Page 22 of Henrietta

Arthur grinned appreciatively. ‘Our great philosophical mind.’ Then, more seriously: ‘You deserve the world, Hetty. You shall have the fellow of your dreams.’

Hetty let out a strangled laugh. ‘Do you promise?’

Arthur’s eyes lit up. ‘Do we have an agreement?’

Hetty laughed again, shaking her head. ‘I do not know …’

‘These are my terms,’ Arthur added. ‘Our aid must be reciprocal, or I shall not accept it.’

Hetty hesitated. It would be excruciating, but … ‘Very well. We have an agreement.’

CHAPTER VII.

AT the age of eight and twenty, Arthur considered himself well versed in the rigours of the London Season. The roster of balls, routs and card parties were not usually distinguished by originality, and though Lady Allerton had certainly warned her son as to the uniqueness of this particular Season – grander, longer, busier – it was not until the following morning that he truly began to understand. For his mother had never before requested his presence at a balloon ascension.

‘We must depart at once if we are to secure a good view.’ Lady Allerton – already resplendent in an azure kerseymere pelisse – cast a fretful glance at the grandfather clock. ‘I myself had no knowledge of the ascension until today, or I should have had us there at dawn – come along! Quickly!’

Obedient to her chivvying, Arthur and Hetty rose from the breakfast table with only a little reluctance, while Trixie – who usually viewed any interruption of mealtimes as positively sinful – was bright-eyed and unusually eager.

‘How interesting this will be!’ she declared virtuously.

‘I should hardly have predicted this as the new family pastime,’ Arthur muttered to Hetty. ‘It’s admirable, certainly but …’

‘A little out of character?’ Hetty finished.

London, that summer, was full of strange or marvellous displays, as its business-minded citizens were fully aware of the opportunity represented by the sudden influx of so many monied Europeans. This was the first time, however, Lady Allerton had expressed the slightest interest in any one of them. True enough, as they jostled over cobbles on the way to Hyde Park, Lady Allerton admitted her secondary motivation, confiding in an undertone: ‘I have it upon good authority that the Grandduchess will be in attendance.’

The Grandduchess Catherine of Oldenberg had arrived in London some time ahead of the various kings, princes, generals and diplomats who were coming to take part in the grand Peace celebrations. At six and twenty years of age, she was neither especially elegant nor particularly amiable – indeed, her unsparing wit had become, in the short time since her arrival, somewhat legendary – but as sister and confidante of the Tsar, she was nonetheless one of the greatest matrimonial prizes in Europe and was being much courted by the ton. The rare hostess who secured the lady’s elusive presence at her ball could deem her event an instant success, and while Lady Allerton would not, of course, ordinarily enter into so vulgar a practice as social climbing, these were exceptional times – and the Grandduchess exceptional quarry.

‘For a balloon ascension?’ Arthur’s voice was full of scepticism. ‘At nine o’clock in the morning?’

Lady Allerton nodded. ‘She has a very scientific mind, I hear.’

‘Intellectual curiosity is very fashionable in Russia,’ Trixie – who had never, to Hetty’s knowledge, travelled east of Essex – put in knowledgeably.

They entered the park to find a fleet of other carriages already arranged around a roped-off enclosure in which the balloon was already tethered. Around it, several men in shirtsleeves were busying about with rope, hosepipes and several casks of hydrogen, from which the bag would presently be inflated.

Lady Allerton observed this with satisfaction. ‘Good – it has not begun, yet … Now, where is the Grandduchess?’

‘I expect she will be fashionably late,’ Trixie said.

Lady Allerton wished it would not be thought vulgar to crane her neck. ‘Surely, if her interest is as assiduous as you say, she will wish to secure a good vantage point?’

Hetty’s head turned. ‘It was Trixie who told you about the Grandduchess’s attendance?’

Trixie avoided Hetty’s gaze. ‘Lady Jersey gave me the tip-off. Mama, may I approach the enclosure? Miss Corcott is there with her maid.’

Lady Allerton nodded distractedly. ‘Hetty, will you …’

Hetty did not need persuading. Though she had no evidence yet to support the prickle of suspicion that had run up her spine, it certainly behoved them to keep a close eye on Trixie this morning.

‘Arthur, will you ask Lambert to move the barouche over a little?’ Lady Allerton requested, once the girls had been handed down. ‘I wonder if the Grandduchess is not more likely to select a spot on the edge – away from any grasping persons, you know?’

They moved twice more before Lady Allerton was satisfied. Sending Lambert off to fetch an umbrella for her, for she did not at all like the look of the grey skies ahead, she arranged herself into a posture of elegant indifference, one calculated to make any passing lady – Grandduchess or otherwise – pause to wonder quietly to themselves: Who is that graceful creature, and how might I make her acquaintance?

This achieved, she turned her attention to her eldest son, who she was pleased to comment looked a great deal more cheerful than he had the day prior. He thanked her, though did not explain the reason for his improved mood. Lady Allerton had made no further mention of the proposed match between himself and Hetty, and he did not wish to give her any whisper of encouragement.

‘I am so glad for it,’ Lady Allerton continued, pressing his arm. ‘The weight of the world: it does not suit you, you know – indeed, there were a few moments, yesterday, when I felt you looked the spitting image of him!’