Rakes and Radishes (10 page)

On her last night in London, Henrietta lay on the sofa in the parlor, her hand dangling down, scratching Samuel’s stomach. Quiet. Just the clomp and rattle of carriages passing on the street and the occasional strings of music drifting from a nearby party. She felt numb, as if her heart had closed up shop.

If only her mind would do the same. It churned and churned. Edward, Lady Sara, Mr. Van Heerlen, Kesseley. Finally, she picked a spiral in the cornice and mentally divided and counted the arcs with the Fibonacci number sequence, anything to occupy her mind.

1, 1…

She wished Kesseley wasn’t mad at her. That, for once, she could please him.

2, 3…

Edward must think she was chasing him about like some mad chit.

5, 8…

What would she say to Mr. Van Heerlen? She could hardly deny him now.

13, 21…

Maybe love could grow over time? Like a slow leaking spring, dripping little by little until the emptiness filled. So slow as to be imperceptible. Then one day she would look across the table as her husband was putting strawberry preserves on his toast and think, how could I have ever loved Edward?

21, 34…

She hated Lady Sara. And hated herself for hating her. How kind Lady Sara had been to her in the park. It would have been easier if Lady Sara had just one flaw, one thing Henrietta could hold against her.

55, 89…

She wished she could talk to Kesseley. He made everything right with his low, calming voice. But she had ruined their friendship.

144, 233…

Like she ruined everything.

377, 600, 977…

The door knocker banged. Both Henrietta and Samuel sat up, ears pricked, listening as Boxly opened the door.

“Boxly, darling,” a lady’s luxurious, breathless voice echoed from the hall. Curious, Henrietta and the hound followed the voice, finding Lady Winslow and the princess shucking off their pelisses and furs, tossing them into Boxly’s outstretched arms. Their sweet lily perfume filled the room.

The ladies were stunning in their evening attire. Lady Winslow wore a gold silk dress with red trimmings, very oriental and very revealing. Princess Wilhelmina’s blond hair fell in bouncy ringlets about a tiara. Her gown of soft pink tulle over satin accented her fair complexion.

The ladies looked about, as if they were expecting someone or something.

“Lord and Lady Kesseley are attending a ball this evening,” Boxly informed them.

Lady Winslow’s eyes shot up in alarm and then fell as some understanding crossed her features. “Wilhelmina, hand me the invitation!”

The princess dug around in her beaded reticule, producing a badly mangled invitation, smeared with black soot and pink beeswax. Lady Winslow swiped it from her fingers and read it. “This is an invitation to Lady Beasley’s! Willie, you’ve done it again! I told you Ellie would have said something.”

The princess took the invitation and held it to the tip of her nose, scrunching her eyes. “It looks like Kesseley.”

“Well it ain’t! How embarrassing.” Lady Winslow swept past Henrietta into the parlor and called over her shoulder, “Boxly, make that drink, the plum thing. I need to concentrate.”

As the princess sauntered after her friend, her hips swung in natural sensual circles. “
Nous allons a
Lady Beasley?”

Lady Winslow took Henrietta’s place on the sofa. “Good Lord, no! She has the worst art collection in London! It would be an assault to my delicate artistic sensibilities to suffer through an evening at her home.”

“Lady Bertram’s party, then?”

“At this early hour? No one goes there until at least midnight. We must content ourselves here.” Lady Winslow’s eyes scanned the room for something to while away the time. Finding nothing, she lit on Henrietta who sat on a rosewood chair with her hands clasped, feet touching, as if in church. Samuel curled under her feet.

“You are a quiet thing,” Lady Winslow said. “And not homely. Have you no husband? Why are you Ellie’s companion?”

Henrietta tilted her head, pausing to think of a gracious reply to an ungracious remark. “I live near Lady Kesseley in Norfolk. She thought I could be of some assistance here in London.”

A sly smile spread across Lady Winslow’s face. “Hoping to catch a London husband on her hem, eh? Well, I suggest the shops. You would make a nice mousy wife to a draper or such.”

Henrietta swallowed her anger before it rose out of her throat and formed regretful words. “Thank you,” she choked out.

What vile star or planet had drifted into her astrological chart, setting everything asunder?

Boxly returned with a tray holding a decanter of deep amber liquid, three glasses and an open tin of bonbons. He poured each lady a glass, then retreated to the hall. Waiting.

Henrietta took a tentative sip, then another and another. It flowed through her like the heated waters of a Roman bath, slowing those spinning gears in her head. Relief. She tilted the glass back and drained it. Lady Winslow looked at her disapprovingly from under her raised thin eyebrows. What did Henrietta care? Today couldn’t get any worse, and she was leaving tomorrow.

Princess Wilhelmina popped a bonbon in her mouth.

“I certainly hope the modiste’s measuring string is long enough to go around your waist,” Lady Winslow warned.

Princess Wilhelmina smiled, bonbon still pouched in her cheek. “It makes my bosom
grands.
My waist
petite.
” She cupped heavy breasts, then glanced at Lady Winslow’s smaller charms. “Perhaps
tu manges du bonbons.
”

Henrietta giggled. She couldn’t help it.

“Well, I certainly don’t think Ellie chose you for your enlightening conversation,” Lady Winslow said.

More giggles.

Lady Winslow blew out a sigh of disgust. “Let us play whist to warm up for Lady Bertram’s. Boxly! Bring cards. You will be this silly child’s partner.”

Boxly appeared instantly with cards, as if he had been anticipating the ladies. He removed the bust from the marble table, set it on the floor, then moved chairs about the table for Lady Winslow and the princess. Henrietta slid her own chair over, Samuel followed at her heels, head down, tentative, as if he were scared.

The princess removed her bracelets and gloves, stacking them beside her. She deftly dealt the cards, turning the last one. A heart.

Henrietta had a nice run of hearts with a jack and an ace, a three of spades, a king and ten of diamonds, and a single of clubs. She yawned, suddenly drowsy, seeing the game play out before it even began. She would lose some tricks to weed out the singles, then win strong in the end, riding on her trumps.

“Your lead, child,” Lady Winslow prompted. Henrietta laid down an eight of clubs that was quickly beaten by Lady Winslow’s jack. Then Lady Winslow made the mistake of leading clubs again, allowing Henrietta to take control of the game, systematically relieving everyone of their trumps. Lady Winslow and the princess were far easier to beat than her father’s mathematician friends, who calculated the statistical probability of every potential play.

When the outcome of the game was assured, Henrietta tossed her last four cards, bored with her card partners. “The rest are mine.”

“That’s not possible. You see, I have a ten of diamonds. It would have bested your six,” Lady Winslow cried.

“I would have played the six last, long after I had relieved you of your ten.”

“How do you know? You can’t guess my motives.”

Henrietta sighed and recounted the entire game, revealing their hands from the cards they played or didn’t play. As she listened to her words, she knew why her mother and father were astronomers. There was a comfort and dependability in numbers. Anything was explainable. It was all in finding the patterns. Nothing beyond all comprehension such as how to mend her heart or if she would ever learn to love another man.

Lady Winslow rose and went to the bureau desk, reached into a cubbyhole and pulled out a small, brown cheroot. She put the foul stick in her mouth and lit it on the wall sconce.

Henrietta’s jaw flapped open.

Lady Winslow blew out a haze of smoke, then ran her tongue under her teeth, as if she were contemplating a bargain at market. “Rubber is best of five.”

“I-I feel rather tired and—and I’ve had a horrid day and—and I’m going home tomorrow. So I need to sleep.”

“Boxly, it is your deal,” Lady Winslow said, unmoved.

The princess refilled Henrietta’s glass, while the butler dealt the cards in the quick motion of a seasoned player.

The combination of annoyance and the plum miracle drove her to play faster and flamboyantly, as if to prove her superiority. She quickly took the rubber in two more games.

As the last card fell, Henrietta looked pointedly at the mantel clock. “Well, I guess you can go to Lady Bertram’s now. It’s nearly midnight. Enjoy yourselves.”

“No, no. Let’s have some more to drink. Look, Boxly, we are out, and I haven’t felt it yet. You must have forgotten to add the brandy,” Lady Winslow said.

Boxly nodded, expressionless, and whisked away the empty decanter.

Lady Winslow and the princess looked at each other. Lady Winslow lifted a questioning brow. The princess slanted her eyes toward Henrietta and then twirled a curl around her finger.

What?

Princess Wilhelmina took Henrietta’s hand. “
Vous êtes ici
to find husband?
Non?
”

“I have a husband—I mean, I have received an offer of marriage back home and I’m, well, considering it,” she replied, extracting herself from the princess’s grasp.

Lady Winslow threw her head back, letting out an expansive, throaty laugh. “You mean you are leaving some poor fool to cool his heels in the wild jungles of Norfolk while you come to London looking for a better offer. I do say, I like you.” She leaned closer to Henrietta. “So now you must come to this little soiree. You can be our little companion. You know we share everything with Ellie.”

“I can’t. Lady Kesseley will be angry if I—”

“Don’t worry about Ellie,” Lady Winslow said, flicking her wrist. “She is far too sensitive. It’s a bore. The slightest thing upsets her.”

“
Oui, elle est très triste.
Her heart is broken.” The princess’s pillowy lips drooped with sympathy.

“Yes, of course, how sad about the late Lord Kesseley,” Henrietta said, adding another pin to her mental pincushion of guilt.

Lady Winslow frowned in confusion. “The late Lord Kesseley?”

“L’homme terrible!”
the princess added.

“Her heart was broken long before her husband,” Lady Winslow explained. “It’s some horrid family secret she can’t tell. Quite gothic. You know how she enjoys being tragic.” Lady Winslow waved her hand, dismissing the topic. “But you and the night are young, my darling. Do come out. You can’t sit here all night, alone and miserable, when there is music and dancing. Come. We will tell Ellie. She won’t be angry.”

Boxly reappeared with a full decanter, took Henrietta’s glass and filled it just shy of the rim. Lady Winslow and the princess waited as Henrietta took a sip. It roared through her body like fire, burning away her headache, as well as the remainder of her better sense.

Samuel began to whimper and rub his nose on her leg. She nudged him away.

Lady Winslow and the princess were right. She had nothing else to lose. She couldn’t make Edward love her again or keep Kesseley happy. Why not just give up? Fling everything to the wind. She was in London after all. London! She needed one night in this wild, loud heaven to remember all those years she would be married to Mr. Van Heerlen.

These emboldened thoughts swept her into Lady Winslow’s carriage and through the streets of Mayfair, then ran away like a frightened hound with its tail between its legs before the lines of fashionable people entering a white mansion towering over Green Park. Gazing upon the elegant ladies with bared shoulders in silk and lace, an anxious thought exploded in Henrietta’s head.

What if Edward were there?

She looked down at her plain gown covered with brown Samuel fur. What was she thinking leaving the house in this rag? This was not a gown of triumph, not the breezy
Oh-hello-I-didn’t-know-you-were-going-to-Lady-Bertram’s-party
kind of gown. This was the comforting gown you huddled in while sobbing into a handkerchief, your fingers leafing through fading letters and poems.

“I can’t go. I can’t. Please take me back,” she cried, digging in her heel at the entrance.

“Mais, nous sommes ici!”

“But my gown—”

“Your gown is perfect,” Lady Winslow assured her. “Country innocence is all the rage.”

The princess gripped her arm. “You are a sweet little German girl, like me.”

A grand staircase with a gilded scrolling balustrade rose like a big wave to the upper floors. Henrietta felt seasick gazing upon it. The princess and Lady Winslow held her tight and pulled her up the stairs. They passed two stationed footmen entering a garish turquoise drawing room. Henrietta’s heart fell. There was no orchestra, no dancing, no young people. Just seven or so round card tables spaced evenly through the room.

It wasn’t London at all! They had taken her to a dull old card party!

Lady Winslow scanned the crowd. “There’s Lady Bertram, that bold whore!”

Maybe not so dull after all.

Henrietta followed Lady Winslow’s gaze to the card table where the hostess smiled tightly to acknowledge their entrance. Henrietta was struck at how much Lady Bertram resembled Lady Kesseley, like a poor imitation of an original. Same hair and eyes, yet Lady Bertram was more pretty than beautiful.

“Look at her!” Lady Winslow said, her voice darkening. “Flaunting her diamonds, thinking she is better than everyone because Lord Damien gave them to her.”

Henrietta squinted to see the tiny necklace around Lady Bertram’s neck.

“
Oui,
they are her lucky diamonds, and Lady Bertram never loses at cards,” swore the princess. “Never.”