Page 27 of Lady Daring
“Perhaps I am not trying to ruin your reputation but repair mine,” Darien said. “You seem a person who interests herself in reform.”
Henrietta looked out at the double row of walnut trees lining the road. “If you refer to the Duke of Highcastle’s daughter, I should think the way to repair that situation is marriage.”
He found her directness a relief. Henrietta Wardley-Hines was not soft, plush, and coy like so many wealthy girls. It amused him that she so clearly thought herself unsusceptible to him. He considered educating her on this point; the thought of awakening her had a strange appeal.
But she would go on to use her new knowledge on another man, and that left a dry taste in his mouth.
The mention of Celeste roused a familiar twist of guilt in his belly. She carried a babe. Possibly his babe. This had meant nothing to him, viscerally, until he stood against the wall in the St. Marylebone parish workhouse and watched Henrietta try to spoon gruel into the mouth of a starving infant.
“I offered to marry Celeste,” Darien said. “I did not realize at the time of our—involvement—that she was hoping I would help her escape a betrothal.”
More fool he. It was the chief reason women approached him, Lord Daring, breaker of troths. But he’d made the mistake of attending his friend’s house party when Lucretius was barely in the ground. He’d been a raw nerve, wild with grief, and Celeste had been so warm and sympathetic.
Darien understood now why people in mourning weren’t to be set loose in public. Grief had its own unfathomable logic and the ability to set one’s customary mental faculties out of train.
“What happened?” Henrietta watched his face without judgment.
“She used her liaison with me to break that engagement, but when her jilted fiancé challenged me to a duel, in the course of inspecting our swords on the field of honor, we discovered a third man had been enjoying Celeste’s many charms. She pursued me to make this mystery man jealous, but it seems he did not appreciate the game, for he has not stepped forward to claim her or the babe. And so she is eating herself into a fine fury at Highcastle House, from everything I hear.”
“Is the babe yours?” Henrietta asked.
“I can’t be sure. She won’t name the father.”
“Do you wish to marry her?”
“No.” Darien shuddered at the thought. Marriage to Celeste would guarantee a life of misery. “She declined my offer in no uncertain terms. And she refuses my solicitor’s every offer to make arrangements for the babe.”
“At least you are offering,” she muttered, looking away.
Darien felt the smuts and dust of this dirty city penetrating to his skin. The story made him look despicable. Havering, Celeste’s fiancé, was a friend of his. Darien hadn’t known of the betrothal when Celeste had snuck into his room last fall, thoughhe could have discovered it in an instant if he’d asked. He ought to have asked. He’d been a blind fool not to see what she was about.
“What will you do now?”
“I haven’t a notion,” Darien said. “But I do wish I knew what she plans.”
Silence fell between them, quiet and comfortable. He wondered that she continued to converse with him, rather than heaping scorn upon his head.
A pair of ladies in a high-perch phaeton passed them, openly staring, and Henrietta stiffened.
“You have twice done me a kindness, Lord Darien, but I fail to see how I might repay you. I am hardly likely to repair your reputation, for being seen in my company might lead people to question your taste.” She looked at him with dancing eyes. “Charley tells me I am developing a reputation as an eccentric.”
She confessed this with complete candor. Miss Wardley-Hines certainly did not run in the usual style.
“I could make you fashionable,” Darien said. “It is largely a matter of conduct, and only partly a matter of dress.”
The instant he said it, he wanted to. He could transform her. In dress, he had an eye for what flattered a figure, male as well as female. In conduct, she would require little coaching. He rather liked her forthright, uncomplicated manner; it made her refreshing and unusual among a class of females trained to be coquettes. In addition to the regal shape of her head and those masses of cinnamon-brown hair, she had that lovely throat. He could make do with that.
“I see little point,” she said, “unless it gains me signatures for my petition, or draws attention to the upcoming debate of the Minerva Society. Your character, sir, might be improved upon, but I fear that my lack of style cannot.”
“I could make you a diamond of the first water, if you wished.”
“I should have to be beautiful for that.”
In another woman, this would be an invitation for flattery, but he could see that Henrietta thought she stated an accepted fact. A pity she couldn’t see her own profile. The nose that looked prominent from the front had a nice straight line to the side, and her square jaw was elegance itself. And those eyes—out of doors, they were the green of a mysterious forest, dark and cool.
“Besides, I am not suited for a life of leisure,” she said, gesturing at the fashionable people and vehicles mincing along the drive. “Promenading through the park and talking about—what? Which party to attend? What color ribbon to wear with my new hat? When there are so many troubles all around us.”
“It is not a crime to take pleasure in an airing in the park or conversation with friends, Miss Wardley-Hines,” he said sternly. “Perhaps these young ladies you see have, like you, spent their days dedicated to various causes and are now taking a moment to relax and enjoy a warm afternoon.”
