“He’s a true dandy.”
“Indeed?”
“You have made fun of my admittedly dashing cravats, but I can assure you that Mr. Hodges spent at least two hours on his toilette. And his clothing? Eight hundred pounds a year, at the minimum.”
It took all her willpower to keep her jaw from unhinging at that fact. “Are you sure you’re not spouting out unverified information? Otherwise known as gossip.”
“My dear Retta, I only repeat information from the verified source of Lady Hupperdink, a bastion of the beau monde and keeper of all our misdeeds. She is often found at Almack’s, gathering new information to share with worthy listeners.”
“You are quite ridiculous, my lord.” She fought her smile and her blush. He had called her “dear Retta.” It was deliciously inappropriate, but she had no desire to correct him. She scanned the room. “Is Lady Hupperdink the one with the hat?”
“Ah, yes, her hats. She makes a statement with them, don’t you think?”
Henrietta squinted. Was that a nest perched upon her brim?
“Real bird feathers, I’m told.” Dominic’s eyes crinkled in suppressed mirth, and a hot shudder rippled through her. How very handsome and elegant he looked tonight. Eyes like shining emeralds and his jaw a clean, firm line that suggested strength.
She must ignore this feeling moving through her, gathering momentum. She simply must.
There was nothing to be gained in having an attraction to this earl.
Nothing but heartbreak.
* * *
Henrietta spent the next day roaming London with Louise. Their maid lagged behind them, carrying their bags of trinkets. Or rather, Louise’s. Her aunt had given her pin money, which she was determined to spend.
The sheer waste of it bothered Henrietta, but she kept her mouth closed. After all, if Mr. Hodges spent eight hundred pounds a year on clothing...the very idea flabbergasted her. While traipsing down Piccadilly Street, Louise talking about Lady Winthrop’s upcoming ball and Henrietta partially listening, they passed a window where she saw books.
Books everywhere.
And people reading.
She jerked to a stop, surprising Louise into silence. “We are going in here.”
Before her young charge could protest, she marched into number 187 Piccadilly Street. Better known as Hatchards, a store she had often heard of in her uncle’s circles. A renowned place of learning and education.
The scents of leather, paper and ink welcomed her.
“What is this?” Louise spoke in a whisper, as aware as Henrietta of the sanctity of such a bookstore. Men lounged in the corners, their deep conversations hushed and sacred lullabies.
“A bookstore.” One that might carry information about epilepsy.
Though she wanted to spend hours within the confines of this happy and safe place, the hour was growing late and Dominic expected them home. She spoke with a man at the counter, who found her a dusty book of rare medical conditions. Without bothering to glance through it, she bought it.
“Why are you buying that?” asked Louise as they walked to their carriage.
“Research. Books are a veritable fount of information.”
“Is it because of Dom’s illness?”
Henrietta stuttered to a stop, causing a few glares from passing ladies in flouncy dresses and overwrought hats. The green of Louise’s eyes glittered up at her. Knowing. Challenging.
“What do you know of that?” She began walking again, aware of the maid behind them, and wondered if she could hear their conversation.
“I saw him once, when he did not know. I was quite terrified.”
“Why did you not say something?”
She shrugged. “He seemed fine afterward, just tired. I felt it better left unmentioned.”
“His illness is best kept private for now.” She clutched the book to her chest. “I hope to find a cure for him.”
Louise’s eyes narrowed. They reached the carriage, and the footman opened the door for them. The girl slid in first, shoulders sharp-edged squares against the velvet backdrop of an earl’s carriage. Henrietta followed, nerves twisting.
The maid did not join them, sitting up with the coachman instead. One more difference in stations, Henrietta noted. The carriage jostled to a start.
“Does it bother you that I want to help your uncle?” she asked Louise.
The girl shrugged, a mulish expression creeping upon her face. Was there to be a tense silence the entire ride? She hoped not. There’d been great strides made with Louise. She seemed happier and Henrietta did not want to see that end.
“I just don’t want him to die,” she blurted out.
Henrietta blinked. That had not been what she expected to hear. She set the book on the seat beside her and leaned forward, holding Louise’s worried eyes with a calm expression. “Your uncle has very little chance of dying from his illness so long as it does not strike him unawares.”
Louise blanched.
Perhaps that had not been quite the right thing to say. Taking the girl’s hand, small and tiny in hers, she gently squeezed. “We shall look out for him. If he looks pale or faint, we must make sure he lies down somewhere safe. The nature of his illness is a loss of bodily control. It can be very scary, but it will pass quickly and he will be fine again.” She forced a soft smile. “This must be kept secret because his illness is rare and misunderstood.”
“I understand.” Louise pulled her hand away, frowning. “Aunt Barbara is having a ball in two days’ time. She said I might watch from an upper room that is hidden from view. Will you join me?”
“Of course,” she said with more assertion than she felt.
“I want to keep an eye on Uncle Dominic. You know all the women want to marry him now.”
“Because he’s an earl?”
Louise nodded sagely. “I have come to a conclusion.”
Henrietta raised her eyebrows, even as Louise’s tone warned her that she might not like what was coming next.
“Uncle Dominic does not want to be married. It is up to us to protect him from fortune hunters.”
“And how do you suggest we do such a thing?” Especially when she did not plan to be here much longer.
“It is simple.” Louise grinned a puckish smile laden with intent. “We
