Page 9 of Loving a Dowager
Henrietta took the spot on the settee Bertha had vacated. She was about to reply when Beatrice let out a sigh. “Why did you have to go and chase Otterman away?” Dreamy-eyed Beatrice continued, “He’s so in love with Bertha. He can’t stand to be in a room without her.”
Lady Marion seated in the chair nearest to them asked, “Why must you keep interfering?”
Henrietta twisted at the waist to face Lady Marion. Her old nemesis was still the image of perfection. Not a strand of hair out of place. Her coiffure beautifully created with just enough face paint to cover the fine lines that came along with age. The woman always left Henrietta tongue tied, giving Lady Marion the opportunity to add, “You were a meddlesome harpy before you were disowned, and nothing has changed. You should be ashamed, attempting to destroy Bertha’s chance at happiness.”
The accusation stabbed Henrietta in the heart. Lady Marion had never liked her, but when no one spoke up in her defense, she understood she was no longer welcome amongst the small group of women she once considered friends. Calmly raising to her feet, she did not dare speak in case her voice cracked. Instead she gave Beatrice a curt smile and fled the room, headed towards the terrace. She would not let Lady Marion or the others see the dampness swelling in her eyes. No. She’d rather be roasted on a spit than let that lot see her cry.
She skirted the masses, keeping her gaze lowered and staying close to the outer wall. She was about to slip through the terrace doors when a hand at her elbow stalled her progress.
“Henrietta, what is the matter?” She turned at the warm familiar voice. Walter.
Her breath caught at the sight of him in his sophisticated evening attire. His stark white cravat elegantly knotted. The light gray-blue waist coat almost shimmered in the candlelight. Ruffled sleeves peeked out from his solid black jacket. She glanced up and found Walter examining her ensemble with the same intensity she’d seen in his gaze earlier at the cemetery. The urge to wrap her arms about him and share her troubles like she had when they were children had her almost taking a half step closer to the man.
Instead, she plastered a smile and presented her hand to the young man standing wide eyed next to Walter. “Lord Darlington, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
As courtesy dictated, he took her hand and politely bowed. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Henrietta. My uncle has spoken highly of you.” He released her hand and edged an inch closer to his uncle.
“Oh, dear me. The stories you must have heard.” Henrietta teasingly winked and waited for his reaction.
The twitch at the corner of Lord Darlington’s lip proved the boy had a sense of humor. She assessed him from head to toe, and when Darlington’s cheeks flushed a deep red, Bronwyn’s words from earlier rang true. Henrietta would wager her entire monthly pin money that the boy was still a virgin. She snuck a glance at Walter, engaged in a side conversation with another guest. She wondered if Walter was aware his nephew at the age of eight-and-twenty remained an innocent.
Henrietta surmised finding the perfect bride for Walter’s nephew was going to be a challenge. If her instincts were correct, it wasn’t being leg shackled that the boy resisted, it was the marriage bed he feared. Darlington possessed the same confident yet innocent gaze as George had when they had said their vows. Knowing of George’s fears, Henrietta was sympathetic to Darlington’s plight. It reinforced her desire to find him a love match. But in order to succeed, she needed to know more about the man. “Lord Darlington, I would be in your debt if you wouldn’t mind taking this old woman out onto the dance floor.”
Henrietta’s bold request startled Walter into a half-turn, revealing her son. What the blazes was Landon discussing in hushed tones with Walter?
Darlington distracted her with a pleasant smile. “It would be my honor to dance with you this eve.” He offered Henrietta his arm, and she was pleasantly surprised to feel lean, hard muscles under his jacket. If one looked closely, Darlington was definitely no wallflower. She was on the hunt for a lady who would dare Darlington to shed his shy exterior. The dance floor was an ideal location to start assessing candidates.
Henrietta lengthened her stride to keep up with the young man. “Your uncle has recruited me to find you a lady this season.”
Darlington slowed his pace and with a slight nod said, “Aye. He informed me of your arrangement.” The boy didn’t object to her involvement, he merely sounded resolved. He was either a very trusting soul or he respected his uncle’s decisions. Her son would not have been as accommodating as Darlington had he known her involvement in ensuring he was happily wed.
She caught sight of Landon moving through the crowd towards the billiards room. Walter was not beside Landon, nor was he close by. Walter had somehow again faded into the shadows. They continued to weave through the crowd. The closer they got to the dance floor, the more rigid Darlington’s movement became. Henrietta nervously glanced at the boy. After they had been married but a week, George proclaimed martial relations emulated the act of dancing with the ideal partner. He claimed it wasn’t so much as knowing the correct steps but who you partnered with. She gave Darlington’s arm a squeeze. “Would you care to share with me your preferences in a lady?”
Halting mid-step, Nicholas frowned and said, “Aside from having the necessary skills to run a household, I don’t believe I have any.”
“None at all?” She needed to ferret out information from the boy. A reel upon the dance floor would not allow her to gain the details required to find him a suitable wife. “Perhaps a stroll about the room would be best.”
Darlington’s muscles relaxed beneath her fingers. With a nod, he switched directions, and they began to make a circuit about the room. Darlington tugged at his cravat and asked, “Is it ignorant of me to believe I shall simply know when I meet the right woman?”
“Hmm. Ignorant? Definitely not, although some might call it idealistic.” Drumming her fingers in time with the music upon his arm, Henrietta continued, “However, if you continue to opt to stand against the wall at such events as this, instead of asking any of the delightful women present to dance, how will you ever find a woman to love?”
A crinkle formed in the center of his youthful forehead. “You believe dancing is the key.”
“Aye. You’re searching for the woman who feels right in your arms. A partner who moves with you in anticipation of your next step. The lady who you dare to take that extra half inch to be closer to. That is the lucky woman who should be the next Marchioness of Darlington.” Since her reentrance into society, Henrietta had declined a number of offers to dance, opting to dance only with her sons at balls. Tonight, her imagination supplied the image of herself being twirled about by a gentleman—not any gentleman; no, it was Walter’s strong arms that she was fantasizing about.
“My uncle mentioned you didn’t mince words.” Nicholas glanced about the room and sighed. “I suppose then I shall need your assistance in guiding me as to whose dance card I should be seeking to fill.”
“We shall survey your options as we make our round.” Henrietta gave him a broad smile, and she was pleasantly surprised to see the corner of Nicholas’s lips curve. “We will need to find a lady who can make you smile, for you are rather handsome when you do.”
They resumed their stroll about the room. “Then we are on the hunt for a woman much like yourself.”
Henrietta snorted. “Oh, dear, now you have given me an impossible task.”
He’s frown reappeared. “Surely not impossible. But I believe I would prefer a woman who voiced her thoughts and opinions. A lady’s mind is quite confounding.”
Among the crowd, a familiar young face caught Henrietta’s attention. Lady Bertha’s paid companion, Miss Marina White. The girl was Bertha’s distant cousin or niece. Narrowing her gaze, Henrietta focused her attention upon the girl. Miss White was quiet but quick as a whip. However, the girl took great lengths to avoid the company of men. Knowing the males in her family, it wasn’t a shock. Henrietta set herself the goal to find out if Miss White possessed the qualities Darlington was looking for. She contemplated Bertha’s description of the girl—pleasant and sensible. Neither particularly met Darlington’s wishes. However, her intuition told her Miss White was worth investigating.
Conceiving a plan to get the two together, Henrietta raised her gloved hand to her cheek and said, “Oh, dear.”
