He turned to Lady Cheswick. “Is there nothing you would do to dissuade her?”
“No, my boy, I would not dissuade her. Although it was not done so in my day, Henrietta has every right to decide who she binds herself to for life.”
Harry flung himself into a chair with a groan. “You are making a mistake, Hen.” He shook his head. “A terrible mistake.”
Henrietta rose and crossed the room to her brother, teacup in hand. “While I truly appreciate your concern, what transpires between Julian and me is our business alone.”
“But I am the head of the family,” he protested. “It’s my responsibility to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection, Harry. I have reached my majority. Whatever you may think, I now have the legal right to decide what is best for me. My life is my own to live or to ruin however I wish. Why can’t you accept my decision and wish us happy?”
“You know I cannot,” Harry said grimly.
“But Julian is your friend too!”
“He was . . . until he did this dastardly thing,” Harry said. “Henceforth, he is dead to me. Pray think carefully before you do this, Henrietta. If you go through with the marriage, you may also consider yourself dead to the family.”
“Surely you don’t mean that!” she protested.
“I do,” he insisted. “I am only looking out for you. You have no idea the kind of life Julian leads.”
“I think I have a very good idea,” she said.
“Are you aware that he keeps a mistress?” Harry blurted.
“Does he?” she answered, outwardly impassive. Julian had already admitted that he kept a woman. He’d also told her that he didn’t love her, but did he still intend to keep her? She’d been afraid to ask but now she knew she could not live with competition for his affections.
“And what precisely would you know of such things as mistresses?” Henrietta asked.
“I’ve seen the woman myself,” he exclaimed.
“So you also consort with loose woman, Harry?” Henrietta asked, brows arched. “I can’t imagine what Penelope would think of that. Indeed, she might wonder what brought you to town so close to your wedding day.”
“You wouldn’t dare mention such a thing!”
“Wouldn’t I? Perhaps I shall write Penelope to tell her I have seen you here in town with Julian.”
Harry’s gaze narrowed with sudden understanding. “What do you want from me, Henrietta?”
“I want to know who she is,” Henrietta replied.
“Who?”
“Julian’s mistress. I wish to speak with her.”
“What!” He made a choking sound. “You can’t do such a thing!”
“Why not?” Henrietta asked. Julian had implied that she’s was a respectable woman, the widow of an army officer. “I wish to know her name and direction.”
“I will not give it to you.”
“No? Then I shall spend my afternoon penning a letter to Penelope.”
“Curse all womankind!” Harry exclaimed. “Her name is Muriel Mathieson. She lives on Bedford Street, Covent Garden. No good can come out of any of this, I tell you. You have thrown all good sense out the window.”
“Please don’t be this way, Harry,” she pleaded. “I have no desire to alienate my family, but Julian and I will be wed whether you give your blessing or not.”
“Very well.” Harry rose stiffly. “I have spoken my piece. If that is the way of it, I shall take my leave.” Harry turned to his great-aunt with a curt bow. “I bid you both good day.”
Henrietta looked after her brother with burning eyes. How could her twin be so compassionless? And why did no one besides her see any good in Julian? Was Harry right? Logic made her question her actions. Was she doing the best thing for both of them, or was she about to make the biggest mistake of her life?
“Do you think I am making a mistake?” Henrietta asked her aunt.
“It is never a mistake to follow your heart’s leading, Henrietta,” Lady Cheswick said. “Regrets over a love lost will never keep you warm at night.”
Her heart had led her to Julian, but now doubts cast a dismal shadow over her. Would he ever grow to love her? Would he ever be a husband to her in truth? Why, oh why, had she told him she didn’t wish to consummate? Was it only fear that she wouldn’t measure up to his mistress? She wondered again which would be worse? To have sexual relations and be found wanting, or never to experience it at all?
“But what am I to do if Julian intends to keep his mistress? I have no desire to share my husband.”
“Do you think Julian loves her?”
“He says he does not,” Henrietta replied. “But how can I know? It would be a foolish thing indeed to tie myself to a man who loves another.”
She trusted the old Julian, but many years had passed, and the episode in the tavern told her there was much she didn’t know about him. One way or another, she had to know Julian’s true feelings for the woman. There was only one way to find the answers she sought—and those answers lived in Covent Garden Square.