The Sweetest Sin Page 5

  Lord Rothbury’s expression turned grim. “Lady Margaret has, without mincing words, become nothing short of a terror, I’m afraid. But perhaps spending a few days with you and Lady Dalridge will help curb these tendencies.”

  “Perhaps.” Although she was not certain that a short visit—as most of his to London were—would result in any major change. “You do not think Lady Franklyn would be of assistance in this matter? She is quite formidable.”

  Lord Rothbury tilted his head slightly acknowledging her claim. “She is, yes. However, my sister is another matter, as you are well aware.”

  The subject of Lady Susan made her stomach curdle and she pushed away her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. “I do not think your sister and I will be bosom bows any time soon.”

  “I believe it is more than that, isn’t it? James indicated she has made it her mission to humiliate you whenever the chance arises. I can’t imagine that makes for a very enjoyable Season, does it?”

  Hen reached for her hair and pulled it closer against her neck, a movement that exposed her arm once more. Oh, bother! She must remember to wear sleeves during Lord Rothbury’s visit. She dropped her hand from her hair and angled her body away from him once more. Awkward, but hopefully effective.

  “I’m afraid the events of the Season are not my cup of tea one way or the other. I much prefer to stay home and read a good book by the fire than traipse about from one party to the next.”

  “Because of the scars?”

  The heat returned to Hen’s cheeks with a fury. Her face flamed, burning up her chest and neck, though only the sections untouched by the fire alerted her to the sensation. She bowed her head, the food left on her plate becoming of deep concern as she pushed it about with her fork. What was it about the St. John’s that made them bring up the subject of her scars so freely?

  “Forgive me, I overstepped. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “Not at all,” Hen said, but she could not look at him, or explain. The man was undeniably handsome, even more so since she’d seen him last. How could he possibly understand what it felt like to be the object of unwanted attention and ridicule? From what she had seen, he did not appear to possess much in the way of empathy that would allow him to understand such things.

  “I shall have a word with my sister and ensure—”

  “No!” The word shot out of Hen hard and fast. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. “No,” she said again, quieter this time, but with much firmness. She could not risk his interference, it might be just the thing to push Lady Susan over the edge and escalate her hateful campaign to the promised ruination sooner than she’d originally planned. “It is not necessary for you to involve yourself. I have taken steps to eradicate the problem and—”

  “Henrietta!”

  Both she and Lord Rothbury jerked in their chairs at the unexpected sound of her brother’s voice bellowing her name down the hallway, quickly followed by the doors to the breakfast room being thrown open and a rather irate Marquess of Ridgemont standing in the gaping opening left in their wake.

  “James, whatever are you yelling about?”

  “What am I—” James shook his head and gave her an incredulous look. “You—” He jabbed a finger in her direction. Took a breath. Shook his head. “I cannot believe…”

  “Good God, man, finish a sentence so we might know what you are about,” Lord Rothbury said.

  James took another breath and with a clearly false calm, stepped into the breakfast room his gaze roaming over the walls and buffet and window. Anywhere but on her. A sick feeling sizzled in her stomach. She could count on one hand how many times James had raised his voice to her and all of those times had been when she was quite young and doing her utmost to exasperate her older brother in the hope of gaining his attention. But since the fire and their parents’ death, he had been uncommonly conciliatory. Almost to the point of annoyance.

  “Tell me, sister dear,” James walked behind her and rested his hands on the back of her chair. “While I was away, did you happen to send any correspondences?”

  The oatmeal Hen had eaten only moments before congealed in her belly until it held the consistency of lead. She lifted a hand to twirl the ends of her hair. “Correspondence?”

  “Yes. You know, that thing you do when one puts quill to paper and jots down a few lines before sending it off. Lines that might, oh, I don’t know, include…a proposal of marriage!” She cringed, as his voice grew louder with each word, echoing against the walls of the breakfast room.

  From across the table, Lord Rothbury looked at her in amazement, though whether he was more mortified or amused, she could not rightly judge. “Is he saying you proposed marriage to someone?”

  Hen’s heart pounded hard against her breast. “I…ah…that is to say…I may have made the suggestion that we consider such a thing.”

  This was not how this was supposed to go. She had expected Lord Walkerton to speak to her upon receiving her proposal—not her brother! Oh, why had she not had the forethought to realize someone as much a stickler for propriety as Lord Walkerton would, of course, go to her brother first to discuss the matter? She was such a fool!

  James pushed away from her chair and threw his hands up in the air. They came down and slapped against his legs and Hen winced at the sound. She chanced a quick glance across the table to find Lord Rothbury pursing his lips in what she was certain was the smile she had wondered about only a moment before.

  Oh, this was beyond mortifying!

  “What were you thinking, Hen? You could have been ruined had it been anyone else but Lord Walkerton. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to bring this to my attention instead of speaking to anyone else about it.”

  “That was very kind of him,” she whispered, staring down at her plate to avoid James’s glare as he circled the table. There did not seem to be any point in informing him it was in the hope of escaping ruination that she had proposed to Lord Walkerton in the first place.

  James leaned forward. “Yes, wasn’t it.”

  She assumed, given each word was dipped in sarcasm, that he did not truly mean that as much as she did.

  Her brother straightened and rubbed a hand over his eyes while pointing his other hand at Lord Rothbury. “And you can stop smirking, Alex. There is no humor to be found in this situation.”

  “Indeed there is,” Lord Rothbury said and even without looking at him, Hen could hear the uncommon sound of his laughter rumbling deep inside his chest. “As I find myself heartily encouraged by the fact that I am not the only one who has difficulty with the women in his life.”

  “I despise you,” James said, to Lord Rothbury thankfully, and not her. She would take her victories where she could find them, small as they were.

  Lord Rothbury ignored her brother’s claim. “Tell me, what did Lord Walkerton think of this proposal? Was he amenable to it?”

  James turned away from her to stare at his friend. “What?”

  “Was he amenable to her proposal?” Lord Rothbury said, annunciating each word as if James was a simpleton.

  Hen sat up straighter in her chair. Was he? She thought if he had been, he would have spoken to her instead of tattling to her brother, but perhaps—

  James scowled. “He is not completely averse to the idea.”

  Hen sat up straighter in her chair, surprised. As the days wore on without hearing back from him, she had braced herself for his rejection. “Truly?”

  “Yes, truly,” James hissed. “But that does not change what you did! You could have been ruined! Could still be, if word gets out. What were you thinking, Hen?” His voice had changed, become imploring and Hen’s heart softened toward him. Her brother had spent the last eight years doing everything in his power to make her life a happy one despite everything they had lost. Everything she had suffered. But even he could not protect her from the taunts and whispers of the ton and of those particular members who made it their mission to ensure she never knew a mo
ment’s peace.

  “I thought I might attempt to expedite matters so that I wouldn’t have to suffer through the Season, being trotted about like a prize mare when the truth of the matter is I am damaged goods.” She waved a hand at her neck.

  “You are nothing of the sort!”

  “You’re brother is right,” Lord Rothbury stated, in a much quieter tone than the one James used. His insistence surprised her, but no more than what came next. “You are a lovely woman in every way. Any man should thank his lucky stars to receive even a snippet of attention from you.”

  The blush she’d experienced earlier raced back to greet her once more. She dipped her head, unable to meet Lord Rothbury’s steady gaze. His kind words reminded her of the man she’d known during her convalescence at Breckenridge all those years ago and something inside of her reached out toward him. Toward the calm he created in the center of this sudden squall. An unexpected haven from the storm of her brother’s anger and astonishment.

  James pulled out an empty chair and took his seat, the bluster blown out of him for the time being. “Alex is right, Hen. I just wish you had come to me first. I could have approached Walkerton on your behalf. I had no idea you were even considering him in that way.”

  She hadn’t been, not really. She hadn’t been considering anyone. Lord Pengrin’s deceit had left her reticent to trust, but Lord Walkerton had proven to be polite in manner and always at hand when she needed such. If she must marry to ease James and Auntie’s worry and stop Lady Susan’s threats before they came to fruition, then Lord Walkerton seemed a good and proper choice. If by doing so she brought about her own ruin, well, perhaps better it came by her own hand and rob Lady Susan of crowing over such a victory.

  “Lord Walkerton was very kind to me at Lord and Lady Beresford’s party when Lady Susan was being…unpleasant.” She stumbled over the word and glanced at Lord Rothbury to offer an apology for disparaging his sister, but he waved her off.

  “I am well aware of my sister’s unpleasantness.” Lord Rothbury turned to James. “So what did you and Walkerton discuss?”

  “He indicated he has given the matter serious consideration and believes connecting our families through marriage is a notion worth exploring.” James looked at Hen. “He thinks you a fine young woman—if somewhat bold in nature given your most recent actions—but he is willing to embark on a courtship to see if the two of you are at all suitable. Provided you have not changed your mind in that regard. Have you?”

  “I…” She swallowed. “A courtship?”

  That would mean attending parties, dancing, walks and carriage rides through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour, all of which would draw attention and give Lady Susan ample time to do her worst.

  She let out a slow breath. Wasn’t it just her luck to propose to a man with such a sensible and proper nature that he could not allow himself to be swept up in the romance of it and want to run off to Gretna Green. Still, she had put the wheels in motion and could see no other option against Lady Susan’s threats.

  “I told him I would speak to you about it”—James said then raised one dark eyebrow—“and caution you against any further impropriety. I convinced him this was a singular incident and completely out of character for you. He is willing to overlook it, but you know what a stickler he is for proper behavior. If you wish this to work, you must be on your best behavior.”

  Hen twisted her lips to one side and slumped back in her chair, breakfast long forgotten. “It isn’t as if I am in the habit of acting improperly.”

  “I know. Are you sure you want to do this? Marry Walkerton? He’s not a bad sort, but this just seems a little…out of the blue, I suppose. I was not even aware you had an affection for him.” James leaned closer toward her. “You do, don’t you? Have an affection for him?”

  “An affection?” Dear me, was that a requirement? Since when had James turned into such a romantic? “Oh. Yes, of course. He is very kind. And…and handsome. Yes. Quite.” She flashed her brother a quick smile. “What is there not to like?”

  And truly, both of those things were true. Though even more importantly, Lord Walkerton often kept to himself, seeming to prefer solitude to large gatherings. And given he was kind and handsome perhaps an affection would grow over time. It didn’t have to be a grand love affair. She wasn’t sure she trusted such things. After all, she had thought herself in love with Lord Pengrin not too long ago and look what an unmitigated disaster that had turned out to be. No, comfortable respect was a better way to go. Safer and far less likely to set her up for the hurt and disappointment that came with being misled by someone who claimed to feel one thing when in truth, they felt nothing of the sort.

  James sat back and gave a slow nod, though his gaze remained skeptical. “Very well. I shall allow this courtship to take place.”

  “Splendid.” Hen stood and both gentlemen did the same. “Then I shall go and tell Auntie the good news. I’m sure she will be thrilled.”

  “If you want to thrill her, perhaps leave out the part about the impromptu proposal,” Lord Rothbury suggested with a smile that stopped Hen in her tracks. The expression changed his handsome countenance from sharp and serious to positively roguish. The unexpected transformation made her breath catch in her throat. She had not expected Lord Rothbury to have such a cheeky sense of humor.

  She returned his smile, unable to resist it. “You may be right, my lord. Good day, gentlemen.”

  * * *

  Alex waited until Lady Henrietta was well out of earshot before turning to her brother with an incredulous look. “Are you seriously considering Lord Walkerton’s suit?”

  James placed a hand over his heart. “Well, not me personally. I think he would be much better suited for Hen. I prefer my paramours to have a bit more curvature and their dangling bits be placed above the waist, not below.”

  “You’re an idiot and you know what I’m talking about. She can do far better than Walkerton.”

  James moved to the buffet while tossing an exasperated glance over his shoulder. “What is wrong with Walkerton?”

  “He is…he’s…” Truth of the matter was, Alex had no idea what was wrong with Walkerton. Walkerton had still been Lord Selward the last time Alex had seen him. A young man fresh out of Eton, though in the time since he seemed to have made a name for himself as being a fine and upstanding member of the ton. Perhaps too much so. Alex’s stepmother had mentioned in the letters she insisted on sending him that Lady Susan had set her sights on him, though she suspected that was more an attempt to steal his attentions away from Lady Rebecca Sheridan than anything else. An attempt that failed and left Susan in quite a pique.

  “Lord Walkerton is completely respectable,” James said, interrupting Alex’s thoughts. “Granted there was that nastiness with his father, but the man is dead and gone so that’s hardly a consideration any longer. Walkerton is on sound financial footing and his countryseat is not so far away from mine that Hen would be lonely for family.”

  “This is the criterion you’re using to determine a good match for your sister? A fortune in good standing and the location of his country estate?”

  “He will be kind to her. He has already proven this.” James turned away from the buffet with a full plate that rivaled Alex’s. “The fact of the matter is, my options in finding a husband for my sister are, to put it mildly, limited. I’ve approached any number of gentlemen on the subject and have been turned away every time.”

  “What possible reason could any of them have for not wanting to marry a beautiful woman with a more than generous dowry and who hails from a fine family with strong connections?” Even without spending much time in London, Alex could easily count on two hands the number of lords who would benefit from any one of those reasons.

  “Because all they see are the scars, as if that were the whole of her, and deem her…damaged.” James’s anger strangled upon the last word and he set his plate upon the table with a hard bang.

  “Did they say this
to you?” If so, Alex would make it his mission to hunt these imbeciles down and give them a few scars of their own. Lady Henrietta deserved far better than that. Then again, if that was all these so called gentlemen could see, she was far better off without them. Still, he wouldn’t resist the urge to plant a facer on them should he encounter them this Season.

  “Of course not. They made other excuses, yet not a one could look me in the eye when they did so.”

  The pain in James’s voice cut Alex to the quick and he suffered it on behalf of both his friend and Lady Henrietta. Since the fire that had claimed the life of his father and stepmother and nearly took Lady Henrietta’s in the process, James had made it his mission to ensure his sister was both happy and protected. It was for that reason alone he had allowed her to hide away in the country until Lady Dalridge insisted doing so gave the girl only half a life. Alex couldn’t disagree, but what kind of life was it to be whispered about and stared upon as if the scars she bore on her body were the only things about her of note?

  And his bloody sister obviously wasn’t making things any easier. A fact he planned on rectifying this very day when he presented himself at Franklyn House.

  “Either way,” James sighed and dropped into the chair. “Hen has proposed to Walkerton and the fact that he came to me instead of making it public or rejecting her outright speaks volumes toward his character. Perhaps I may not have thought to choose him for her, but he is a good and sensible man nonetheless, and she claims she has an affection for him. I will be happy for such a match.”

  Alex took a sip of tea. “And who would you have chosen had it been left up to you?”

  James gave him a rather sheepish look. “If you’ll recall, I chose Lord Pengrin and look how that turned out. Perhaps such a choice is better left in Hen’s hands after all.”

  “Pengrin was a slippery fellow with a false face. He’d fooled any number of people into thinking he was a respectable, upstanding gentleman.”

  “Not you,” James pointed out, pushing his plate away without touching a thing on it. Alex reached over and snagged a piece of bacon. “You always hated the man.”