A Prince for Aunt Hetty (19 page)

“All right, old man?” Sir Thomas Lawrence clapped him on the back. Rupert had brought his friend to the gallery today. They'd been busy of late and Thomas hadn't had a chance to see what Rupert had done with his paintings. So, thinking it would be a slow afternoon – it was the middle of the week, after all – Rupert had claimed his friend for a few hours and forced him away from the house. Thomas hadn't objected. They'd been working very hard and were anxious for any excuse for some time away.

But now he was rethinking coming here.
This was not the way or the place in which I wanted to do this.

“Rupert? Man, talk to me. What is the matter?” Thomas was growing quite concerned.

“Nothing, Tom, just... nothing.” Rupert tried to shrug it off. He hoped Thomas would get his meaning.

“Nonsense. We were having a conversation and as soon as we walked in here, you froze, as if you'd seen --” Thomas looked at him curiously. Then he looked toward the door through which Hetty had just fled. “Ah, I think I see. Was that...
her
?” He inclined his head toward the door and raised his eyebrows in question.

Rupert had regretted telling his friend anything at all about Harriet Masters as soon as it had come out of his mouth. It was shortly after he'd had all of his paintings shipped back to London. Thomas had spotted the half-finished portrait of Hetty and, of course, had teased him about it ever since. As a painter himself, Thomas knew when a man had found a muse. He'd wanted Rupert to finish the portrait and use it in the show. But Rupert had refused. He had made Hetty a promise not to display it and he hadn't.

Not that it made much difference, judging by her reaction to seeing him. Did a woman run away from a man she wanted to see?

When Rupert didn't say anything to him, Thomas made his own guesses. “It
is
her, isn't it? I was right.”

“Yes, gloat all you want,” Rupert bit out the words.

“Don't be upset with me.” Thomas wasn't truly offended. “But I say you need to move those legs of yours and go get her.”

“Go get her?”

“Yes! Follow her, go, move, take a trip, go on a journey... just go get her!” Thomas pushed him toward the door.

“But --” Rupert stalled.

Thomas shushed him. “No, no excuses. I have been in your place before and the best thing a man can do is go after the woman who has possessed his senses and his imagination. You must at least see what she has to say to you.” Thomas pushed his shoulders from behind and began marching with him toward the entrance to the gallery.

“Fine, fine,” Rupert said after a few steps. Having moved his feet a short way, he found they were eager to cover the distance. Now, if he could just find out where she'd gone...

Without thinking too much, he walked out the grand brick doorway and turned toward the gardens.

And there she was.

Standing under one of the newly-planted trees and facing away from him. He suddenly grew shy. What could he say? It had been months since he'd seen her and he did not even know if she'd thought of him at all.

And if she had, what had she been thinking? He assumed it was probably not about how much she loved him. Not after so long without any word from him.

He'd meant to write, he really had. But work had consumed his hours. Eventually he'd felt the window had closed and his opportunity had escaped him.

He approached her slowly, not wanting to scare her.

“Harriet... Miss Masters...” His voice came out in a husky whisper.

She didn't turn around. “Mr. Henderson.” It was simply an acknowledgment of his being there. He could not read anything from it.

There were other people strolling through the gardens on this warm spring afternoon. Somehow their noise and movement lent an urgency to his conversation. At any moment they might be interrupted, she might walk away, and then he would be lost. He must speak.

“I... I --” For all of the urgency he felt to speak with her, Rupert could think of nothing to say. So he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the letter that he hoped might speak for him. He knew its words backwards and forwards. It had been with him through every exhausting moment during these past months, pushing him toward his ultimate goal.

Rupert stepped to her side and held out the letter. “Please read this. I think it will explain.”

She hesitated, still not looking directly at him. But she took the letter.

He watched as she turned it over and felt the roughened paper. She ran her hands over the broken seal. A bit of the wax crumbled off in her hand. She let it drop to the grass. Slowly she unfolded the letter and read the words written in neat and flowing lines of perfect script. He closed his eyes and read along with her from his memory.

To Mr. Rupert Henderson, from His Majesty King George IV of England, etc.

Sir, we have been lost without you these past months, I don't mind admitting to that. Sir Thomas assures me that if I offer you enough, you will return for a very special project I have planned. So here are my terms: if you will return to London for the rest of this year and resume your post as Serjeant-Painter in my court, I will offer you the following

I will commission a portrait from you to hang in one of my chambers.

I will fund a showing of your artwork in one of our galleries and attach my name to it.

I will offer you a yearly pension once this year is over of 300 pounds, to be paid each year for the rest of your natural life.

In exchange for these terms, I ask that you return to court immediately and help me plan and prepare for my trip to Scotland. I need good men around me. This is an important step for the monarchy and I want you by my side.

Send your reply as soon as possible.

Rupert opened his eyes and watched as Hetty carefully folded up the note. She held it out to him and, as he took it, she met his gaze with hers. There were questions there, many of them, but she only uttered one.

“What is this?”

“It's the reason I left Armstrong house so abruptly. It's part of the reason I haven't written... I'm sorry. I --”

“Aunt Hetty?” a woman's voice from behind them made Hetty turn around. There was a beautiful young woman standing a few yards away from them looking concerned. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Fine. Thank you, Cat.”

“It's just that we must be going soon. To get ready for this evening.”

Rupert could tell that the young woman knew she was interrupting something and seemed sorry about it.

“Oh, yes, tonight.” She sighed and looked up at him. Rupert raised his eyebrows in question and she seemed to understand. “Tonight. Lady Fairfax's ball.”

And then she was gone, walking away arm in arm with the young woman. With every step she took, Rupert's heart sank more. He had envisioned this moment so differently, had pictured it in his mind as a scene of reconciliation. He would show her the letter and explain everything and she would understand. He would kiss her and all would be well.

But the reality had been nothing like that. She hadn't understood the letter. And he'd not had time to explain. She'd seen the painting and it had all gone wrong from there. Panic rose in his chest as she walked away. He didn't know where to find her or if this was the last time he would see her.

Just as he decided to run after her, and damn the propriety of it, she stepped into a carriage and rode away. Even his grand gesture failed before it began.

“How'd it go?” Thomas joined him on the lawn, looking out toward the street.

“Not well. And now she's gone and I never really explained.”

“Well, let's do something about it,” Thomas said matter-of-factly. He could be a practical man when he wanted to be.

“But I don't even know where to find her...” Rupert protested.

“Well, did she give you any clues? Anything she said that could tip us off?”

“She only said a few words to me, and... wait,” Rupert grew excited. “She said they were going to Lady Fairfax's ball tonight.”

Thomas laughed. “Then let's procure you an invitation and you can sweep Miss Masters right off her feet.”

“But we were going to work on the decorations for the carriage tonight.”

“Dear God, Rupert. Your heart and hers are so much more important than the King's baubles! You're going to that ball and you're going to win Miss Masters over. By God, you know George would approve of such a noble reason for neglecting work on this one evening.”

“I suppose you're right.” Rupert's spirits were beginning to lift.

“Of course, I am. Now let's see what we can accomplish.”

Chapter Sixteen

H
ETTY STILL FELT
disoriented. The events of the day spun around her like the dancers were doing now in Lady Fairfax's ballroom. She shut her eyes but the whirl of thoughts continued. The artist was Rupert... the painting... his letter... the apology. Why did he have a letter from the King? Who
was
Rupert Henderson?

But really. No matter who he was, he'd left her without a word and hadn't contacted her at all. Had he been in London the entire time? The contents of that letter seemed to indicate that he had been. And not only in London but working for the King!

So if he had been in London, what had stopped him from writing to her or visiting her? Surely he might have found her address had he really wanted to.

The upbeat music of a jig did nothing to improve her mood. The nearly frantic hopping and moving from the dance floor were already irritating her to the point of madness when Lola, who'd been sitting next to her and chattering about something or other the whole time Hetty was thinking, gripped her arm.

“Oh, look! Your man is here.” Lola, Cat, and Jack had teased her all afternoon about the mysterious man and her garden tryst. She could not endure it if she was being teased again.

She resisted a moment longer, telling herself she was only imagining the feel of eyes on her, that Lola was teasing. But when she finally looked, there he was. And the longer he looked, the more Hetty warmed under his eyes.

“Lola, will you please keep your eye on Cat.”

“Of course. But is everything all right?”

“It's fine.” Hetty flushed. She needed air. She rose, excused herself to her concerned friend, and headed toward the garden. She would sit for awhile in the cool night air and gather her thoughts together. She could not continue to be so disoriented, especially if she was to see him in society. No one yet knew of their past connection and no one had to know, as long as she could compose herself and learn to deal with her feelings.

But for now she would sit in the garden and let them all out.

The apology this afternoon had only made her blood boil once she thought about it long enough. At first it had seemed kind and she had a thought about forgiving him. He did seem to have a good excuse, if that letter from the King was real, and she had no reason to doubt that it was. But then anger had bubbled up inside of her. No matter who he served, he could have at least written. It had been three months and no word at all!

Her footsteps turned into stomps as she continued into the garden. Her fists were balled as if she would hit something... or someone. How dare he? She seethed in impotent anger. Anger at him and anger at herself for being so stupid. No matter how she'd reasoned with her own mind, her desire for him hadn't gone away. That had been abundantly clear from the way her whole body had flushed under his gaze across that ballroom. She stopped abruptly and uttered a noise of frustration.

“Harriet.”

It was him. His voice. She did not turn toward him, she was so mad she thought she might punch him in the face if she turned around now.

“Harriet,” he repeated. What had been in his look across the ballroom was now in his voice. Softness, longing, something that got right down into her heart and refused to leave whether she wanted it there or not.

She spun on her heels, ready to confront him, ready to yell at him or do something with this anger. He stood close. Only one good stride away. In a fraction of a second, Hetty stepped forward, grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, and pulled his mouth down to hers. It was brazen and she did not quite know why she had done it instead of hitting him, as he deserved.