Page 50 of Henrietta

‘I know how to drive!’

From the way the curricle swept out of sight, however, it was clear the Marquis was no mere whipster, which should have afforded Arthur some relief. It did not. No, Arthur was not quite sure what he did feel, watching the curricle disappear from sight, but it was certainly not relief.

As they disembarked from their carriages at the botanical gardens, the business-like fashion in which Mademoiselle de Nicolet extracted a list of plants from her reticule gave Hetty and Timothy their first inkling that this was going to be no mere meander. It was a suspicion that was confirmed by the prompt appearance of the head gardener – a Mr John Fairbairn – upon their admittance through the doors of the establishment, who assured Mademoiselle de Nicolet of his readiness to deliver a comprehensive tour of the premises and explain the intricacies of whichever specimens most attracted Mademoiselle Isabelle’s curiosity. It was at this point, Timothy realised, with no small amount of foreboding, that they were there by appointment. He hid the disquiet admirably, however, bowing in greeting to Mr Fairbairn, as Mademoiselle de Nicolet made introductions.

‘Miss Clithero is my childhood friend,’ the Marquis told the perplexed Mr Fairbairn when Mademoiselle de Nicolet reached Hetty. ‘Though, after our recent reunion, I am beginning to see her in a wholly new light.’

Hetty turned pink so quickly it hurt. ‘Shall we begin?’

Then, at last, winding their way through the paths of this four-acre parcel of land, with Timothy borne off by Mademoiselle de Nicolet and Mr Fairbairn, she could speak freely, turning to regard the Marquis with a severity much in contrast with the jaunty satin-straw bonnet tied with an apple-green ribbon under her ear. ‘However amusing you might find my predicament, I do hope you are not trying to cause me a mischief.’

‘I am not,’ he assured her. ‘I am quite serious! Perhaps a little over-enthusiastic, I can see that. You see, in another life, I would have belonged on the stage.’

‘This is not a stage,’ she reminded him. ‘This is my life.’

He begged her pardon. ‘I quite see that we ought to discuss our plot, in full, before acting any further.’

‘I do not know that it is a plot, per se.’ For did that not make it sound deplorably villainous?

‘You need not be ashamed, Miss Clithero; indeed, I am all in support of the project! Thus far, as I understand it, your focus has been upon conversation, dresses and haberdashery. It is admirable, indeed, but I believe now you ought to give jealousy a try. I predict Allerton will more speedily recognise the gem under his nose if you embark upon a rampant flirtation.’

Hetty felt vaguely alarmed. ‘Rampant?’

‘Rampant,’ he confirmed gravely.

Hetty found herself wishing she had thought to bring her parasol. The high brick walls of the garden were designed to trap a great deal of heat, mimicking the foreign climes whence came so many of the rare specimens housed here, and she was beginning to feel rather warm.

‘With whom?’

Nicolet gave a flourishing bow. ‘Enter Marquis, pursued by Grandduchess. Isabelle and I have both been sent by our family to London to make brilliant matches: ideally, she will ensnare one of your fine Prince’s ducal brothers, while I have been sent to make myself pleasant with the Tsar’s fine sister.’

‘You, however, do not wish to do so?’

‘I wish always to be pleasant,’ he disagreed. ‘But’, he continued, ‘I am far too young and handsome for marriage. It is almost unethical.’

Hetty chose to ignore this last utterance, lest her sympathy vanish entirely. ‘Have you said this to your family?’

‘Oh, I cannot do that,’ Nicolet said with a playful shudder. ‘It would be far too uncomfortable. No, I have a better scheme. If I fall unexpectedly in love with a well-connected English lady of (if you will forgive me) considerable fortune, they would not begrudge me. You have not a title, which is unfortunate. I do not blame you, of course!’ he hastened to assure her. ‘Naturally, had you had some forewarning, you would have sought one.’

‘You wish to court me,’ she surmised, ‘so as to avoid courting anyone else? Do you not worry such a grand deception could be thought rather …’

‘Ingenious?’

‘Wicked,’ Hetty finished.

Nicolet looked at her askance. ‘But, Miss Clithero, consider the conclusion: once this Allerton declares his love for you – in, perhaps, several weeks only? – you shall have your happy ending, I shall be considered heartbroken but blameless and the Grandduchess is free to choose whomever else she likes. All, in short, are content: pray, is that not worth a little deception?’

‘The outcome justifies the deeds,’ Hetty quoted, more to herself than to Nicolet.

‘Just so! You have it exactly!’ he declared. ‘I must say, it is rather refreshing being able to speak to a young lady while knowing there is not the slightest chance she will fall in love with one.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘A rare thing, indeed, for one such as I.’

‘You’ll have to forgive my lack of sympathy.’ Her tart response surprised her, and she would have apologised for her ill manners had Nicolet not laughed.

‘Why aren’t you all the rage?’ he said. ‘I do not understand it – I shall change that, you know. It shouldn’t take me above a week.’

‘It is very kind of you to have such faith in me, but—’

‘I shall introduce you to everyone I know!’