And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

He swung it open. Henrietta blinked at him, then smiled. Happily. She was clearly suffering no ill effects from their morning’s excitement.

Extending her hand, she let him help her down. “Thank you.” When he offered his arm, with a laughing smile, she twined her arm in his. “Are you intending to monopolize me?”

He smiled back. “Why else do you imagine I came?”

Her soft laughter made him smile even more as he led her into the house.

She went through the usual process of greetings, then Violet escorted her upstairs to the room she’d been assigned, but soon enough they both returned, rejoining James and Channing in the drawing room.

The four of them sat and chatted while the rest of the company ebbed and flowed around them. Afternoon tea came, was consumed to the last tasty crumb, then they settled to an exchange of the latest ton stories.

Guests continued to arrive; by the time the dressing gong resonated through the house, James had counted twenty guests, not including their hosts, Violet, and Channing. All those lounging in the drawing room rose and, in couples and groups, headed up the stairs.

James ambled beside Henrietta, and thus discovered that the room she’d been given lay down the corridor to the left of the main stairs, three doors along on the right. After seeing her to her door, he walked briskly back through the gallery and on to the room he’d been given toward the end of the opposite wing.

While he washed and changed, he considered what they might make of the evening and decided they would have to play it by ear. While on the one hand he wanted to press ahead and secure Henrietta as his bride—and that compulsion had grown only more powerful in the aftermath of the incident that morning—simultaneously he was conscious of a fundamental desire to give her all and everything a young lady might wish for, including all she might wish for in a courtship.

“We have two full days,” he muttered to himself, chin raised as he tied his cravat. Even though it was essential that they marry before the first of the coming month, he still had twenty-five days in hand. “She’ll want some time to enjoy our engagement before we face the altar, but . . . we can afford at least a few days wooing. No need to rush.” No need to shortchange her just because he was in a hurry and had an inflexible schedule.

With that resolution firmly fixed in his mind, he descended the stairs and strode to the drawing room. It was inhabited only by males; no ladies had yet made an appearance. Joining Channing, Percy Smythe, and Giles Kendall, James was quickly drawn into a discussion of that perennial topic of male regard—horses.

Five minutes later, Rafe Cunningham walked into the room. He glanced around, hesitated, then walked over to join James and the others.

“What-ho, old boy!” Channing shook Rafe’s hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Rafe shrugged lightly. “Lady Ellsmere’s my godmother.” Rafe glanced at James and nodded. “Glossup.”

James nodded back, wondering if he was correct in detecting a note of restrained animosity in Rafe’s deep voice . . . and if Miss Fotherby numbered among her ladyship’s guests. James hadn’t seen her earlier, but he hadn’t seen Rafe, either.

Eventually the ladies started drifting in. James was rather pleased when, upon his leaving the group to join Henrietta, she met him halfway. They shared a private smile, then together turned to engage with other guests; standing side by side, they chatted with Miss Finlayson and Miss Moffat, and were soon joined by Channing and Violet.

Miss Fotherby, James noted, joined the gathering a bare minute before they were due to dine. Even more telling, on stepping into the drawing room, Miss Fotherby looked swiftly around, saw Rafe Cunningham watching her from across the large room, and froze. For an instant, she looked like a deer poised to leap and race from a hunter, but then she stiffly looked away and, her features set and pale, walked across to speak with Lady Ellsmere.

Henrietta had noticed Miss Fotherby, too. She glanced at James, arched a brow.

Before he could reply, her ladyship’s butler appeared to announce that dinner was served. Lady Ellsmere commanded their attention and told them the seating would remain informal for the duration of their stay, and recommended they oblige her and find their own partners. Everyone laughed, very happy to do so—except for Miss Fotherby, but Robert Sinclair was standing beside her and offered his arm, and she quickly accepted his escort.

With Henrietta on his arm, James dipped his head to whisper, “As she’s here, I believe it would be wise for me to tell Miss Fotherby of my decision regarding her . . . ah, application as soon as may be.”

Watching the byplay between Miss Fotherby and Rafe Cunningham, even though both were partnered with others, Henrietta nodded. “Be that as it may, I think tomorrow morning will be the earliest you’ll be able to do so. If this event runs along customary lines, we’ll have music or charades after dinner tonight.”

James inclined his head in acceptance.

Once seated beside him at the long table, Henrietta found herself enjoying the gathering more than she’d anticipated—certainly more than she had previously enjoyed such events. She’d attended innumerable house parties through the years, but she had never before had . . . a focus. A locus for her attention, a pivot about which she could circle. That, she realized, with a swift glance at James, currently chatting with Violet on his other side, was what was different. James’s presence widened her experience of everything about her; the conversations, the sallies, the quick quips and repartee all seemed sharper, more engaging, when viewed through the expanded prism of his likely reactions as well as hers.

In the sense of scope, he opened her eyes. Never before had she viewed the world about her and considered how it might appear to, or might impact on, another.

That, she supposed, smiling and shifting so she could better hear something Miss Hendricks wished to impart to her, was what forming a relationship was all about; learning and empathizing with the feelings of one’s other. Presumably that was what the affectionate tag “the other half” implied.

She was glad they’d agreed to include the Ellsmeres’ house party on their schedule of useful events. Even though their quest might have been superseded, this was the perfect setting for her and James to spend time together, to get to know each other better out of the hothouse environment of the ton’s ballrooms. Here, they would have time to ramble and talk without constraint or reserve, or the ever-present threat of interruption. As the covers were drawn and the company all rose, she realized she was looking forward to the next days with unalloyed expectation.

As she’d foreseen, at Lady Ellsmere’s direction the entire company repaired to the large music room on the other side of the old mansion. There, they passed an enjoyable few hours entertaining each other with ballads and song. Miss Fotherby was one of the first to take her seat at the pianoforte; she sang a ballad in a piercingly sweet voice. A few performances later, Rafe Cunningham sang, accompanied by Miss Findlayson; his baritone was rich and powerful, and held them all spellbound. Then Giles Kendall joined Rafe, singing tenor to Rafe’s baritone, in what was quite certainly the most riveting performance of the evening. Somewhat later, Henrietta played the pianoforte and sang a sweet country song, followed by a duet with James, then Violet and Channing joined them for a rousing rendition of an old shepherd’s song, a long and repetitive, subtly jocular composition of chorus and verses of extraordinary length.

She was out of breath, and so were the other three, by the time she played the last resounding chord. The audience gave them a standing ovation, then Lady Ellsmere called for tea.

Finally the evening ended, and in loose groups, the guests made their way down the corridors and up the stairs. Ascending the stairs beside James, Henrietta smiled at him and murmured, “I’d completely forgotten the brouhaha of this morning.”

His eyes met hers. “No lingering effects?”