Page 35 of My Hellion, My Heart
Ever since she’d seemed to stumble at the dinner she’d hosted early in the season, Henry had noticed more instances of her fatigue and loss of balance. He’d called for their family physician, who had delivered a mixed diagnosis: Lady Langlevit was indeed declining, however she was still strong of spirit, and Dr. Hargrove had stressed that her will would carry her for quite some time. Henry certainly hoped so.
While she had fully intended to remain in London, his mother had returned to Hartstone soon after his engagement ball.
“We wish her a quick recovery,” Hawk said. “Please give her our regards.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Henry studied the man who had always been more of an observer than an active participant of thetonuntil his duchess had stepped into his life. Until recently, he and the duke had never been more than acquaintances, though he’d once considered making an offer to Hawk’s half sister, Eloise, to fulfill the terms of his inheritance. She’d been caught and killed in the crossfire of the notorious Masked Marauder who had terrorized London five years before. Disfigured by burns to her face from a childhood fire, Henry had felt sorry for her, having been on the receiving end of a fire himself. A marriage to Eloise would have been a kindness, he knew, but beyond that, it would have been a means to an end.
“Lady Bradburne looks well,” Henry said, watching as the duchess danced beside Rose in a rousing Scotch reel that had them both breathlessly laughing. He couldn’t help noticing that Irina was now dancing with Lord Northridge, and inexplicably, the gathering tension left his limbs in a slow trickle. “I take it family life agrees with you despite the threat of gray hairs.”
“It does,” Hawk agreed. “As you will find, as well. Lady Carmichael is lovely.”
Henry nodded brusquely. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
He knew he should say more. Compliment her in some way. Something that pointed to why he and Rose would be happy together. But he could land upon nothing.
“Speaking of brides,” Hawk filled in when Henry remained silent, “it looks like your old ward will have no shortage of suitors, either. Though I do hope she chooses one better than my whelp of a brother-in-law making a fool of himself in that set.”
Once upon a time, the rivalry between Lord Northridge and the duke had been no secret, but now Hawk was only joking. Lady Bradburne’s brother, Lord Northridge, was an excellent father and husband, and Henry knew that Hawk trusted North implicitly. Henry also knew from speaking with Lana that she was deliriously happy. “Princess Irina has certainly blossomed into a beauty,” Hawk continued.
Henry felt his scowl return. He was well aware of how beautiful she had become. “She is on the verge of making a spectacle of herself.”
“I take it you’ve heard about the wagers?” Hawk asked. “I’ve no taste for such bets myself, but the princess has become quite the prize.”
Henry’s lips thinned. “Quite so.”
Hawk’s gaze centered on where Irina was dancing with his brother-in-law. “She appears to be enjoying the attention. North reports that ever since she accepted the offer to stay with Lady Dinsmore, the invitations have been appearing at Bishop House en masse. Apparently, she declines more than she accepts, and yet she is still out almost every night.”
Irina could not have stayed at Devon Place alone, without a chaperone, and so when Lady Langlevit had returned to Essex for rest, Lady Bradburne’s mother had happily stepped in and offered to host the princess. Henry respected Lord and Lady Dinsmore, but he was not at all pleased with the rest of the situation.
“She should be in Essex with her sister instead of cavorting about here with that cousin of hers,” Henry snapped, unable to help himself.
“Cousin?”
“Lord Remi. By marriage, twice removed.”So not really a cousin at all, he added sourly in his own head. “That peacock assured me earlier this spring that he had Irina’s best interests at heart. Now, however, it seems he has no care for her reputation. And it appears neither does she.”
“Perhaps Princess Irina only wants for a strong husband to take her in hand.”
“Oh, is that what you did, Your Grace?” a laughing voice said as the duchess approached, her eyes glinting with humor. “Took me in hand?”
The duke gazed down at his wife. “Firmly, as it were.”
“I’ll remember that,” Lady Bradburne teased and turned to Henry. “You are not dancing, Lord Langlevit?”
Henry tapped his leg where a bullet had torn through years before on the Peninsula. “I fear my body can only handle a few dances a time, Your Grace, and I would not want to deprive anyone of a more capable partner.”
“I am so sorry,” she said, an immediate look of regret on her face.
“Don’t be, it was a long time ago,” Henry reassured her. “I much prefer the slower dances to the faster ones anyway. Gives a man a chance to get to know a lady.”
“A novel idea.” Hawk’s lips curved into a knowing grin, and he bowed to his wife, lifting her hand to his lips. “Your Grace, shall we get to know each other a little? I believe I hear the start of a waltz.”
Lady Bradburne hesitated, frowning slightly. “Lord Langlevit, do you mind?”
Henry was on the verge of sending them on their way with a laugh, when a huffing Lord Northridge approached them with Irina in tow. “Langlevit can take a turn with my young sister-in-law,” North said, his face red from exertion. “She has worn me out and is in dire need of a better partner for the next set.”
Henry’s breath caught as her bright eyes met his and slid away, as if he merited nothing more than a glance. “I am sure Her Highness has more than enough partners to choose from.”
