Running footsteps sounded in the hall.
Letting her hand fall, Henrietta looked toward the door.
James rose; squeezing her hand briefly, he reluctantly released it and stepped to the chaise’s head.
The door burst open and Mary tumbled in, a maid, presumably Hannah, on her heels.
Mary’s wide, cornflower blue eyes took in the scene in one sweeping glance, then she focused on Henrietta. “Are you all right?”
Henrietta’s smile wobbled even as she said, “Yes, it was just”—she waved in weak dismissal—“a trifle oversetting.”
From the looks on Mary’s and Hannah’s faces, James deduced that Henrietta saying she was a trifle overset was the equivalent of her admitting to being halfway to death’s door; the pair swooped, enveloping Henrietta in effusive, if not smothering, feminine concern. Mary patted her hand and asked questions. Hannah shook out a knitted shawl and spread it over Henrietta’s legs, then the tea tray arrived and, barely pausing for breath, Mary poured.
James stood beside the chaise, fielding Mary’s questions, relieving Henrietta of that, at least. He watched all the fussing, listened to the chorus of exclamations, and saw Henrietta gradually relax.
Then the door opened and Henrietta’s mother swept in. After a swift survey of her daughters, Louise’s gaze rose to his face. James inclined his head. Louise smiled briefly in acknowledgment. “Mr. Glossup. I understand we must thank you again for rescuing Henrietta.” Her expression turned wryly understanding. “You seem to be making a habit of it.”
James glanced at Henrietta, caught her eye. “I’m just glad I was near enough to help.” A chill touched his soul as he realized that, once again, being close enough to rescue her had been pure luck.
“So tell me—what happened?” Louise sat in an armchair, waved James to another, accepted a cup of tea from Mary, then fixed her gaze on Henrietta. “It’s not like you to lose control of your mount.”
Henrietta frowned. “I don’t know what happened. Marie suddenly reared—I didn’t see or hear anything that might have caused it.” She glanced at James. “Did you?”
He shook his head. “And my mount didn’t react.”
Henrietta nodded. “True. But Marie screamed as if she was in pain and reared, and then she just shot off.” Setting her cup on her saucer, Henrietta visibly quelled a shiver. “That would have been frightening enough in the country, but there I would have been confident I would have been able to ride it out. But in the streets here . . .”
James looked into his cup and decided no one needed to hear just how close to a fatal fall she’d come. With the barrows, drays, and carts cluttering the street, if a carriage had come the other way . . . raising his cup, he sipped, and glanced again at Henrietta, reassuring himself that she was indeed there, was indeed hale and whole, albeit a trifle overset.
Color was gradually returning to her cheeks, and her gaze was alert as she listened to her mother and sister debate her state.
James tuned in to their comments as Louise and Mary exchanged projections as to Henrietta’s recovery, much to Henrietta’s fond annoyance, but Louise was adamant in decreeing that Henrietta rest for the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon. In wholehearted agreement, James held his peace. If he could have, he would have wrapped her in the proverbial wool and sequestered her away somewhere out of everyone’s reach, at least until he learned enough to soothe the protectiveness currently prowling, anxious and concerned, just beneath his skin. But, it seemed, he could rely on Louise and Mary to act in his stead.
Hannah, who had lingered, suggested a warm bath, as Henrietta wasn’t going out again that morning. Henrietta agreed, and James approved; she was, apparently, taking the need to rest and recuperate seriously.
“And we can pack for the house party th
is morning, as well,” Henrietta called to Hannah as the maid headed for the door.
“Yes, miss.” Hannah bobbed and opened the door. “I’ll get a footman to fetch your bag and bandbox from the box room.”
James stared at the closing door, then looked back—first at Louise and Mary, sipping their tea apparently unconcerned—then at Henrietta. “You’re not still going to Ellsmere Grange?”
Eyes widening, Henrietta looked at him. “Yes, of course I am.” She looked faintly puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Because you’ve just had a too-close brush with death? James bit back the words; trapping her gaze, he said instead, “Under the circumstances, I imagine you might be better served by resting, at least until you’re sure you’ve fully recovered from the shock.”
The look she bent on him was faintly exasperated, as if she’d expected better from him. “I’m not such a weak thing—I’ll be perfectly well by this afternoon, and I won’t have to set out until then. Ellsmere Grange is only in Essex, after all.”
“Yes, but . . .” He frowned. They’d originally agreed to attend the house party at Ellsmere Grange in order to pad out and ultimately to finalize the short list for his necessary bride; even though that was no longer their aim, he’d assumed they would use their time there—in a setting removed from the hubbub of the ton—to further explore their alternative path. However, he was now very aware that his concern for Henrietta’s well-being trumped any consideration of his quest, however urgent. Setting down his cup and saucer, he met her eyes. “There’s no pressing need to attend, is there? And a quiet few days would allow your nerves more time to settle.”
Henrietta’s expression turned stubborn. “My nerves are already well on the way to being settled again. The incident might have been a shock, but it was only an accident, after all. A poor thing I would be to allow that to affect me for more than an hour or two. Besides”—she glanced at Louise—“Lady Ellsmere is expecting us. It’s far too late to cry off now.”
James looked at Louise, expecting—at least hoping—that she would support him.
Both Louise and Mary, he realized, had been quietly sipping, and watching the exchange between him and Henrietta. Now Louise set her cup on her saucer and stated, “I have to agree with Henrietta.” Louise met his eyes, her gaze that of the softhearted and kindly grande dame that she was. “I would be very surprised were any daughter of mine to need days to recover from an incident such as this, and Henrietta is correct in saying that for both of you to cry off at this late hour, with no broken bones or similar disaster to excuse you, would be seen as a snub to the Ellsmeres. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that, and I certainly couldn’t countenance it, certainly not for Henrietta, so she, at least, will be attending as expected.”
Despite the kindliness, a spine of steel lurked beneath Louise’s soft-seeming exterior. She held James’s gaze for an instant, then arched her brows. “So, given Henrietta will be going, am I to take it you will attend as planned, too?”