And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

Sadly, what Henrietta learned wasn’t quite definitive and definite enough for her to deem her job done and recommend that James make an offer for Miss Fotherby without further ado. Even more unfortunately, again and again she was directed to seek further clarification from the very two ladies she’d hoped to avoid.

There was no help for it; if she wanted the last word on Millicent Fotherby’s eligibility for the position of James Glossup’s wife, she was going to have to approach Lady Osbaldestone, who, as well as being a distant cousin of Viscount Netherfield, James’s grandfather, was apparently also distantly connected to the Fotherby family.

Henrietta wasn’t overly surprised by that; Lady Osbaldestone seemed to be connected to fully half the ton.

Having to inquire of Lady Osbaldestone was bad enough, but seated beside her ladyship was Henrietta’s aunt Helena—which meant the chaise on which the pair of grandes dames sat held one too many sharp-eyed older ladies than Henrietta w

as at all comfortable with.

Her aunt Helena, the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, had the most lovely pale green eyes—and a gaze that seemed to see straight through any assumed façade. She was widely acknowledged as perspicacious to an almost mythical degree. Her son, Devil, Duke of St. Ives and head of the Cynster family, had similarly pale green eyes, but he had yet to develop the same perspicacity, much to the relief of the rest of the family.

Steeling herself, Henrietta presented herself before her hostess and her aunt. Both smiled with transparent delight and recommended she sit on a nearby chair and tell them what she wanted to know.

Henrietta obeyed and, despite her trepidation, felt she acquitted herself reasonably well in framing her questions and leading Lady Osbaldestone and her aunt to tell her what she needed to know.

It helped that, being connected with the Glossups, Lady Osbaldestone already knew the full tale behind James’s need to wed. Which meant that Helena knew it, too; the pair rarely kept secrets from each other. Consequently, once they’d drawn from Henrietta the unadulterated story of how she came to be involved in James’s quest, both older ladies fully concurred that James approaching Melinda Wentworth was entirely inappropriate for his situation, and confirmed that Millicent Fotherby was an excellent candidate for James to consider, but . . . it was at that point that Henrietta felt as if the conversation stepped sideways, into what arena she wasn’t quite sure.

“Of course,” Lady Osbaldestone said, “one needs to pay due attention to the reason James’s hunt for a wife came to be.”

“Indeed.” Helena nodded sagely, her gaze growing distant. “It was . . . peste, what was her name? His sister-in-law, the one who was murdered?”

“Katherine—Kitty as she was called,” Lady Osbaldestone supplied. “Precisely.” Lady Osbaldestone caught Henrietta’s gaze and continued, as if tutoring her, “Kitty is the reason James . . . how should I describe it? Pulled back from the general social round. In essence, pulled back from marrying or even socially consorting with suitable ladies of his class with whom he might form an attachment. Kitty, you see, was a much-indulged beauty, and she married James’s older brother Henry for wealth and position, but once she had Henry’s ring on her finger, Kitty set her sights on other gentlemen and, ultimately, her eye fell on James.

“The poor boy paid no attention, of course—Glossups are loyal to the bone. Kitty, sadly, understood nothing about such decencies and set herself to seduce James by whatever means possible—but then a previous lover murdered her. I was staying at Glossup Hall at the time, and it was all quite tawdry. We’ll never know if Kitty’s pursuit of James was in order to abrogate her pregnancy by that previous lover, but I strongly suspect that, when the whole sorry story came out, that notion did occur to James. It would have been a dreadful situation and would have torn the family apart—but that was Kitty. She was entirely self-absorbed.”

“That was when Simon and Portia got engaged,” Helena put in. “So all this took place nearly two years ago, just before they married, and since then James has . . . stood outside society, and only, at least as far as marriage and young ladies are concerned, looked in.”

“Which,” Lady Osbaldestone said, “is precisely why Emily, James’s grandaunt, wrote her will as she did. She was disappointed not to have been able to dance at James’s wedding, but she did what she could to ensure that that wedding took place.”

“Emily was, indeed, a loss.” Helena smiled mistily, but then her gaze fixed on Henrietta, trapped before the chaise, and Helena’s lovely smile took on a different shading. “And so now you are here, helping James to find his bride, and that is entirely as it should be.”

Henrietta saw both older ladies glance at her throat, at the necklace that rested there; she waited for some comment, but none came. Instead, the pair exchanged a glance, then as one they sat back and regarded her.

“It occurs to me,” Lady Osbaldestone stated, “that in your quest to assist James, and, indeed, Millicent, too, you would do well to dwell on the inescapable truth that in our circles, young ladies, these days especially, must be very clear in their own minds as to what they truly want.”

“Yes, indeed.” Helena nodded, her expression serious. “It is often the case that young ladies fail to question their own wants and desires—and even more specifically, their hearts—and so do not realize when fate steps in and hands them the chance to seize all they might wish of life.”

Lady Osbaldestone snorted. “A common failing, that—to not stop and think enough to be sure of what one actually wants. How on earth any young lady can expect to gain the life she wishes without exerting herself even to define it, the heavens only know.”

“Oh, the gentlemen are equally bad.” Helena waved dismissively. “But in their case it is often willful blindness, which is rarely the case with young ladies. No, their problem is generally a lack of forethought—indeed, a lack of understanding that thought is required—combined with an assumption that life will somehow miraculously evolve in the way they wish it to without them having a clear idea in their minds what sort of life it is they wish, and then being prepared to actively go out and push and shove whatever needs to be pushed and shoved into place for that ideal life to take shape.”

“Well said!” Lady Osbaldestone thumped her cane on the floor and caught Henrietta’s eye. “And if you’ve a mind to be helpful, you might think to repeat that to your younger sister. She’s hiding over there with the other young ladies thinking we haven’t noticed what she’s about, but she’s one who definitely needs to put more thought into what she truly wants before she starts pushing and shoving.”

“Being, as she is,” Helena added, “so very good at pushing and shoving.”

Henrietta found herself smiling and promising to pass on the message to Mary, who had spent the entire visit chatting in a corner with several other young ladies, then she happily accepted a dismissal and escaped from the two grandest grandes dames in the room.

Only later, when she was heading for the door in her mother’s train and turned her mind to summarizing all she’d learned, did it occur to her that she wasn’t at all sure who had been the principal target of Lady Osbaldestone and Helena’s warning: Millicent Fotherby, Mary . . . or herself.

The thought distracted her, but once they’d settled in their carriage and it was rolling over the cobbles, carrying them to their next appointment, she mentally shook herself and refocused on the indisputable facts.

Rafe Cunningham notwithstanding, Millicent Fotherby appeared to be the answer to James’s prayers.

And equally undeniable was her own welling desire to push Millicent aside and take her place.

Pushing and shoving?

Henrietta inwardly snorted, and stared out of the window as they rocked along.