Lady Brandewyne gasped. “Conniving? Those are strong words.”
“You’re out of line, Henrietta,” her uncle boomed in the deep voice he used when confronted with something he felt bound to fix, such as “hand me the saw” or “needle and thread.”
In this case, “you’re out of line.”
Oh, the irony that she’d used the very same words on Dominic. In the broad light of day, she could almost believe she’d misjudged him. That she’d reacted hastily. She could almost forget what it felt like to be kissed by him.
But what she couldn’t forget was the bone-deep dread of imagining a life in which he died.
Squaring her shoulders, she looked her uncle in the eyes. “You are quite wrong on that count. I am perfectly in line. What you two have done has not only made my life miserable, but you ballooned the hopes of a young lady who is now sobbing in anguish. How could you?”
Lady Brandewyne was sputtering, at a loss as to how to answer. Perhaps no one had spoken to her this way in years.
Uncle pushed to his feet, shoving his spectacles up the bridge of his nose in an impatient movement. “It is time for you to marry, to take on the role of a woman.”
“The role of a woman?” Her temper rose, sending hot prickles across her skin.
“You know what I mean. Manage a household. Bear children. Don’t you want that?”
“It is obvious to me that you have not listened to a word I’ve uttered or written. I do not want that.” As she spoke, though, a nausea took hold of her. “At least not right now,” she amended.
“The battlefield is no place for you.” He turned to Lady Brandewyne. “She almost died. A week she doesn’t remember because she was delirious, and now she pretends everything is fine. She does not see the danger for herself.”
“Do not enlist her support in this.” Henrietta put her hands on the hips. Perhaps she had lost a few days while ill. That had nothing to do with practicing medicine. “People catch sickness in England, too. I am no safer here than I was there.”
“How can you not want a family?” Lady Brandewyne stood, a ridiculous gesture but nevertheless effective.
Henrietta rued her small stature. People always thought that standing over her would make their responses more believable. She lifted her chin. “I had a family.”
“But my dear, I am your family,” said Uncle William.
“Exactly. Which is why I don’t need anyone else. Don’t you see that you are controlling my life because of an unfounded fear of the unknown. You are making insensible decisions based on emotion. There is no way to control my safety. Surely you see that?”
Uncle removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes as though unbearably tired. A part of her regretted her outburst. She had no desire to hurt him, but this had to stop.
“Your machinations made Louise think that I would really marry Hodges. I will admit to a fondness for his eclectic style, but he is truly nothing but an acquaintance.”
“Hodges?” Lady Brandewyne quickly covered her mouth, as though stopping the outflow of more information. “He is not the one we think is suited to you.”
Uncle grunted.
More of her world crashed down, bits and pieces fluttering to the floor, as everything became clear to Henrietta. She sank onto her chair, her legs suddenly wobbly as she realized that it had not been Hodges after all.
“Who?” she asked.
“St. Raven.”
“But why? When?”
“Because he needs a family as much as you do. I realized it when he came to London for the first time after the accident. I saw him at his sister’s ball, and Louise and I have been planning ever since.” The dowager countess dabbed at her eyes, a deliberate movement that did little to soften Henrietta’s ire.
“I am speechless,” said Henrietta.
Uncle William and Lady Brandewyne exchanged a glance, one fraught with meaning and guilt and possibly a bit of gloating.
“Perhaps we should sit,” Lady Brandewyne suggested to her uncle.
They did, Uncle replacing his spectacles as though taking charge once again. A horrible emptiness opened in the pit of Henrietta’s stomach.
“When you went to live with your uncle at the age of fifteen, it was determined that your nature was, how shall I put this...delicate.”
Henrietta made a sound in her throat, a gurgle of frustration that she was desperately trying to tamp down.
“He came to me and asked for advice. As a successful mother of five rowdy boys who turned into responsible, good men, I felt both obliged and qualified to help your uncle.” She paused for a moment, perhaps to admire her skills. “When you turned eighteen, he wrote that you had become besotted with someone in the Americas. At which point I suggested he send you home.”
“That was during the war. He couldn’t bring me home.”
“Eighteen-twelve. Yes, I remember. A terrible time.”
“So my illness was the excuse you needed to pressure me into marriage. And I would not say I was besotted with Daniel.”
“You followed him everywhere,” Uncle said pointedly.
“He was a good surgeon. He believed using boiling water on his blades would lower the mortality rates of wounded soldiers, and he was right.”
“That has not been confirmed,” Uncle insisted.
“Oh, pshaw,” said Henrietta, feeling as though her world had turned upside down. “Every good midwife knows to use clean cloths and hot water. Surgeons should, too. That is not the point. Apparently you’ve been arranging to rip me from the life you gave me for years! How could you not say anything?”
“We are doing what is best for you.” A rather weak rebuttal from Lady Brandewyne.
Exasperated, Henrietta pressed her palms against her forehead. “What you think is best. I find it hard to fathom that you’ve been planning such a life for me for years and never said a word. This is...” A betrayal. That was what it was. An ignominious travesty of everything he’d taught her to respect and value.
She covered her eyes. “You dragged Louise
