“Thank you, I would.” She shifted forward.
As James reached for the door, Sir Edward Compton, who’d been standing nearby and, it seemed, biding his moment, stepped forward and made his bow to Louise and Lady Cowper, then inquired if Mary might like to stroll as well.
The implication being with Henrietta and James. While Henrietta could stroll alone with a gentleman, Mary was still too young to be allowed such license, at least not in the park, directly under the censorious noses of the ton’s matrons.
Henrietta didn’t expect Mary to accept; her sister wasn’t one to waste time where she had no true interest, and Henrietta was sure Mary had no interest in mild-mannered Sir Edward, but after an instant’s pause, Mary smiled and inclined her head to Sir Edward. “Thank you, Sir Edward. I would be delighted to stroll on your arm.”
James opened the carriage door and handed Henrietta down, then Sir Edward stepped forward and performed the same office for Mary.
Mary smiled at him sweetly, placed her hand on his arm, and promptly steered him out over the lawn.
Mystified, her hand resting on James’s sleeve, Henrietta strolled beside him as they followed Mary and Sir Edward across the neatly clipped grass. Her gaze on Mary, Henrietta murmured, “I wonder what she’s up to.”
James glanced at her. “Why would you think she’s up to anything?”
Because otherwise Mary would not have done anything to interfere with Henrietta’s time alone with James . . . Henrietta tipped her head toward her sister. “Just wait—you’ll see.”
Sure enough, they hadn’t strolled far when Mary pointed ahead, spoke to Sir Edward, then looked over her shoulder to inform Henrietta and James, “Sir Edward and I are going to join that group over there. Miss Faversham and Miss Hawkins are there, too, and we’ll still be within sight of Mama and the carriages.”
Despite remaining unsaid, the words so you don’t need to play chaperon could not have been clearer.
Henrietta scanned the group in question. As well as Miss Faversham and Miss Hawkins, it contained several eligible young gentlemen, chief among them the Honorable Julius Gatling and Lord Randolph Cavanaugh, second son of the late Marquess of Raventhorne, yet the company was suitable and innocuous enough. Henrietta nodded. “Very well. I’m sure Sir Edward can be trusted to return you to the carriage in due course.”
Mary smiled beatifically at the clearly smitten Sir Edward. “You will escort me back in due course, won’t you, Sir Edward?”
Henrietta inwardly snorted and didn’t bother listening to Sir Edward’s earnestly bumbling reply. She had business to which she needed to attend; meeting James’s eyes, she arched a brow. “Might I suggest we stroll on and find a place where I can tell you what I’ve learned thus far about Miss Fotherby?”
Somewhat to her surprise, his lips tightened fractionally, but he nodded and led her on.
Once past the knots of younger ladies and gentlemen dotting the areas adjacent to the carriages, the lawns were much less crowded, and it was possible to stroll and converse freely without fear of being overheard. Turning her to promenade parallel to the avenue, now at some distance, James finally asked, “So what have you learned?”
“Miss Fotherby’s case is exactly as she stated it. Apparently her mother has an unfounded and unreasoning fear that her second h
usband will be captivated by Miss Fotherby and transfer his affection from mother to daughter. No one who knows the family believes this to be the case, but as you might imagine it’s made Miss Fotherby’s situation very difficult. Consequently, she is seeking a husband so she may leave her stepfather’s house, and Miss Fotherby’s mama has, of course, insisted on remaining in the country, keeping her husband with her, and has packed Miss Fotherby off to find her own way forward under her aunt’s aegis.”
Glancing at James, Henrietta saw his lips twist. Looking ahead as they strolled on, he murmured, “So Miss Fotherby is something of a damsel in distress who needs saving?”
Henrietta inclined her head. “You could paint her in that light.”
And in so doing . . . Henrietta had no difficulty seeing that James might consider rescuing Miss Fotherby, while simultaneously rescuing himself and his people from the requirement imposed by his grandaunt’s will, to be a reasonable bargain all around.
Yet she had to be impartial, and impartiality demanded she report on Miss Fotherby favorably. From all Henrietta had gathered in the short time she’d had the previous evening, Miss Fotherby possessed a spotless, entirely blameless reputation, and the difficulty she found herself currently facing was no fault of hers. Henrietta had heard not one adverse comment against Miss Fotherby, which left her with the unenviable conviction that both duty and honor dictated that she assist both James and Miss Fotherby by reporting the unvarnished truth, and subsequently, if James was so inclined, by fostering a match between them.
Both he and Miss Fotherby deserved no less.
Even if fostering a match between them was the very last thing she wanted to do.
They’d been strolling in silence. After a moment more, James asked, “Did you learn anything else?”
While Henrietta reported, in careful and neutral terms, what she’d thus far gleaned as to Miss Fotherby’s standing, character, and personality, James found himself increasingly biting his tongue.
He wanted to ask Henrietta point-blank whether she truly wanted him to marry Miss Fotherby.
He wanted, badly, to ask the confusing female walking so fluidly—so confidently and easily—by his side what she’d thought about the kiss they’d shared. Whether she’d felt anything at all—anything like the cataclysmic and ineradicable shift in focus that that kiss had imposed on him—and whether, just possibly, she might consider marrying him herself.
He wanted to ask her all those things—wanted to look into her soft blue eyes and say the words, direct and without any obfuscation—but he couldn’t.
Not while she was strolling beside him singing Miss Fotherby’s praises and all but specifically encouraging him to look at Miss Fotherby as his prospective bride.