Free Henrietta by M.C. Beaton Page B

Miss Mattie to suggest that they leave. Lord Reckford entered the room and Henrietta looked across at him with her heart in her eyes. Oh, horror! He was not going to join her. He was talking to one of the patronesses, the ultra-snobbish Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell frowned, his lordship insisted and bent to whisper something in that august ear. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell smiled like the sun on a winter’s day and got to her feet. Oh, God, he was leaving! No, he was looking at her and leading the formidable patroness across the floor.
    Mrs. Drummond-Burrell looked down at Henrietta as if she were some peculiar kind of insect. “Lord Reckford has prevailed upon me to allow you to waltz,” she said haughtily, and having felt she had done more than enough, turned on her heel, leaving Henrietta to look up at Lord Reckford with a question in her eyes.
    “Later,” he said in his attractive, husky voice. He drew her into the steps of the waltz and Miss Mattie watched them, her eyes filling with sentimental tears.
    Myriads of fans fluttered and turned, turbans and feathered headdresses bowed and bobbed, jewels blazed and sparkled on men and women alike as all turned to watch Henrietta in the arms of Lord Reckford. He was smiling, he was laughing, what were they saying? Alice Belding led her mama behind a potted palm and kicked her viciously in the ankle.
    All this passed the bedazzled Henrietta unnoticed. She gazed adoringly up at her saviour and he smiled back at her in a kindly way. Lord Reckford was so used to adoring glances that he only felt very protective and thought what a pleasant,
comfortable
sort of girl Henrietta was.
    “You will not lack dancing partners now,” he said when the waltz came to an end.
    “I do not feel like dancing any more tonight,” replied Henrietta who felt exhausted with all her see-sawing emotions.
    “I confess I am feeling very tired myself,” laughed the Beau, “and I have not yet told you what delayed me. We shall make a grand exit.”
    They collected Miss Scattersworth and strolled from the ballroom arm in arm, the dagger-like stares of all the match-making mamas boring into his lordship’s exquisitely tailored back.
    As the carriage clattered over the cobblestones on the road to Brook Street, Lord Reckford told his companions of his adventures. Henrietta felt a sudden clutch of fear at her heart. Her spiteful enemy seemed to be everywhere. Assuring the ladies that he would call in the morning, the Beau hastened off.
    To his relief, his door was answered by his butler, Gibbs, who was looking anxious and flustered. He explained that a travelling wine merchant had called early in the evening at the kitchen door while his lordship was dressing. He had explained that all his lordship’s wines were ordered from Bullock’s in the City but the merchant had some excellent vintage madeira at extremely low prices. The merchant had said that his wife had just given birth to twins and he would esteem it an honor if the staff would join him in a celebration glass. Well, put like that, said the contrite Gibbs, it seemed only decent to ‘wet the babie’s head.’ As it happened, all the staff had been gathered below stairs, their duties for the day finished since my lord had told them not to wait up for him. Next thing they knew, they had awakened some hours later and of the wine merchant there was no sign. The watch was banging at the door, crying out that a man had descended from the roof. His lordship’s bedroom door had been broken down with an axe by himself and the watch but nothing of value was found to have been taken.
    Lord Reckford dismissed the trembling Gibbs, assuring him that no blame should fall on the staff, and sat in his study, staring at the empty fireplace, deep in thought. In the middle of all his concern for Henrietta, he realized, with a slight shock, that he was worried and anxious—but not bored.
    And it was a long time since his lordship could remember having