“To London?” The maid’s eyes became as wide as saucers.
“Yes. Mama is far too busy planning the wedding even to think about leaving, and I simply cannot wait another month until it’s over.”
Henrietta was thankful that Harry’s was the last family bridal she’d have to endure after five consecutive years of spring wedding celebrations. Now they were rapidly moving on to christenings. The thought of all the yet-to-be-conceived nieces and nephews always made her a bit heartsick, especially since her own marital prospects were dim at best.
The maid worried her lip. “But I’ve never been any farther away than Shrewsbury, Miss.”
“Think what an adventure it will be, Millie! The shops, the museums, the playhouses. Surely you wish to see it. Please, Millie,” Henrietta cajoled. “I cannot go completely alone.”
The young maid remained uncertain. “How long would we be gone?”
“No longer than a fortnight. By the Shrewsbury mail, the journey shouldn’t take us more than two days.”
“Ye don’t think the missus will mind if I go?”
“Surely Mother can spare you for such a short time,” Henrietta insisted.
“All right, Miss,” Milled conceded at last. “I’ll have Higgins bring up the traveling trunks. How many will ye be needing?”
“One should suffice.”
“Only one trunk, Miss?” Millie eyed her skeptically. “When yer sisters went off to London, they needed a second coach for all they took.”
“Yes, Millie. I only need one. I only intend to bring a few day dresses and one evening gown, should I need something appropriate for a play or a party. I can take some extra lace and a second shawl in case I have need to wear it twice. At three-and-eighty, my aunt doesn’t get about very much. It’s not as if I’m going to make my debut. I’m finished with all of that stuff and nonsense.”
One London season had been more than enough for Henrietta. She’d passed the longest evening of her life at Almack’s, sipping tepid lemonade and conversing with dim-witted debutantes with whom she had nothing in common. She’d received a single offer to dance and had demonstrated as much grace as her favorite cow. No other invitations had ensued.
Henrietta accepted that she was no great beauty, but merely a nondescript placeholder in a line of beautiful and accomplished women—all of whom were now blissfully wed. She was the anomaly of the family, destined to become the sole spinster of three generations. But none of that mattered anymore. From this day forward, Henrietta Margaret Houghton would command her own destiny—at least to the extent her family would permit.
***
Dressed in her habit, Henrietta went in search of Julian. Failing to find either he or Harry at breakfast, she then sought them out in the library, fearing the worst. Last night, Julian had taken Harry out to the Powis Arms. She’d heard them stumbling back into the house close to dawn. To no surprise, she found them both slumped unconscious in the pair of wingback chairs in front of the hearth. Their cravats and waistcoats were discarded, and the floor was littered with a deck of playing cards and several empty bottles of port.
Her gaze lit with tenderness on Julian’s beard-shadowed face. His dark hair was too long, and he was in want of a shave. Coupled with the dark rings under his eyes, he looked far more highwayman or gaming hall habitué than war hero. How careless he’d become of both his appearance and his reputation since selling his commission. She’d hoped to ride with him, but by the look of things, it was doubtful he’d even be able to sit a horse. The fact that he drank overmuch and slept too late filled her with grave concern.
If possible, Harry looked even worse for wear. She approached her brother, nudging his shoulder with two fingers. “Harry, you must wake up!”
Other than an unintelligible oath, he remained dead to the world. Henrietta murmured an oath of her own, drew back her foot, and landed a sold kick to her brother’s shin.
“Beelzebub!” Harry started awake. He blinked twice before finding focus on her face. “Henrietta? Why the devil are you assaulting me?”
“I’m saving your skin,” she said. “Have you forgotten that you were to take Mama to Lady Brightmore’s this morning?”
“Damnation!” Harry groaned. “Why can’t they do all this bridal nonsense without me? Jules and I were to go and look at a new hunter today.”
“Come now, Harry,” she chided. “How will it look to Penelope if she finds out you placed the acquisition of a new horse above her? I daresay you would then have no wedding to grumble about.”
“Problem solved,” Julian chimed in with a shameless grin. “And a new hunter to boot.”
“Julian!” Henrietta admonished her brother’s cohort with a warning look.