rode along the edge of the park, the boughs of oak trees arching over them. On their left she saw grand white houses that resembled decorated Queen cakes with curving bay windows and terraces.
Oh Lud, was one of these Kesseley’s?
But the carriage took a swift turn away from the park and into a grid of row houses, coming to a stop before a plain brown brick dwelling with a wrought-iron gate.
Henrietta sat still as Kesseley and his mother gathered their persons. Surely this couldn’t be their London home?
“We’re here,” he said.
Think of something nice! “It looks so—comfortable.”
“A sensible house,” he said after they had exited the carriage and stood on the pavement, gazing up at the drab building.
“Those were your father’s words the day he bought it,” Lady Kesseley said quietly. “Of course, he had to fleece a man at some gaming hell in Soho to get the funds.”
The door opened and out stepped a robust man in neat gray livery and a powdered wig curled in tidy tight rows. He had a fleshy sagging face, serious eyes and tight lips.
“Boxly, thank heavens you were free. The agency said you might not be available this year,” Lady Kesseley said.
He bowed. “When the master comes to town, I am never busy.”
Master. Henrietta never thought of Kesseley that way. Of course she heard him called it numerous times by the servants at Wrenthorpe, but that was in the country. The way the word resounded from this man’s deep, respectful voice sounded so reverent as if Kesseley were, well, an earl. Yet in her mind’s eye he remained the straggly boy always running about the village, his shirts stained with whatever berries he had picked along the roads, various bugs trapped in his pockets.
She followed Kesseley, his mother and Samuel inside. Beyond the entrance, the house dramatically improved. The interior exemplified that clean elegance she could never achieve at Rose House. Cool French blue walls trimmed with a white frieze of delicate plastered vines. A staircase striped with slim white balusters curved down from a stack of small balconies.
“I have a wretched headache,” Lady Kesseley said, pressing her fingers into her temples. “Please take care of everything, Tommie.” She lifted her skirt and hastened up the stairs to the next floor and then disappeared down the corridor.
Henrietta released a deep, mind-clearing sigh. Lady Kesseley’s presence made her so anxious. She felt as if she had been holding her breath since she left the village.
“Boxly, have the carriage taken around and the trunks removed,” Kesseley said. “Make sure Miss Watson’s belongings are brought to the lavender chamber.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Several footmen now swarmed the carriage and the butler hurried down the steps to direct them. Kesseley reached over and pushed the door shut, then turned and gazed at Henrietta.
“Do you approve?” he whispered.
“Oh yes.” She smiled, taking his hands into hers. Then, without thinking, she rose onto her tiptoes and kissed the edge of his jaw. The rasp of male skin tingled her lips.
She quickly stepped back, careful to keep her eyes from his face. “Thank you,” she said, the words almost lost in her breath. She thought perhaps he hadn’t heard, until he brushed her cheek with his fingers, then ran his thumb under her chin and lifted her face.
“My pleasure,” he replied. “Shall I show you to your chamber?” Something hot and deep pulsed in her most private place, as if he had suggested not only showing her the room, but her bed—and what was that bulge in his pantaloons?
Oh heavens. This was temporary, she told herself, just excitement from the trip. She loved Edward. She wasn’t supposed to have these feelings for other gentlemen, especially Kesseley. He was like her brother. It was all wrong and quite disturbing.
He studied her face, that twinkle in his eyes now burning as bright as Sirius. Nor could she allow him to have feelings for her,
Oh Lud, was one of these Kesseley’s?
But the carriage took a swift turn away from the park and into a grid of row houses, coming to a stop before a plain brown brick dwelling with a wrought-iron gate.
Henrietta sat still as Kesseley and his mother gathered their persons. Surely this couldn’t be their London home?
“We’re here,” he said.
Think of something nice! “It looks so—comfortable.”
“A sensible house,” he said after they had exited the carriage and stood on the pavement, gazing up at the drab building.
“Those were your father’s words the day he bought it,” Lady Kesseley said quietly. “Of course, he had to fleece a man at some gaming hell in Soho to get the funds.”
The door opened and out stepped a robust man in neat gray livery and a powdered wig curled in tidy tight rows. He had a fleshy sagging face, serious eyes and tight lips.
“Boxly, thank heavens you were free. The agency said you might not be available this year,” Lady Kesseley said.
He bowed. “When the master comes to town, I am never busy.”
Master. Henrietta never thought of Kesseley that way. Of course she heard him called it numerous times by the servants at Wrenthorpe, but that was in the country. The way the word resounded from this man’s deep, respectful voice sounded so reverent as if Kesseley were, well, an earl. Yet in her mind’s eye he remained the straggly boy always running about the village, his shirts stained with whatever berries he had picked along the roads, various bugs trapped in his pockets.
She followed Kesseley, his mother and Samuel inside. Beyond the entrance, the house dramatically improved. The interior exemplified that clean elegance she could never achieve at Rose House. Cool French blue walls trimmed with a white frieze of delicate plastered vines. A staircase striped with slim white balusters curved down from a stack of small balconies.
“I have a wretched headache,” Lady Kesseley said, pressing her fingers into her temples. “Please take care of everything, Tommie.” She lifted her skirt and hastened up the stairs to the next floor and then disappeared down the corridor.
Henrietta released a deep, mind-clearing sigh. Lady Kesseley’s presence made her so anxious. She felt as if she had been holding her breath since she left the village.
“Boxly, have the carriage taken around and the trunks removed,” Kesseley said. “Make sure Miss Watson’s belongings are brought to the lavender chamber.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Several footmen now swarmed the carriage and the butler hurried down the steps to direct them. Kesseley reached over and pushed the door shut, then turned and gazed at Henrietta.
“Do you approve?” he whispered.
“Oh yes.” She smiled, taking his hands into hers. Then, without thinking, she rose onto her tiptoes and kissed the edge of his jaw. The rasp of male skin tingled her lips.
She quickly stepped back, careful to keep her eyes from his face. “Thank you,” she said, the words almost lost in her breath. She thought perhaps he hadn’t heard, until he brushed her cheek with his fingers, then ran his thumb under her chin and lifted her face.
“My pleasure,” he replied. “Shall I show you to your chamber?” Something hot and deep pulsed in her most private place, as if he had suggested not only showing her the room, but her bed—and what was that bulge in his pantaloons?
Oh heavens. This was temporary, she told herself, just excitement from the trip. She loved Edward. She wasn’t supposed to have these feelings for other gentlemen, especially Kesseley. He was like her brother. It was all wrong and quite disturbing.
He studied her face, that twinkle in his eyes now burning as bright as Sirius. Nor could she allow him to have feelings for her,
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