And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

A burst of laughter from the other side of the palm had them both glancing that way; a group of young people were gathering beyond the palm, eagerly swapping secrets.

“But not here.” James looked back at her.

Releasing him, she boldly met his eyes. “Where?”

He shifted, glanced around the room, then tipped his head to the right. “This way.”

He led her out of the drawing room, through a side hall and down a corridor. She followed, walking quickly, keeping pace just behind his right shoulder.

Somewhat to her surprise, the necklace—the amethyst beads and especially the rose quartz pendant hanging just above her décolletage—felt oddly warm. Mary, of course, had checked to make sure she was wearing it, and Henrietta suspected her little sister had been whispering in Hannah’s ear; her maid had gone searching through all her gowns to find the creation she was presently wearing—a well-fitted gown in the palest pearlescent pink silk with a sweetheart neckline—purely to properly frame the blasted necklace. The flaring skirts of the gown swished about her legs as she followed James down the corridor and into another.

Finally pausing by a door, James held a finger to his lips, then turned the knob and quietly opened the door. The room beyond was his lordship’s study. A lamp on the table had been left burning, but turned low. They both looked in, searching, but the room was empty.

James waved Henrietta in, then followed and shut the door.

He wasn’t surprised when she went straight to the chair behind the desk and sat. It was an admiral’s chair, and she swiveled to face him as he walked to the fireplace to the left of the desk and fell to restlessly pacing. In his present mood, sitting held little appeal; he wanted to rant and berate, but beneath the roiling surface of his anger ran a disturbingly swelling well of helplessness. What the devil was he going to do?

And why was he wasting more of his steadily shrinking time explaining anything to Henrietta Cynster? To Simon’s younger sister?

He honestly wasn’t sure, but something about her interference had pricked him on the raw. On some level he saw her actions as a breach of trust—more, as a disloyal act. He’d expected better from his best friend’s sister. He might not know her well, but surely she knew what sort of man he was, namely one who followed the same creed as her brother. He was irritated and disturbed that her actions could only mean that she viewed him in a dishonorable light. That she thought he would have lied to Melinda, or at least tried to pull the wool over her eyes, that he wouldn’t have made his situation clear. Instead, Melinda had dismissed him before he’d had a chance to explain said situation.

“So.” Henrietta fixed her blue-gray eyes on his face. “What in all this don’t I understand? What is your ‘full story’?”

He met her gaze for an instant, then, still pacing, replied, “My grandaunt, as you clearly know, died not quite a year ago—on the first of June last year, to be precise. I was her favorite of all the family and she wanted to ensure that I married. That had always been a goal of hers, one she pursued as well as she could over the last decade and more. However, she then learned she was dying, and so in her will, she left me her estate—a country house and surrounding grounds and various farms in Wiltshire, and a large house in town, all staffed and in good order. She also left me the income for upkeep of same—but for a year only. Beyond that, in order to access the continuing income needed to keep the houses and farms and all the rest operational”—he halted and met Henrietta’s eyes—“my dear grandaunt stipulated that I have to marry within the year following her death, which means before the first of June this year.”

Henrietta blinked, then her eyes searched his face. “What happens if you don’t?”

“The estate, houses, farms, and all, remain mine—my responsibility—but there is no way in all the heavens that I could possibly fund them from my own pocket, without access to the income. A fact my grandaunt well knew.”

“So what would happen?”

“What would happen is that I would have to let all the staff go—close up the houses, perhaps keep caretakers, no more, and as for the farms, I have no idea what I might be able to keep fun

ctioning, but it won’t be much. Oh, and in case you imagine I might sell any part of the estate to keep the rest going, my grandaunt made sure I can’t.”

“Ah.” She paused, apparently working through the reasoning, then said, “So in order to continue to support all the people dependent on your grandaunt’s estate—your estate now—you have to marry by June the first?”

He didn’t bother answering, just curtly nodded.

Still considering him, she frowned slightly. “You’ve left it a trifle late, haven’t you?”

The look he bent on her held no patience at all. “In leaving me a year to find a suitable bride and tie the knot, what my grandaunt didn’t allow for was, first, the change in social mores that has occurred since she was a young lady—in her day, all marriages within the ton were arranged on the basis of material concerns, and love never entered into the equation. So she imagined me finding a suitable bride was simply a matter of me looking and offering, and not very much more. She also failed to allow for the period of mourning my father and grandfather felt the family should observe, or for the months it took to sort out the current state of affairs with respect to the estate. Although it’s in Wiltshire, not that far from Glossup Hall, and I’ve visited there many times over the years, I had no notion she intended to leave the whole to me, and so I haven’t in any way been trained as to how the estate functions . . .”

Unable to stand still any longer, unable for some reason to continue to conceal his agitation, he ran a hand through his hair and fell to pacing once more. “Do you have any idea what a mess this now is?” He flung out a hand. “I spent a month looking into all the likely candidates, and Melinda Wentworth stood out as the best—the most likely to accept an offer that wasn’t couched in love. She wasn’t, as far as I could see, enamored of anyone else. She’s twenty-six, and must be fearful of being left on the shelf. And she’s sensible, too—a female I could imagine having by my side, working alongside me in managing the estate. I spent the last month and more courting her.”

He swung back and trapped Henrietta’s gaze. “But now that’s all gone—useless wasted effort, wiped away.” He gestured broadly, sweeping a slate clean. “Which leaves me with a bare four weeks in which to find and woo a suitable young lady as my oh-so-necessary bride.”

Halting before Henrietta, he looked down at her. “And the blame for such a fraught situation, one that could dramatically and adversely affect the livelihoods of so many innocent people, lies equally as much at your door as it does at mine.”

A chill washed through Henrietta. Eyes locked with his, burning with anger, shot with concern, all she could think of to say was, “Oh.”

The control he’d maintained shattered. Incredulous, he stared at her. “Oh? Is that all you can manage? Oh?”

Swinging violently around, he paced away from her, then paused, whirled, and came charging back. “But no—it’s worse.” He looked truly appalled as he halted before her, staring down at her. “I just realized—everyone in the ton, certainly all those with marriageable young ladies under their wing, will now know that on the issue of Melinda Wentworth’s hand, you’ve passed judgment on me and found me wanting. Found me not worthy.” Sinking both hands into his hair, he ran his fingers back through the dark locks, clutching with both hands as he turned away. “Aargh! What the devil am I to do? How in all Hades am I to find my necessary bride now?”

Silence greeted his questions. He started pacing away from her.

“I’ll help you.”