Page 55 of Henrietta

At this Hetty could not help but smile, though, after a pause, she ventured to ask if he had reconsidered his sentiments towards the Grandduchess.

‘It would be rather a brilliant match, after all,’ she reasoned, ‘and would save you from all this effort.’

‘It is worthwhile effort,’ Nicolet assured her. ‘Recollect your words, Miss Clithero!’

Hetty’s brow wrinkled. ‘What words?’

‘The outcome justifies the deeds,’ Nicolet pronounced loftily. ‘I do believe it to be the wisest thing you have ever said.’

On another occasion, Hetty might have laughed, or even taken the time to explain this oft-quoted phrase was not one of her creation, but she did not. For in that moment, her disagreement with Arthur still echoing in her ears, she was instead much struck.

She did not speak for the rest of the dance, her mind spinning in many different directions – and was fortunate that the Marquis, merrily chattering away, did not seem to need much input from her. Only when the dance concluded did she come back to herself, advising him that he had better stir his stumps, for: ‘No one is going to believe you are in love with me if you continue to flirt with half of London!’

‘Dash it, you’re quite right!’ he said, promising he would do better. It was a vow he upheld for the rest of the evening, and his attentions were so assiduous that more than one envious miss wondered sulkily to her mama what on earth he saw in shy Miss Clithero.

‘She is worth a pretty penny, my dear,’ Lady Potherby reminded her daughter – and, indeed, herself. It was easy to forget about Miss Clithero, who always used to fade into the background so thoroughly, and who could not seem to survive a conversation without expiring into blushes. Now, however, she might well be a different young lady, and it struck her ladyship forcibly just how entirely remiss she had been in not already introducing Miss Clithero to her nephew.

The dancing that night lasted until near four o’clock in the morning, yet Arthur did not take a place in the Allerton carriage when they left for home. Instead, he walked, weaving a far longer route through London than was strictly necessary to reach Berkeley Square: there were some moods that could only be alleviated by trudging and this was one of them, as he tried to lift himself out of the doldrums that had overcome him this evening.

You are being foolish, he advised himself. There was a great deal for which to be thankful because, indeed, this day might well mark the conclusion to many of the worries which had plagued the past weeks. For Hetty had shared a waltz and a long conversation with the Marquis and, if Arthur did not think it possible for the fellow to be quite as amusing as Hetty seemed to think him, this boded very well. She would not, soon, need his help any longer. And if Thimbleby were correct about the worth of the deer park, then soon the future of his family would be secured. It would not be a return to the old ways; no: they still would have to tread carefully; he could not afford to buy back his adored bays and he had yet to find some way of reasoning with his mother but—

Arthur stopped. His feet had taken him to Hertford Street, which was almost silent, save for the occasional yowl of an alley cat involved in some territorial dispute – and so the drawing up of a carriage could not help but attract his notice. The carriage – a hackney cab – halted in front of number 11. The carriage’s sole occupant slipped out of the vehicle and disappeared into the house – whose door had opened as if the visitor were very much expected – so quickly that had not the moonlight caught the person’s face at a certain angle, Arthur would not have recognised it.

It did, however, and Arthur had. Afterwards, he stood there for a long few moments, regarding the closed door of a house that was very familiar to him, before continuing to walk. He rapidly re-examined the conclusion he had just reached: his troubles were not, indeed, coming to an end.

For while he could not, of course, be wholly certain as to the reason why the Marquis de Nicolet would pay a visit, in the early hours of the morning, to number 11 Hertford Street, two things were absolutely certain: the first was that Hetty still needed his aid, and the second that tomorrow, he himself would be paying a visit to Mrs Ridley, as well.

CHAPTER XVI.

‘IT would have been very helpful, of course, if you had attended the Countess Lieven’s breakfast party this morning. We might have demonstrated our love to the Grandduchess, rather than my having to explain it to her, which was not nearly as effective.’

‘I was not invited,’ Hetty reminded Nicolet, speaking in a whisper which would, she hoped, prompt him to do the same. Hatchard’s was much frequented at this hour: being furnished with every daily newspaper, it was utilised as a lounging-place by many fashionable persons; and, worse still, the atmosphere was still peaceful enough that the risk of being overheard was great. Within these four walls, protected by the thick walls of books all around, one could hardly hear the streets of Piccadilly, and the quiet was disturbed only by the rustle of turning pages, the soft tread of footsteps – and the Marquis’s stage whisper, which was somehow more penetrating than most people’s shouting.

‘I must say, when you said shopping, this is not what I had in mind. I pictured us – oh, I don’t know, trying on hats and laughing. Not standing in a bookshop, waiting in a queue.’

It was hard to tell which of these states aggrieved him more, but as at that moment they had reached the front of said queue, Hetty ignored him to inform the attendant at the counter that they had ordered several titles in for her.

‘Dear Lord,’ Nicolet commented, once these volumes – selected instalments from Arthur Young’s General View of Agriculture series – had been produced. He sent the attendant a droll look. ‘Did she ask you for the most boring tome you could find?’

The attendant giggled, and despite his previous reluctance to enter the premises, the Marquis showed himself as quite amenable to tarry a little – flirtation being his most adored pastime – but Hetty chivvied him away, telling him: ‘She does not have time for your bothering.’

‘I think, for my next long-lost love,’ Nicolet reflected as they made their way out on to the street, to where his groom was keeping the curricle standing, ‘I shall try to find someone a little more complimentary, and a little less bookish. Nonetheless, I persist – shall we take a turn of the park so I may flaunt you a little?’

‘I have only until midday. What is the time now?’

Hetty looked towards the watch chain pinned to his pocket.

‘It is purely decorative, alas,’ he said apologetically. ‘But if one considers the placement of the sun …’ He looked upwards, enquiring. ‘Morning,’ he decided. ‘Daytime, certainly.’

‘One turn of the park,’ Hetty informed him. ‘Then I shall leave. I have some business to attend to.’

‘What sort of business? Have you another secret lover?’

Hetty shook her head. ‘I intend to visit the library.’

The Marquis, whose claims to bookishness were not grand, suddenly expressed his own regrets for that afternoon, begging her pardon that he would not, sadly, be able to accompany her on this excursion. Hetty forgave him graciously. Truthfully, she was not going to the library, but she did not intend to divulge to a single soul the true nature of her appointment that afternoon. She was not even convinced, yet, that she had the gall to go through with what she had planned – yet, she supposed, at this point, what was one more untruth?

At the hour of two o’clock, Mr Sherwood – of Sherwood and Sons – was startled by the news, communicated to him by his clerk, that Miss Henrietta Clithero was desiring speech with him in the outer office.