eve.”
Mr. Collin’s cheeks burned red. “I appreciate it, me lady.”
“Now, we’ve already been over this, Mr. Collins. I’m no longer a lady.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, but ye’ll always be a lady, no mind wot others may say.”
Mr. Collins was right. Henrietta was a lady through and through. Ducal blood ran through her veins and she conducted herself in such a manner. No matter what her marital status deemed or if disowned by her own family, Henrietta was a lady.
Walter remained rooted to the spot until the shop door closed behind Henrietta.
Mr. Collins held out another wrapped package out for him. “Peppermints fer ye, Lord Weathersbee.”
“My thanks, Mr. Collins.” He took the package and slipped it into his coat pocket.
“Will ye be needin’ anythin’ else, me lord?”
Walter shook his head. “Nay, Mr. Collins. Not today.”
The shop-keep nodded his head to the carriage moving into the traffic. “Ye’d be a fool to let that woman slip away from ye again.”
“I don’t intend to make the same mistakes as I did in my youth. However, she’s recently returned to the bosom of the ton, and I’d prefer that I not be the reason she is once again ostracized.”
Walter tipped his head as a farewell, leaving a stunned Mr. Collins behind as he exited the shop. Stepping out to hail a hack, the reality of his words hit hard, stealing his breath. He wanted to be able to love Henrietta openly, to finally act upon his desires. He no longer wished to censor his actions, but to do so would place her hard-won good standing amongst the ton in jeopardy.
Chapter Fifteen
The footman patiently held open the coach door for Henrietta. She wasn’t one to take mincing steps, but she needed an extra moment to settle the fluttering in her chest stemming from uncertainty of the best approach with which to handle the discussion about to ensue with Bertha. Henrietta ducked her head as she entered the vehicle, settled upon the forward-facing seat, and took in a fortifying breath as she busied herself with adjusting her skirts. Avoiding her friend’s scrutiny, she let her eyes roam over the intricate floral design of the interior fabric next to Bertha’s shoulder. The click-clack of the horses’ hooves upon the cobblestone street was the only sound that filled the air. Their carriage came to a halt once more in the afternoon crush.
Henrietta swallowed the lump in her throat. Her heart ached with knowing she should say something. “Bertha, I’m sorry...”
