Page 66 of Henrietta

Hetty’s hands clenched around her glass. ‘You truly believe that is the only reason he would – he might—’

Arthur shook his head. ‘I wish I could tell you differently, but for his head to have been turned so suddenly – quite frankly, it is simply implausible.’

‘Simply implausible,’ Hetty echoed. ‘I see. Yes, I see. Well, I – I must thank you for explaining it so very thoroughly; you have made matters very plain indeed. I can only apologise that all your aid was for naught – if we had only known how pointless the endeavour was, then you might have saved yourself a great deal of effort.’

‘I did not say it was pointless.’ Arthur scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘You are deliberately misunderstanding me now, Hetty, and it is becoming very tiresome.’

‘Then the ending of our arrangement ought to relieve you,’ Hetty said. ‘I think perhaps we had best to bring it to a close, hadn’t we? I shan’t expect you to help me any more and you – well, you have already ceased discussing Belcourt with me, haven’t you?’

‘I ought to have done so a while ago,’ Arthur agreed, and if there was one way to further her humiliation, this was it.

After which, all that there was left for her to do was stand up, dust off her dress and re-enter the ballroom.

CHAPTER XX.

ARTHUR left for Belcourt the very next day. It was a visit he had been wishing to make for weeks, only to be repeatedly thwarted by Lady Allerton’s demands on his diary, and though the following days were every bit as full as those that had preceded them, Arthur had awoken that morning with a sudden, unshakable conviction: he could not spend another moment in the city.

‘The Guildhall banquet is only two days from now,’ Lady Allerton objected over breakfast. ‘What about the procession? Recollect the honour that has been bestowed upon you!’

‘I am fully aware of it,’ Arthur said briefly.

Lady Allerton did not look reassured. Even Trixie noted with some disappointment that Arthur would miss the opera. Only Hetty, further down the table, did not speak. In an ideal world, after having one’s heart – however unknowingly – crushed, one would not have to face the crusher for weeks. The fact of her having to lay eyes upon him mere hours after he had, once and for all, dashed all her hopes felt particularly cruel.

She rose as soon as she was able, excusing herself to her ladyship on the basis of going for a ride.

‘With whom?’ Arthur queried sharply.

They had not exchanged a word since their argument the night before. If one could call it an argument, when the fault had been – to Arthur’s mind – so entirely one-sided. The fact that Hetty had not yet even attempted an apology only deepened his sense of grievance with her.

‘I fail to see why that is your business,’ Hetty said haughtily.

‘Hetty,’ Lady Allerton reproached.

‘Do you mean to meet the Marquis?’ Arthur demanded.

Trixie looked from one to the other, delighted. ‘Have you been forbidden, also, Hetty?’

‘Given it is not in Arthur’s power to do so,’ Hetty said deliberately, ‘no.’

Arthur placed his knife down with a clink. ‘This is my household, is it not?’

‘If you would prefer that I leave it—’

‘No, of course he does not,’ Lady Allerton cut in. ‘Indeed, there is no need for any of this, for you are meeting Mrs Morgan, are you not, Hetty?’

For a moment, Hetty considered lying just to prove a point. ‘Yes,’ she admitted begrudgingly.

Some of Arthur’s ire subsided. ‘Very well.’

Hetty swept from the room.

‘I own, I do not understand what poor Nicolet has done to earn your ire,’ Lady Allerton noted behind her.

Hetty paused for a moment outside the door, curious – despite herself – to hear Arthur’s answer. But Arthur’s response was brief: ‘He is unworthy of her. I do not wish them to ride out together any more, Mama.’

There was a pause. ‘Does he have natural-born children too?’ Trixie enquired.

Hetty whisked herself away before she could hear more than Lady Allerton’s shriek of horror, changing into a severely cut riding dress that suited her mood perfectly, and making for Hyde Park at once. That day, Hetty had never been more grateful for Mrs Morgan’s skill at chatter. One merely had to hum at the right moment, and Mrs Morgan would continue for another five minutes, and Hetty let it wash over her, hoping it would soothe the flames of agitation licking up her throat.