And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

“Thank you!” Beaming back, Henrietta squeezed Phillipa’s hands and released them, then scanned the bright faces surrounding her. “I had no idea you would all feel so . . . delighted on my behalf.”

Constance Witherby, now the younger Lady Hume, laughed. “Henrietta, my dear, you’re twenty-nine—you’ve been helping young ladies like us for nearly a decade and you’ve never, to my knowledge, steered us wrongly. Of course there are many who wish you well. Heaven help you, you’ve earned it!”

Everyone laughed, and the pleasant exchanges continued.

Later in the hour, several grandes dames arrived, haughtily sailing in, agog to discover how such a development had escaped their notice. Henrietta was pleased to leave the task of enlightening them to the other Cynster ladies, who swiftly stepped in to divert the armada-like attack.

Eventually the flood of incoming guests slowed to a trickle; the event was nearly at an end when Mrs. Wentworth and Melinda Wentworth came in. Smiling happily, both made straight for Henrietta. With not a hint of insincerity, Mrs. Wentworth congratulated her, then moved on to speak with Louise and Celia.

Melinda beamed at Henrietta and very prettily wished her well.

Henrietta felt distinctly awkward, but she kept her politely delighted façade in place and chatted inconsequentially . . . until Miss Crossley, by then the only other young lady standing with Henrietta and Melinda, was called away by her mama.

The instant Miss Crossley was out of earshot, Henrietta turned to Melinda. She searched her friend’s face; there was no less-frank way to phrase it, so she bluntly said, “I do hope you don’t feel that I stole James from you—I assure you it didn’t happen like that.”

Melinda blinked, clearly taken aback, then her smile rebloomed. “Of course I don’t think that, silly.” Reaching for and squeezing Henrietta’s fingers, Melinda searched her face in turn. “It honestly never occurred to me. I know you told me the truth, and you were perfectly correct—James and I wouldn’t have suited. But if making you consider him on my behalf was instrumental in opening your eyes, yours to him and his to you, then I can only say I’m delighted to have been of service—so there.”

Henrietta let her relief show. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re not upset.”

“Not a bit of it.” Melinda glanced at her mother, still engaged with Louise and Celia, and lowered her voice. “Indeed, I can’t thank you enough for being so honest with me over James, and forcing me to look to my own motives. If you hadn’t done so, I don’t know where I would be now, but . . .” Melinda’s voice rose on a note of excitement. Shifting closer to Henrietta, tightening her grip on her fingers and leaning near, Melinda whispered, “I’m not supposed to talk about it because discussions are still going on, but I expect to be where you now stand in a week or so’s time.”

“You’re getting engaged, too?” Henrietta felt her own happiness well. “Truly?”

Melinda nodded, lips compressing as if she could barely contain her joy. After a moment, she went on, “I always liked Oliver—he’s a distant cousin—but he’s nowhere near as handsome as James, and while I had James on my string, so to speak, I refused to even look at Oliver.” Melinda met Henrietta’s gaze. “But once you forced me to turn from James and look elsewhere, I saw Oliver much more clearly, and then he made a push, and, well . . .” Her joy threatening to break free, Melinda smiled dazzlingly. “Here I am.” She shook Henrietta’s hands. “Here we both are!”

Henrietta smiled back, unrestrainedly joyous. “Indeed. How wonderful! You must let me know the instant”—Henrietta glanced at Mrs. Wentworth—“that I’m allowed to know.”

“Oh, I will,” Melinda assured her.

They stood for a moment, side by side, absorbing the news that they were both soon to be wed.

Abruptly, Melinda shivered. “Oh—I meant to tell you, but all this happiness, both yours and mine, simply swept it from my head.”

When Henrietta looked at her in question, Melinda lowered her voice and went on, “That evening you joined us in Hill Street, to tell me what you’d learned about James?”

“What of it?”

Eyes rounding, Melinda whispered, “There was murder done next door!”

Henrietta stared at her friend—and remembered the gentleman she’d bumped into on the pavement outside the Wentworths’ house. A chill swept through her, but then she grabbed hold of her wits and asked, “Who was killed? And when? Do you know when it happened?”

“It was Lady Winston. She lived next door. She was a widow, and apparently she was killed sometime that evening. No one’s certain exactly when because she was in the habit of sending her staff off for the night every now and then—they all assumed she was entertaining some gentleman friend, very privately.”

“I see.” Henrietta fought to bring order to the stream of thoughts cascading through her mind.

“Melinda!”

They both turned to see Mrs. Wentworth beckoning Melinda to join her, clearly preparing to depart.

“Coming, Mama.” Melinda wound her arm in Henrietta’s, and together they followed Mrs. Wentworth, Celia, and Louise as the three ladies headed for the door. “Remember,” Melinda whispered, her gaze on her mother’s back, “you must pretend that I haven’t told you anything about my pending engagement, or, for that matter, the murder. Mama was even more insistent that I keep my mouth closed over that. Well . . .” Melinda blew out a breath. “A horrible murder just next door—mere yards away from where I sleep.” She shivered again.

Henrietta patted Melinda’s hand absentmindedly; in something of a stunned daze, she went through the motions of farewelling the Wentworths, thanking her aunt Celia for hosting the event, and climbing into her mother’s carriage for the journey back to Upper Brook Street.

With a contented sigh, Louise settled back against the squabs. “That went well, I thought.”

Mary, seated opposite Louise and already engaged in looking out at those strolling the pavements, made a sound of agreement.

“Hmm.” Seated alongside her mother, Henrietta stared unseeing at the empty seat opposite while her mind raced, juggling possibilities . . .