usual, slightly puffy. White anger flashed through him.
“Did Van Heerlen kiss you?”
She brushed past him to take her seat.
“It was nothing,” she murmured.
He turned on his heel, poking his head out the carriage door, a week of frustration squeezing into a hard ball of anger. Maybe if he could just land Van Heerlen a facer, he would feel much better.
Henrietta grabbed his taut arm, trying to pull him back inside. “Please, let’s just go. He is watching from the window.”
Kesseley certainly hoped so as he rammed his fist into his palm.
“Let me guess.” He adopted Van Heerlen’s accent. “Miss Watson, I have fallen in love with you, only you can ease my suffering, and by the way, if you want me to sponsor your father, you’ll consent to be my wife.”
Henrietta looked at her hands, bound tightly in her lap. “I didn’t give him an answer.”
“Would you like me to?” he said. Because nothing would give Kesseley greater pleasure at that very moment than knocking the daylights out of Van Heerlen.
“Let us forget it for the duration of London.”
“You’re actually considering him?”
“Thomas, do sit down. I’m sure Henrietta could adequately break his heart if she chose to,” Lady Kesseley said languidly, waking from a light doze. She stretched her arms before her and yawned. “Good morning, Henrietta. You look none the worse for being mauled.”
Henrietta launched into a stiff, rehearsed speech. “Lady Kesseley. I am so honored that you have allowed me to be your companion. I shall strive not to disappoint you. Anything you require for your comfort, I shall acquire. I can read, play cards, help you pick out fabric and—and—”
Henrietta faltered under his mother’s cold gaze. Kesseley felt his belly clench. His mother was doing her best to make this difficult. He just wanted to call the whole thing off. He wouldn’t ever get married and his cousin in Winchester would make a fine Earl of Kesseley.
“I—I’ve brought some creampuffs for the journey.” Henrietta offered them up, her eyes nervously downcast like a terrified villager offering a sacrifice to an angry volcano god.
He looked at the unappetizing brown balls and declined. His insides were too knotted to consider eating.
Samuel perked up and sniffed the air, then climbed into Henrietta’s lap, swallowing a puff in a single loud gulp. Then he proceeded to curl up there as if he were a small fluffy dog and not a five-stone hound.
Chapter Five
“We’re here!” Henrietta cried.
Well, almost.
After a long day’s journey and a crowded inn with a room beside the privy door, she could see London waiting just beyond the tollbooth—a horizon of slanting slate roofs holding thousands of chimney pots, each streaming little black ribbons of coal into the heavy gray sky. Yet they were stuck with a dozen other carriages, unmoving, as a flock of sheep passed the road. Kesseley stepped out of the carriage, and for a one horrified minute, she thought he was going to inspect the sheep, but he shooed them along and spoke to the groomsmen. He returned to his seat, a mischievous smile on his lips.
“Care for a small tour of London?” he asked.
“Oh yes!” Henrietta slid to the edge of her seat and squeezed his hands. “Please.”
The carriage lurched forward into the mass of other vehicles bearing down upon one another, jostling for position in the dark, narrow streets. Buildings towered on either side, thin stately things, no more than the width of their carriage and painted in soot.
The inhabitants of London concealed themselves in dark coats and capes. Their hard, pale faces seemed closed, like boarded-up windows, and their eyes distant. They moved in great waves through streets, stepping in front of carriages and horses, unconcerned for their own welfare. Henrietta’s nose stung with the sour scent of their perspiration mixed with the stench of animal dung.
She looked at Kesseley questioningly. This wasn’t the
“Did Van Heerlen kiss you?”
She brushed past him to take her seat.
“It was nothing,” she murmured.
He turned on his heel, poking his head out the carriage door, a week of frustration squeezing into a hard ball of anger. Maybe if he could just land Van Heerlen a facer, he would feel much better.
Henrietta grabbed his taut arm, trying to pull him back inside. “Please, let’s just go. He is watching from the window.”
Kesseley certainly hoped so as he rammed his fist into his palm.
“Let me guess.” He adopted Van Heerlen’s accent. “Miss Watson, I have fallen in love with you, only you can ease my suffering, and by the way, if you want me to sponsor your father, you’ll consent to be my wife.”
Henrietta looked at her hands, bound tightly in her lap. “I didn’t give him an answer.”
“Would you like me to?” he said. Because nothing would give Kesseley greater pleasure at that very moment than knocking the daylights out of Van Heerlen.
“Let us forget it for the duration of London.”
“You’re actually considering him?”
“Thomas, do sit down. I’m sure Henrietta could adequately break his heart if she chose to,” Lady Kesseley said languidly, waking from a light doze. She stretched her arms before her and yawned. “Good morning, Henrietta. You look none the worse for being mauled.”
Henrietta launched into a stiff, rehearsed speech. “Lady Kesseley. I am so honored that you have allowed me to be your companion. I shall strive not to disappoint you. Anything you require for your comfort, I shall acquire. I can read, play cards, help you pick out fabric and—and—”
Henrietta faltered under his mother’s cold gaze. Kesseley felt his belly clench. His mother was doing her best to make this difficult. He just wanted to call the whole thing off. He wouldn’t ever get married and his cousin in Winchester would make a fine Earl of Kesseley.
“I—I’ve brought some creampuffs for the journey.” Henrietta offered them up, her eyes nervously downcast like a terrified villager offering a sacrifice to an angry volcano god.
He looked at the unappetizing brown balls and declined. His insides were too knotted to consider eating.
Samuel perked up and sniffed the air, then climbed into Henrietta’s lap, swallowing a puff in a single loud gulp. Then he proceeded to curl up there as if he were a small fluffy dog and not a five-stone hound.
Chapter Five
“We’re here!” Henrietta cried.
Well, almost.
After a long day’s journey and a crowded inn with a room beside the privy door, she could see London waiting just beyond the tollbooth—a horizon of slanting slate roofs holding thousands of chimney pots, each streaming little black ribbons of coal into the heavy gray sky. Yet they were stuck with a dozen other carriages, unmoving, as a flock of sheep passed the road. Kesseley stepped out of the carriage, and for a one horrified minute, she thought he was going to inspect the sheep, but he shooed them along and spoke to the groomsmen. He returned to his seat, a mischievous smile on his lips.
“Care for a small tour of London?” he asked.
“Oh yes!” Henrietta slid to the edge of her seat and squeezed his hands. “Please.”
The carriage lurched forward into the mass of other vehicles bearing down upon one another, jostling for position in the dark, narrow streets. Buildings towered on either side, thin stately things, no more than the width of their carriage and painted in soot.
The inhabitants of London concealed themselves in dark coats and capes. Their hard, pale faces seemed closed, like boarded-up windows, and their eyes distant. They moved in great waves through streets, stepping in front of carriages and horses, unconcerned for their own welfare. Henrietta’s nose stung with the sour scent of their perspiration mixed with the stench of animal dung.
She looked at Kesseley questioningly. This wasn’t the
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