Page 4 of Loving a Dowager
She had been rather dramatic in her earlier years. “Yes, it was all very daunting until George rescued me.”
“Yes—George was there. He overheard our conversation and hunted me down. Claimed you were an angel sent down from heaven to save his soul. Stated quite emphatically that if I cared a whit about you, I would help him ensure you didn’t suffer at the claws of the matrons who would surely tear you to shreds.” He tucked his hands behind his back and bowed his head. “I was fourteen. But you treated me as if I were still the ten-year-old boy you found lost in the woods. I wanted you to be happy.”
The sun was close to disappearing, and a foreboding chill ran down her spine. “What did George ask of you?”
Walter chuckled. “It’s getting late. I shall regale you with the rest of the story another time. Allow me to escort you back to your carriage.”
He hadn’t avoided her question with a question of his own; however, he once again delayed answering her question. It was unnerving not to have all the facts. Her deceased husband had been a complex man with many secrets. To find out that the man who fathered her children had maintained a friendship with Walter without her knowledge stung. Ire flowed through her veins. Henrietta marched back to George’s grave and fell to her knees. Before she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder. Walter remained where she had left him but turned slightly, giving her privacy she needed. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Husband, you never told me you saw me that day. I believed you had shared everything with me.” A tear rolled down her cheek. George’s family history was full of mysteries and secrets. He had been descended from a line of sworn Protectors of the Royal Family—PORFs. And now their eldest, Landon was the holder of an ancient rondure that placed him in the position of Head PORF. She closed her eyes and another tear escaped. George would be so proud of Landon.
Head bent, she leaned her forehead against the cold gray stone. “Will I ever discover the full truth? Or will your actions and need for clandestine activity keep me forever guessing?” Wiping the moisture from her cheek with the back of her glove, Henrietta stood, straightened her spine, and turned to place her hand upon Walter’s proffered arm. “I shall require a detailed retelling, Walter. I don’t want you to leave one piece of information out, regardless of how you believe I might react. Am I clear?”
They made their way through the cemetery. The darkness cast an eerie mist over them.
With the coach in sight, Walter said, “Henrietta. That is all in the past. What good could come of reliving a period that neither of us can change?”
“I want to know what occurred. I suspect whatever it was, it is the reason you refuse to meet my gaze.” She stepped up into the carriage and positioned herself in the far corner of the forward-facing seat, giving Walter ample room to join her.
The tip of his booted foot paused on the step, but the rest of him remained out of sight.
“What are you waiting for? Are you going to join me or not?” The corner of her lips curled into a smile at the memory of asking him the same questions years ago, perched on a tree limb.
Entering the coach, Walter took the rear-facing seat and scowled at her. “Woman, I’m no longer a lad of ten.”
Pleased Walter had recalled their first happenstance meeting, Henrietta replied, “I might be old but I’m not blind. I can see you are…” As the words slipped from her mouth, she scanned his strained features. “You have matured into a rather fine-looking gentleman.”
His pale cheeks flushed pink. “Flattery will not gain you the information you seek.” He removed his hat and placed it upon his knee.
Henrietta took in the sight of his disheveled full head of hair and rubbed tips of her fingers against the soft velvet that lined her gloves. What would it be like to run her hand through his locks? Blinking away her wayward thoughts, Henrietta said, “Ah. Yes, how foolish of me to believe a savvy gentleman such as yourself would simply divulge details.” Tapping her forefinger against her chin she continued, “Hm. I hear you have declared it was time for your poor dear nephew, Marquess of Darlington, to marry.”
Walter’s gaze narrowed even further. “Nicholas is eight-and-twenty. It is time.”
“Says the man who’s in his forties and never married. Why so eager for him to wed and produce an heir?”
“Nicholas has a duty to the title. To the family.”
“Have you considered Nicholas may wish to simply follow in his uncle’s footsteps and never marry?”
He let out a sigh. “I have heard the lad bandy it about that if marriage wasn’t for me, it wasn’t for him either. But the title is not a burden I carry.”
Henrietta replied, “Burden? Good gracious, it that what you have raised the boy to believe—that the Marquessate of Darlington is naught but an encumbrance?”
“Regardless of your opinions of my child-rearing skills, the fact remains that Nicholas needs to find a suitable woman to marry.”
“What of Nicholas’s happiness? What of love?” Titled or not, every man and woman was entitled to a fulfilling marriage, one whereby there was respect and a healthy dose of passion and love.
“If my nephew is as smart as I believe him to be, he’ll refrain from experiencing such emotions.”
“Ridiculous.” Henrietta crossed her arms. Walter needed her help. A match needed making, and no one was better than Henrietta at such a task. Now she could actively participate in the bustle of the season with a clear purpose—helping two lost souls find love. The jolt of excitement of once again being needed exhilarated her. While her sons believed falling in love with their wives had been all their own doing, it had been years of planning, hundreds of comments and references to her two beautiful and bold daughters-in-law that Henrietta had planted, that resulted in the fine unions. None of which would have been possible without the support and assistance of the Network.
The covert organization was comprised of families who had pledged to serve and protect PORFs for as many generations as there had been PORFs. The quickening of her pulse at launching a new scheme had Henrietta straightening. Yes. She’d use her resources to identify the ideal candidate for Nicholas Weathersbee. “If I assist you in finding a match for Nicholas, will you tell me the tale of how you and George became acquainted and how it came about that it was you my beloved husband entrusted to see to my happiness?”
“Are you suggesting I subject Nicholas to one of your schemes?”
“Not one of mine, one ofours. If I remember correctly, together we concocted some rather devilishly clever plans.”
“We did, didn’t we.” Walter chuckled.
Her heart fluttered at the gruff sound. Yes. It would be fun to have a co-conspirator once again. “Well. Do you agree to share your secrets once Nicholas is happily engaged and in love?”
