The Awakening Of Miss Henley

That purchase made and enclosed in a velvet box, he found another hackney and proceeded to the reading room at his club. Requesting pen and paper, he spent some time choosing just the right words to accompany the gift, then summoned a footman to deliver it. Envisaging the detonation of hysterics likely to result once the gift had been opened, he decided it would be wiser to remain at the club for the evening, rather than risk encountering Lady Belinda at some society entertainment while her volatile emotions would likely still be unsettled. And chuckled again as he recalled Miss Henley’s jibe about him being a ‘timid soul’.

Not timid, just prudent, he silently answered her, and then shook his head again at how he tolerated from her remarks that would earn anyone else who dared utter them a steely-eyed gaze, if not an outright challenge. Not that a gentleman could invite a female to a round of fisticuffs or clashing blades.

But then, he couldn’t imagine any other woman making such nearly insulting remarks. As the rich younger son of an ancient aristocratic family, he was accustomed to having females, be they young or old, married or single, treat him with courteous attention and deference, if not outright flattery. Miss Henley alone tossed out remarks that confounded, even rebuked him, her keen gaze focused on him, her raised chin almost challenging him to cut her or give her a sharp set-down.

But then, she’d done that from the start, he thought, recalling that now infamous first meeting—or rather second meeting.

He’d been riding in Hyde Park when he’d spied last Season’s Incomparable, Miss Temperance Lattimar, riding ahead of him, accompanied by another lady. Though he had no serious intentions towards the Beauty, she was an amusing companion and, as no gentleman was currently claiming her, he decided to approach.

‘Lord Theo, good afternoon,’ Miss Lattimar said, nodding as he rode up and doffed his hat. Turning to her companion, a tall, plain girl of no particular distinction, she said, ‘Miss Henley, I believe you already know this gentlemen, do you not?’

Her eyes examined him with a disconcerting directness before she nodded as well. ‘Yes, we are acquainted, though I doubt Lord Theo remembers me.’

In truth, he had no recollection whatsoever of having met her, but it would be most unchivalrous to say, so—especially as she appeared to be a friend of the divine Miss Lattimar. ‘You are mistaken, Miss Henley,’ he protested smoothly. ‘How could I forget so charming a lady?’

‘We were partners for a waltz.’ After a short pause, giving him a strangely speculative glance, she’d added, ‘At Lady Mansfield’s ball last Season.’

Theo didn’t recall it, but then, he’d danced countless waltzes over the last year and could hardly expect to remember every one. So he nodded and smiled, and said, ‘A most enjoyable occasion. You danced delightfully.’

Miss Henley gave him a falsely sweet smile. ‘Except, we were in fact introduced at Mrs Dalworthy’s soirée, where we were partnered for a country dance.’

He must have looked as shocked as he felt, for Miss Lattimar burst out laughing. ‘Shame on you, Emma, you naughty thing! Lord Theo, I’m afraid Miss Henley is a most singular female. She says exactly what she thinks and does not tolerate idle flattery.’

Embarrassment flooding his face, he’d been at first incredulous, then angry that she’d had the gall to expose his white lie so blatantly. He’d been about to return some blighting reply when he met her fierce gaze and noted that confrontational tilt of chin.

She expected him to blast her, he realised. And unlike any single female he’d ever met, she didn’t care a jot if he did.

It hadn’t been, as she later accused, his desire not to appear churlish in front of Miss Lattimar that had induced him to choose a milder reply—but rather the urge to confound her expectations as neatly as she’d confounded his.

‘So I see,’ he said drily, giving her his most charming smile. ‘How unkind of you to trick me, Miss Henley.’

‘I expect it was, Lord Theo,’ she allowed, looking a bit surprised that he hadn’t dealt her the set-down she deserved. ‘However, I would prefer you to admit you didn’t recall meeting me, rather than offer me the polite lie. Although I do dance delightfully.’

She’d laughed then, the charming sound of her merriment defusing the rest of his irritation. ‘I expect you will remember this meeting! But I shall certainly understand if you do not ask me to dance when next we meet.’

She really didn’t care whether or not he wanted to associate with her. Surprised anew, and intrigued, he said, ‘An honest female who disdains flattery and says exactly what she thinks? On the contrary! I shall add you with Miss Lattimar to the very short list of eligible females with whom I dance or converse.’

‘You generally preferring, of course, ineligible females,’ she’d tossed back.

Laughing in spite of himself, he nodded. ‘And now you are trying to make me blush at my scandalous reputation.’

‘Not at all. I hope to be scandalous myself, some day. Ah, Miss Lattimar, I believe we’re about to be overtaken by a host of your admirers. Sadly, I fear you will have to cede your place, Lord Theo.’

‘Until the next time, then, ladies,’ he said, tipping his hat and riding off as the group of gentlemen Miss Henley had spied approaching arrived to surround Miss Lattimar.

His interest piqued by a female who dared treat him in such a radically unconventional manner, he’d been drawn to seek her out each time they’d chanced to meet at various entertainments. And once he knew to expect a different sort of commentary from her, he soon recognised the humour that softened the edge of her sharp remarks, as well as the keen intelligence that prompted her pointed, unconventional but absolutely accurate observations on all manner of things. He was led ever further down the garden path, curious to hear what new, startling, unacceptable-to-society remarks she might put forth—and what new, blighting comments about his character she might utter.

And then there was that unexpected but unmistakable sensual attraction. The intensity of her hazel-eyed gaze, the sense of barely controlled energy beneath the outward guise of a demure, properly behaved young female, and full lips that were an invitation to sin… She called to him on a physical level as powerfully as a fêted beauty like Lady Belinda.

Recalling her recommendation that he take up a career as a Royal Mail coachman, he laughed softly. That humour faded as he went on to wonder just how loud a peal her mama would ring over her for dismissing Mr Null. Fortunately, he was reasonably certain that no matter how roundly she was abused, the pressure applied by her mama would be more likely to push her into finally declaring that independence she kept telling him she meant to seek than to capitulation and acceptance of the numbing sterility of an arranged marriage.

It really was a shame that society offered so few options for intelligent, clever women. He could easily see Emma Henley taking a seat in Parliament, arguing for the causes about which she’d told him she’d been writing letters.

He shifted uncomfortably. Recalling her desire to do something important, to make a difference, touched too closely on the festering sore deep within which, though covered over by a dressing of busyness and society’s acclaim, had never completely healed.

Although they were not nearly as hemmed in by rules and conventions as females, the opportunities for well-born young men to ‘do something important’ were also limited.

As a younger son, he would never inherit the responsibility for managing his family’s various estates or providing for the welfare of their tenants. Though he enjoyed books, he felt no call to retreat into scholarship, and though he dabbled in investments, a gentleman never dirtied his hands dealing with money. Nor had he any taste for engaging in the push and pull of politics that so fascinated Miss Henley.

Only one thing fired in him the sort of enthusiasm he glimpsed in that lady and it was as impossible a career for a gentleman as standing for Parliament was for a woman.

Sighing, he glanced down at the writing paper on the desk before him. Almost of their own accord, his hands set aside the pen and inkwell and rummaged in the drawer for a pencil.

Quickly he sketched the silhouette of a lady bent over her side saddle, urging on her galloping horse. He added hash marking and shading, the bend of the delicate feather in her riding hat against the rush of wind. The stance, and the hat, obscured her face, but he had no trouble envisaging it: the long, pale oval, rather prominent, determined chin, the unexpected sensual lips. And those eyes! What a transformation they underwent, when she escaped from the conventional trivialities of social conversation!

He ought to do a sketch just of her face, to portray the fire that illumined those eyes once she began to speak about something that truly interested her. How they lit up her face, changing it from forgettable to arresting! Better still, he should do a study in oils, to be able to capture their mesmerising gold-green hue.

Adding a few more quick pencil strokes, he finished his equestrienne sketch and studied it, nodding his satisfaction.

One more useless skill I possess, about which you don’t yet know, he told her silently. Else you might recommend that, should I lose my fortune, I take up work as a portrait painter.

Restoring the pencil, quill and unused paper to its place in the drawer, he rose, sketch in hand, and walked towards the door. He’d enjoy a fine dinner and then, ‘timid soul’ that he was, avoid the society entertainments he’d meant to attend in favour of a few pleasant rounds of cards and brandy.

Pausing before the fireplace, he gave the sketch one more glance, smiling again at the vibrant energy that was Emma Henley. But it wouldn’t be wise to subject himself to the enquiry and abuse that would result, should any of the other members discover him carrying around a sketch of a society lady.

With regret, he tossed the paper into the fire and strode out of the room.

Pausing in the doorway to the card room, Theo surveyed the occupants, looking for a group that would provide both stimulating play and agreeable company. Spotting a friend from his Oxford days, Theo strolled over.

‘Ready for a game, Kensworth?’ he asked.

‘Ah, Lord Theo, just the man I hoped to see,’ Kensworth said, gesturing him to a seat. ‘I’m about to head out, but I did want a quiet word with you.’

Theo felt a flicker of concern. ‘Is something wrong? An illness in your family?’

‘No, nothing of that sort. It’s…something else entirely.’ Looking suddenly uncomfortable, Kensworth hesitated, sipping from the glass of port beside him.

‘Well, out with it,’ Theo said, both amused and curious. ‘Have I flirted too blatantly with a lady you covet? Bought a horse you had your eye on?’

‘No, this is about…your welfare. I saw you this morning, galloping in Hyde Park with Miss Henley. Just the two of you, no groom anywhere in sight. Now, I’ll grant you that she appears to be a fine horsewoman, but I do wonder what else you see in her. Plain as a doorpost, with a tongue caustic enough to strip the varnish off your carriage.’

Theo managed to choke down a heated defence of Emma Henley’s looks and wit. Forcing himself back into the role of careless courtier, he said in a bored tone, ‘She is clever for all that. One never knows what she will say. I find her amusing.’

‘You’d better watch that you don’t “amuse” yourself right to the altar! Riding alone in the park with her? You run a terrible risk!’

‘It might be, were she interested in marriage, which fortunately she is not. And she did bring her groom.’ He chuckled. ‘She’d just out-galloped him.’

‘I’d be careful in any event. Miss Henley may claim not to be interested in marriage, although—’ Kensworth gave a derisive sniff ‘—I never believe any female who utters such rubbish! But you can be sure that mother of hers is. Been pushing the chit at every remotely eligible gentleman these last five years!’

Theo didn’t need Kensworth’s warning to know he must be very circumspect about how and when he met Emma Henley. ‘I appreciate your concern, but I’m well aware of the need for caution.’

‘I should hope so. Wouldn’t want to see you start down a slippery slope! Enough about the depressing topic of wedlock. How do you intend to “slip out of” this latest contretemps with Lady Belinda? Granted, she’s beautiful and has most luscious bosom I’ve ever ogled, but her behaviour…’

If it diverted Kensworth’s attention from Miss Henley, Theo was happy to talk about his latest scandal. ‘Her conduct, this time, is truly beyond the pale. Indeed…’ he made a show of consulting his pocket watch ‘…she should by now have received a bouquet and a pair of fine sapphire and diamond earrings.’

Kensworth’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You’ve given her her congé, then! So the field is open.’

‘All yours,’ Theo replied, gesturing towards him.

‘Not mine!’ Kensworth replied, holding out a hand palm-up. ‘I’ll stick with demi-mondaines who know their place! Sapphire and diamonds, you say? In the end, I’d wager the muslin company is less expensive. But you’ve always had a preference for the exclusive. So, who will be next?’

The image of Emma Henley’s fierce, challenging gaze flashed into his head. Firmly he suppressed it. ‘I think I shall allow the bad taste left in my mouth after the incident with Lady Belinda to dissipate before I contemplate any new liaisons.’

‘Well, you can’t wait too long. A man has needs, after all! Let me add one more recommendation for the professionals. A high-flyer knows which side her bread is buttered on and will never turn up in some public place, embarrassing you in full view of society.’

‘Thank you, but, no. I shall console myself with cards and brandy, and call it a good night.’

A good night. Identical to so many others. At that observation, he felt again that vague stirring of ennui. ‘Did you ever think there might be…something more?’ he asked abruptly, dropping for the moment his usual irreverent mask.

Kensworth blinked at him in confusion. Which Theo should have expected—Lord Theo Collington was not known for uttering serious remarks. ‘Something more than cards, drinking—and ladies? Possessed of time and blunt enough to enjoy them, what more could a man want? Especially you—with pockets deep enough you’ll never have to worry about finances and no onerous duties to keep you from your pleasures? Best of all, as a younger son, you don’t have your family nattering on about you finding a wife. Now truly, what more could any gentleman want?’

‘Onerous duties’ recalling Miss Henley’s phrase, Theo almost replied, ‘To do something important.’ But that remark would be guaranteed to increase the puzzlement on his friend’s face. Theo knew a few men who possessed burning political ambitions, or were committed to acquiring property and improving their estates, but what Kensworth described—a life devoted to cards, drink and chasing women—was indeed considered the ultimate to be desired by the majority of the gentlemen with whom he had come down from Oxford.

Certainly it was the life his father had urged on him and the brilliance with which he’d mastered the charming rake’s persona had garnered him the few compliments he’d ever received from the Marquess.

Suppressing an inward sigh, he slipped back into his expected role. ‘Yes, what higher calling than to be a rich, handsome, charming bachelor, an incomparable horseman, excellent shot and prime parti, regarded with longing eyes by every chaste single lady and with desire by every naughty married one?’

Apparently he wasn’t able to keep all the sarcasm from his tone, for Kensworth frowned and shook his head at him. ‘Can’t imagine what brought on this green melancholy. The irritation of breaking with the Beauteous Lady Belinda?’

‘After the sobering experience at the opera, perhaps I will repent of my licentious ways. Put on sackcloth and ashes. Vow a denial of the flesh and—’

‘I envisage the picture!’ Kensworth held up a hand, laughing. ‘I shall leave you to your melancholy, laughing as I go at the impossibly amusing idea of Lord Theo Collington denying himself anything he truly desires.’

Pushing away the image of Emma Henley’s enticing mouth, Theo waved his friend off. If you only knew, he thought, motioning to a waiter to bring him a bottle.

But Kensworth had given him cause for thought. If seeing Theo riding with Miss Henley in Hyde Park was apt to raise speculation, he was all the more relieved that apparently no one had spied him walking with her to Dean Street.

He probably ought to be more circumspect—for he knew better than Kensworth how determined Lady Henley was to marry Emma off. If she could refashion some action of his to make the ton believe he’d compromised her daughter, he’d have no choice but to wed Emma, no matter how much the lady herself protested. He might have perfected the guise of a careless rogue, but he was a gentleman, and such an accusation would touch his honour as well as Emma’s.

Maybe it was time to heed that voice of prudence and avoid her.

So what do you intend? another voice replied sardonically. To give her the cut direct after you nearly collide while riding in the park? Allow her to walk alone down a city street, disregarding her safety in order to safeguard your unwed status?

Wise as avoiding her might be, the choice didn’t set well.

Rejecting the offer from two newcomers to join them in a round of cards in a tone only a hair removed from churlish, he poured himself a generous drink from the bottle the waiter brought him.

He’d downed half a glass in one swallow, savouring the burn that matched the heat of his disgruntlement, when another, more appealing possibility occurred. True, sooner or later, he would have to break with Emma Henley, lest their friendship grow too marked to be concealed. Or when, as was more likely, their interaction went from energising to insipid.

As different as she was, no lady who attracted him had ever held his interest for long. When the unique became expected and the unusual commonplace, he would end the association.

But before then, with a few simple changes to his social schedule, he could enjoy her company a while longer. And, he thought, grinning, confound some of society’s expectations, and perhaps the lady’s, while he did so.

Pleased with the plan, he poured another glass, saluted himself for his cleverness and rose to join the group he’d just rebuffed.

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