Page 92 of When He Was Wicked
Do I really want her though?
The thought came unbidden, and he squashed it back down quickly, because thoughts of Henrietta would come creeping back in.
On reaching his townhouse, he scribbled a note to Vivienne, requesting that she should receive him later that evening, which he asked a footman to deliver and wait for an answer. Then he ordered supper early and a bath prepared now. He wished he had a bathhouse like the one at his sister’s house but that thought brought him back to the shocked look of Henrietta stomping off when he had stripped off his clothes. He smiled, recalling how she had blushed but found himself wondering whether the blush had pinked the alabaster skin below the modest dress she had been wearing.
“Sweet mercy, will I never stop thinking about her?” he growled in the silence of the chamber.
When hot water had been brought for him, Simon undressed and washed using a soap that smelt of sandalwood and roses. A touch effeminate for most men but he thought it blended well with his own body musk and so far, no woman had complained of it. Although he wondered if they would dare risk offending their protector.
After bathing and thinking once again of having a boiler and a larger bath installed in both his townhouse and the country house in Lancashire and imagining Henrietta naked and eager in both baths, he dried himself and carefully dressed. He did not need a valet to dress, and his man would find his soiled travelclothes, neatly folded on one of the chairs in his bedroom and would deal with them. He glanced at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. Luckily his heavy black hair settled into place as he directed, for he could not stand dressing it with the various hair oils that were popular with his peers.
He thought his bedroom looked rather dull and lacked a woman’s touch. He turned to examine the room he had previously been perfectly satisfied with and wondered whether he should change the very traditional décor that he had originally chosen, when he had decided it was time to move into his father’s room. He had thought the decorations had been fussy and showed too much of his mother’s taste, so it had all had to go.
Now it felt a bit cold and not really like home. Simon imagined some of Henrietta’s paintings on the walls, flowers carefully arranged in a vase and new bed covers, perhaps cream and blue striped, which was fashionable. The dark blue and gold of his present hangings seemed pretentious and dour. He wanted something more cheerful to wake up to. He thought cream and blue would look good as hangings on the bed but then he pictured Henrietta, sprawled naked on the bed, her lushderriérefacing him as she read from a book while awaiting him. The image was delicious and stimulated his blood, but he shut down such thoughts and went to supper.
He ate relatively frugally and drank less, but what he ate and drank were excellent, and he did not begrudge his butler the rest of the bottle he did not finish. He was entitled to his perks and an excellent judge of a wine worth purchasing. While he had eaten, the footman returned with the news that “Mrs. Vivienne said she was gratified at his lordship’s visit and looked forward to seeing him…”
As he toyed with a glass of port, Simon ordered the carriage readied, although he was annoyed that he felt no eagerness invisiting the feted beauty. When informed the carriage was ready, he collected his hat, coat and gloves from his butler and ordered two footmen to load up the painting carefully. He directed his driver to Vivienne’s address and climbed on board; he was perhaps a little early; she might not be ready yet, but he would wait.
Her townhouse was certainly not in the best area of town, but it was a fine, tall modern building with a stone façade, although that was top show, as the rear of the buildings in the row were brick-built, looking out onto small poky yards or gardens. He allowed his footman to unload the painting, but then carried it up the stairs himself. The door opened before he knocked and a young maid, showed him the way to a sweltering drawing room. Every surface seemed cluttered by ephemera; they were fashionable, expensive pieces but not to his taste, and the room had been arrayed with sofas and cushions in shades of red, purple, and pink.
A picture hung over the mantle where a fire blazed. It showed Vivienne in a golden gown with her dark hair tastefully arranged; apart from a lower neckline than was considered politely acceptable, she looked like a lady. However, the painter had not been a great master, and Simon thought he had sought to flatter her, making her more peaches and cream in complexion than she was in reality.
“I’ll check, whether madam is ready to receive you, my lord,” the young maid said taking his coat, hat, and gloves.
Vivienne did not keep him waiting long; the maid led him to an upstairs room where her mistress awaited him. Simon looked at the prize he had worked so hard to obtain. Her waist-length dark brown hair was artfully curled, and she wore only an almost transparentnegligéeand was sprawled wantonly on a daybed. Simon felt nothing but discomfort in the overheated, over-perfumed, and over-ornate room.
“Simon, my lord, it is so good to see you. You’ve been away from town too long; I’ve missed you…” she pouted, offering him a beringed white hand and wafting yet more perfume in his direction.
Simon was pleased that he had left the painting in the hall and not carried it upstairs. He did not want to be here, and he did not want to spend a minute of his time with Vivienne. He wanted to be back in Lancashire with Henrietta.
Simon chuckled.I am a damn fool. I love Henrietta Sutton. He finally accepted that he was desperately in love with her, and that no other woman would do for him.
“Thank you, madam, for receiving me. I apologize for not explaining myself better in my note. I wanted to inform you that I am withdrawing from my pursuit. I find that I have fallen in love with a lady and that only marriage with her will do for me. I thought I should let you know that I am dropping out of the competition. I will leave now and not take up any more of your time.”
“What! You bastard, ‘ow dare you snub me, you loathsome ingrate!”
Simon noticed that her cut-glass vowels had deteriorated into a much lower-class London accent. He bowed politely and bolted from the room, shutting the door behind him. Something smashed into the door as he raced downstairs, a glass bowl he thought, and thrown with some force. He grabbed the picture and gave the maid a guinea as a tip. “Sorry,” he told her.
“Thank you, my lord,” the maid said tucking the coin away and bobbing a curtsy.
“Might be wise to wait until she calms down,” Simon said as the sound of something else smashing was heard.
“Yes, my lord. I’ve had enough of her tantrums and am giving my notice,” the maid said with a grin.
“Sensible girl,” he said and hailed his carriage which was idling on the other side of the street.
Wait for me, my Henrietta; I am coming for you.
“What doI say when I see him?” Henrietta fretfully asked herself as she marched toward the cottage.
The last two days had been torturous. Normally not a weepy person, Henrietta had found herself sobbing her loss into Gran’s bosom. Her cousins had been sympathetic, and she had stayed all day in her room yesterday staring at the rose quartz.
If you led me to him, why are we not together?
Those were the words she had whispered, the aching inside her chest an agony. It was only this morning Henrietta had woken resolute and angry.
How dare he walk away from all they had shared. She could tell he had been falling in love with her. Simon had been so tender and amazing. How dare he leave her bed and chase after a paramour.
