Chapter Five
W yatt wished he had never agreed to this damn party. Once again, the guests were all sitting at the vast tree-like table in Henrietta's family's dining room, working their way through a dinner that seemed never-ending. Just how many blasted courses could they be expected to force down?
After last night's theatrics, spending a second day in the company of Henrietta Henford and her family, along with their guests, was beginning to feel like torture.
A second day… He almost laughed. He was about to commit to an entire lifetime in the company of Henrietta Henford. And she wants my family gone from Larsen…
The knowledge was uncomfortable, but Wyatt reminded himself that, by overhearing his betrothed's intentions, he had the upper hand. He would personally see to it that she did not succeed in ridding Larsen Manor of his mother and grandmother.
“You are very quiet tonight, dear,” his mother said from beside him, a tone of displeasure in her voice. “Might I remind you that the Henfords threw this party in your honor? The least you could do is open your mouth and pretend to be enjoying yourself.”
What a skill it was, Wyatt thought distantly, that she managed to reprimand him, without letting her carefully preened smile falter. What, he wondered, would she think if he told her about Miss Henford's plans for Larsen Manor?
I am sure she would not believe me . He knew that, as far as his mother was concerned, Henrietta Henford was an angel who could do no wrong.
Still, he was dimly aware that his mother was right—that he was planted here in his seat like a moping statue and had barely uttered a word except to ask for more wine.
He was about to open his mouth to ask Miss Henford's thoughts on the position of women in society when his mother said loudly:
“His Grace plans to visit our lands in Devon later in the year.”
Do I? This was news to him.
“Have you ever been to that part of the country, Miss Henford?”
Henrietta gave the Duchess a syrupy smile but avoided looking in Wyatt's direction. “Not since I was a young child.” She fluttered her lashes. “I do hope my husband-to-be will see fit to take me with him.”
“I am sure he will,” said the Duchess, digging a surreptitious elbow into Wyatt's side. “Is that not right, my dear?”
Wyatt forced a smile. “Yes, of course. As you wish.”
An enormous hacking cough came from the far end of the table.
Lord Volk, the offender, tossed back a large glass of wine and waved a hand in an attempt at an apology.
Beside him, his mother shook her head in horror.
But Wyatt was insanely grateful for the interruption.
He found his eyes drifting in the direction of the Volks.
Lady Gemma was tucked in neatly between her two sisters and seemed to be conversing with no one other than them.
She was dressed in a plain smoke-colored gown, her brown hair pinned demurely at her neck, and not a hint of jewelry on her.
She was clearly doing her best to blend into her surroundings after their apparent escapades last night.
So why was it, Wyatt wondered, that made her so difficult to look away from?
There was nothing particularly attractive about her, was there?
All right, yes, perhaps there was something rather alluring about those soft curves and pink cheeks that seemed to glow, despite being almost entirely devoid of makeup.
And perhaps there was something rather entrancing about that creamy white skin peeking out beneath her high collar.
Because as he felt his eyes linger on her soft pink lips, he found himself wondering what it might be like to kiss her.
Wyatt shook his head and gulped down a too-large mouthful of wine.
“All right there, Larsen?” asked Jonah from his other side, a teasing grin on his face. Wyatt lowered his eyes. He knew at once that Jonah had caught him gazing at Lady Gemma. But he refused to acknowledge it.
He nodded toward his glass. “Stop me after this one,” he told Jonah, voice low. “I do not need a repeat of last night.”
Jonah laughed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. He hated it when Jonah addressed him that way.
Knew it was only ever done in the most mocking of ways.
While Wyatt rarely made mention of his station, he knew Jonah, as Baron Anderson, was all too aware of his lowly title.
Wyatt knew mockery was Jonah's way through his self-imposed shame—and right now, he was more than willing to let it slide.
He glanced over in Henrietta's direction.
Unlike last night, when they had sat side by side during dinner, tonight she had been deliberate in sitting several places down from him on the other side of the table.
Tonight, she was dressed in an elaborate cream-colored gown, with her blonde hair piled high and glittering with pearls.
Her makeup was flawless, and her every move was one of practiced grace.
She was impossibly polished and beautiful.
Wyatt was well aware of the statement she was making: that she was a fine prize and that he ought not to take her for granted.
And yes, Henrietta was undoubtedly stunning, with a symmetrical heart-shaped face, large blue eyes, and a wraith-like figure. But those bitter, hurtful words he had heard her spout earlier that day… They soured her beauty more than a little.
Wyatt had also gone the entire day without exchanging a word with her. The urge to apologize for last night's indiscretions had evaporated after he had heard her badmouthing his family.
Have I made a mistake by agreeing to marry her ?
The uncomfortable thought had been circling through his mind all day.
His mother had chosen Henrietta Henford for him because she was polite, obedient, and full of grace.
Everything Wyatt needed in a wife. But would the Duchess have made such a choice if she knew of Henrietta's true nature?
Wyatt told himself it did not matter. His and Henrietta's would never be a marriage of love.
It was a business transaction, nothing more.
Did it truly matter what kind of person she was, as long as she provided him with the heir he needed?
Besides, he could hardly bring shame upon Henrietta and her family by breaking the betrothal so close to their wedding.
Especially not in their own damn house.
“Would you just look at Lord Volk?” Wyatt's mother leaned over to whisper in his ear. “What a disgrace of a man. I cannot believe I allowed your grandmother to invite him and his family here.”
Wyatt glanced at the Earl. Though his knife and fork were still in his hand, his eyes were drooping closed, and he sat slumped in his seat.
His ruddy cheeks suggested he had been back at the bottle throughout the day.
He watched Lady Gemma give him a hurried nudge.
He blinked and straightened in his chair.
The Duchess shook her head. “And that daughter of his. You would think she would have a little more decency than to behave the way she did last night, given the state of her family.” Her eyes narrowed on Wyatt. “And I have to say, you did not help matters, encouraging her the way you did.”
“I am sorry,” Wyatt said quickly, gulping down a mouthful of wine. He had no desire to rehash the events of yesterday evening—not least because he could hardly remember any of them. All he could recall was Lady Gemma's face.
Mercifully, the Duchess's attention was drawn away by Henrietta's mother, who was singing the praises of the elaborate pink and white cream pudding that was currently being set down in front of each of them.
Jonah gave her a broad smile. “Another work of art, indeed.”
Wyatt looked over at the Dowager Duchess, his grandmother, who was chatting with Lady Gemma's grandmother. As they were so often, the two elderly ladies were chattering away between mouthfuls of pudding, conspiratorial grins on their faces.
No doubt talking about those rat-like dogs of theirs again.
Both were dressed in their typical flamboyant style, the Dowager Duchess in bright purple, and the Dowager Marchioness adorned with butter-yellow feathers.
Their wrinkled fingers glittered with jewels as they emphasized their conversation with waves of the hands.
In spite of his inner turmoil, the sight of them brought a faint smile to Wyatt's face.
There was something so liberating, he imagined, about getting to such an age.
About not needing to care so much what the world around you thought.
And right now, the thought of that seemed utterly blissful.
He forced down a mouthful of pudding. Meringue, he guessed. Strawberry? Whatever it was, it was making his teeth ache. He chased it down with a mouthful of wine, and the collision of flavors made him wince.
As he scooped up a second obligatory mouthful, his eyes drifted over to Lady Gemma. As though feeling his gaze on her, her attention was pulled away from her sister. Her eyes caught his for a fleeting moment, then she looked away hurriedly.
Jonah tossed his napkin beside his emptied bowl of pudding. “If you'll all please excuse me, it's been a rather long day.”
Henrietta's mother stood and clapped her hands together. “Thank you, everyone. Dinner has concluded.”
Wyatt felt his stomach knot. He knew he could not put off speaking with his betrothed any longer. In spite of Henrietta's harsh words earlier that day, an apology was long overdue.
Henrietta was already standing up from the table, watching after Jonah as he disappeared out of the dining room.
Her attention snapped toward Wyatt as he made his way toward her.
Her friend hovered protectively at her shoulder—Wyatt realized it was the young lady she had been speaking to earlier that day.
“May we speak?” he asked. He realized that, inexplicably, his heart was thumping hard.
Henrietta had never roused such a physical response in him before.
Was it this new knowledge of her true character that was putting him on edge?
Or was it— surely not— his awareness of Lady Gemma on the other side of the room?
“Of course, Your Grace.” Henrietta gave him a sickly sweet smile. “You do not mind if Miss Gardiner joins us, do you?” She nodded toward her friend.
Wyatt hesitated, caught off guard. What was she playing at? Did she wish to embarrass him further by having her friend overhear their conversation? Or did she simply not wish to be alone with him?
I suppose I cannot blame her.
Nonetheless, Wyatt nodded. “If that is what you wish.” He gestured to the sitting room, his betrothed and her friend following. Henrietta stood in front of her unlit hearth, folding her hands neatly in front of her, but making no move to sit.
“What is it you wish to speak about, Your Grace?” she asked sweetly, wide blue eyes taking him in.
Her pleasant tone caught Wyatt off guard. Surely this is an act. She must know why I have sought her out.
This was the Henrietta he knew—impossibly sweet and innocent.
But something about this no longer felt right.
After hearing her speak so harshly to Miss Gardiner, after hearing her say such dreadful things about his family, everything about her felt false.
Like an act. In spite of himself, he plowed on.
“I wished to apologize for last night,” he said, looking at her squarely.
Henrietta's perfectly made-up smile did not falter.
“I am sorry if I embarrassed you with my behavior.” He felt oddly reluctant to mention Lady Gemma's name.
As though, for some inexplicable reason, he did not wish to drag her down into this mess.
For a moment, Henrietta looked him up and down, as though examining him, trying to determine if his apology was genuine.
Finally, she nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said.
She ran her long fingers down his arm for a fleeting moment, before pulling away and smiling sweetly. “I appreciate the apology.”
He felt nothing, Wyatt realized. Her touch had elicited not the barest hint of desire, or even faint interest. Am I truly to marry a lady who makes me feel so empty?
For not the first time, Wyatt reminded himself that Henrietta's sole purpose in his life was to provide him with an heir. Interest, desire, fulfillment—they could all be found elsewhere.
That thought did nothing to allay the heaviness pressing down on his heart.
I need to confront her about what I heard.
She would be angry, no doubt, at his eavesdropping, but she needed to go into this marriage knowing her place.
Knowing what he would and would not accept from his wife.
And casting his own mother and grandmother out of the house most certainly fell into the category of things he would not accept.
“Miss Henford,” he began, fixing her with his most unwavering gaze, “there is something else I wish to discuss.”
She raised her neat blonde eyebrows. “Oh yes?”
“It concerns our life together once we are married.” He cleared his throat, hating how stilted and formal his words were coming out. “I want you to feel at home at Larsen Manor. But please understand that it is also my mother and grandmother's home. And I have no intention of changing that.”
Henrietta's face remained unmoved. If she had any sense that Wyatt had overheard her conversation with Miss Gardiner, she gave no inkling of it.
“Of course,” she said sweetly. “I would never dare go against my own husband's wishes.” Her eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.
“Unlike some others at this party, I know a lady's place in society.”
The sudden coldness in her eyes chilled him, as did her barb in Lady Gemma's direction. When the door flew open with barely a knock, and a scrappy brown and white dog flew inside, Wyatt let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.
“Ah, there you are my dear,” said the Dowager Duchess, showing not the slightest hint of remorse at having interrupted their conversation.
“I have been looking for you everywhere.” She grabbed his arm and began tugging him out of the room, with little more than a nod of acknowledgment in Henrietta's direction. Wyatt was all too happy to comply.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6 (Reading here)
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
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- Page 57