Page 8 of Loving a Dowager
“If he is anything like his uncle Lord Weathersbee, who has proven capable of keeping secrets for decades, he will do.” At the mention of Walter, her stomach did a little flip. She’d missed the exhilarating sensation. Walter’s intense regard and caring actions prodded Henrietta to acknowledge the fact that her life was not over yet. Her life might no longer center around her boys, but she could still help others. Marrying a PORF had given her life a new purpose and soothed the sting of being disowned. Mayhap Walter had provided her the answer to her fears of what was to come next in her life—assisting others in finding love.
Rolling forward to clasp Henrietta’s hand, Bronwyn said, “Perhaps we should conduct our own investigations.”
“Brilliant. We shall begin tonight at the Redburns’ ball.” She squeezed Bronwyn’s hand.
Her brow furrowed at her daughter-in-law’s deep sigh. “I had hoped to stay in tonight.” Bronwyn leaned back and rubbed her slightly protruding stomach.
She hated the idea of Bronwyn in distress. “Very well, I shall request that Landon escort me, which will give you a few hours’ reprieve from my son and provide you an opportunity to reach out to the Network.”
Bronwyn beamed. “You truly are the best! A nice long soak in the tub will be heaven.”
Chapter Six
Resting her gloved hand on her son’s arm, Henrietta inhaled deeply as the Redburn butler announced their arrival. “The Earl of Hadfield and Lady Henrietta Neale.”
She cringed at the honorific that the ton had automatically adopted upon her return to the social whirl. Years ago, she had opted to be addressed as Mrs. Neale rather than retain the title of lady upon marrying George, which was her right in marrying a younger son of an earl. It had been her way of solidifying in her mind that she was no longer the acknowledged daughter of a duke. But upon Landon’s ascent to earl, the ton had ignored her preference. She was reintroduced and announced with the honorific she was born into. Even though two years had passed, Henrietta’s skin still crawled at the title oflady. A reminder of the family that continued to ignore her very existence. Landon patted her hand and began moving forward, thrusting them into the fray of guests. Every year the number of patrons partaking in the social circuit appeared to increase in size while the number of her acquaintances dwindled.
Landon scanned the crowd. The extra two inches of height he inherited from Henrietta’s father was advantageous at events like the Redburn ball. “Weathersbee and Darlington are at the far end of the ballroom, to your right.”
She followed his lead as they shifted direction. Their progress was slow, edging their way through the throng of gentlemen and ladies. The orchestra began tuning their instruments for the night’s entertainment. Henrietta tapped Landon’s arm to gain his attention over the din. “Have you located Lady Bertha?”
His arm shifted beneath her hand as he raised ever so slightly onto the balls of his feet. “Aye. She is retreating to one of the waiting rooms, I believe.”
They made another inch or two of progress before coming to a halt. She smiled at the young fresh-faced debutantes making their first appearances in front of them, and through gritted teeth she asked, “And Lord Otterman?”
Landon shook his head. “No sign of the man. He might be hiding in either the billiard room or one of the card rooms.”
The squawking of instruments ceased, and guests moved into position on the dance floor. Able to move forward once again, Landon seized the advantage and no longer took mincing steps. “Not to worry, Mama, Weathersbee was rather thorough in his assessment of the documentation you provided.”
Henrietta tugged on her son’s arm, halting their progress, “What think you of his nephew, Lord Darlington?”
Frowning down at her, Landon said, “I gave you my word to assist with Lady Bertha’s representation as Papa would have wished. I shall not involve myself with the matter of Lord Darlington’s marital status. I’ll leave that matter in your capable hands.”
She was in no mood for her son’s carefully crafted responses. “I merely need to know—in your opinion, is he a pigeon or not?”
“Most definitely not. Raised by Weathersbee, he is far from an easy mark.” The music elevated to a crescendo, and Landon raised his voice slightly to be heard. “If he is anything like his uncle, matrimony will only hold Darlington’s interest if the lady can capture his heart.”
With a curt nod, she said, “And that is how it should be. With the number of eligible ladies in our favor this season, I’m certain we shall succeed.”
“We?”
“Aye. We.” She smiled up at her son who had never once let her down. Taking advantage of the thinned crowd, she swiveled and changed their course. “I wish to ensure Lady Bertha is well situated before we make Darlington’s acquaintance.”
Landon arched a brow, which Henrietta ignored as she moved in the direction of one of the smaller parlors. Crossing the threshold, she spied a number of familiar matrons, chaperones, and spinsters gathered in the parlor. Henrietta’s spine stiffened. The horrid Lord Otterman was the center of attention seated next to Bertha. The cad’s feigned adoration had Henrietta moving faster, nearly dragging Landon by the hand like she had when he was a boy.
Lord Otterman was a fake. It was the man’s body language that gave him away. Never leaning in towards Bertha. Always away. He maintained the socially acceptable distance constantly like a shield. Not once had Henrietta spied a conspiratorial glance or a spark of desire in the man for her friend. Lord Otterman might have convinced the masses he was in love, but Henrietta knew the truth. The man was using her friend, but for what purpose she had yet to discover.
Quickly assessing how to best extricate Bertha away from the blackguard, Henrietta whispered, “Landon, ask Lady Bertha to dance. Find out what you can.”
With the last strains of the country reel concluding, Landon dutifully and without question made an elegant bow before her friend. “Lady Bertha, would you care to dance?”
A pretty flush rose to Bertha’s cheeks as she placed her hand into Landon’s outstretched one. “Lord Hadfield, it would be an honor.” Henrietta admitted she herself would have blushed if a handsome young man asked her to dance. An image of Walter flashed before her. She tucked the secret wish that Walter would ask her to dance away and watched Landon lead Bertha onto the dance floor.
Henrietta’s skin pebbled as the temperature within the room fell a few degrees. She glanced at the guests closest to her. She was the recipient of more than one glacial look.
Lord Otterman stood glaring at her and leaned forward to growl, “You will not succeed in breaking off our engagement. Meddle in someone else’s affairs.” Turning on his heel, he left the room. Instead of heading towards the dance floor as Henrietta had expected, he rotated and headed in the opposite direction, only confirming in Henrietta’s mind the man held no realtendre for Bertha.
“Really, Hen.” Lady Beatrice, Bertha’s younger spinster sister pouted.
