Page 65 of Henrietta

Arthur stared. ‘How on earth could you – I told you I know him to be a rogue!’

For a moment, Hetty considered the effort that would be required to relay all that had occurred since they had last spoken – which had been enough to thrust any conversation, however heated, from a person’s mind – but found herself incapable. ‘Since you could offer no reason behind the suspicion, I can hardly cast him out,’ was all she said.

‘I should have thought my word reason enough,’ Arthur said stiffly.

Hetty’s headache was becoming more difficult to ignore, and this went – though Arthur could not know it – some way to answering for the irritable cast to her voice as she reasoned: ‘You cannot tell me whom to be friends with or not without some evidence, Arthur. Might you not just speak frankly? Do recollect that I cut my eye teeth years ago.’

Arthur did not immediately respond to this. Instead, accepting two glasses of barley water from the attendant, he drew her a little way off to a sofa, where they sat down.

‘Very well,’ he said, in a very low voice. ‘I did not wish to speak of such unsavoury matters with you – and certainly not here – but as my word is plainly not enough for you, you have forced my hand. The Marquis has a mistress in keeping.’

Hetty’s brows rose. ‘In London?’

Arthur pressed the barley water into her hands. ‘I know this must be a shock.’

It was, rather – for this was quick work – and she spared a thought to wish that Nicolet had informed her of this fact rather than leave her open to such a surprising attack.

Arthur continued, ‘In public, he is behaving as if he is in love with you, but his private conduct proved this cannot be the case. It is not difficult to work out the reason why.’

Hetty felt her palms begin to moisten. ‘It isn’t?’

Surely Arthur had not worked out the truth? It was too outlandish.

‘He is a fortune hunter,’ Arthur pronounced simply, easing her nerves for a moment – their deception had not, in fact, been uncovered – before he continued: ‘I have been suspicious from the beginning, of course. Something about the whole thing never made sense to me.’

Hetty’s relief faded. ‘How – how do you mean?’

‘The way he began so suddenly, so assiduously, to court you,’ Arthur said. ‘Even in my brief experience of the man, it seemed so out of character. An ulterior motive is the only explanation.’

Hetty took a sip of her drink, hoping to find it refreshing. It did not: barley water, with all the best will in the world, tasted only of brown.

‘Perhaps,’ she said, gazing down into the glass, ‘perhaps he enjoys my company, or thinks me interesting – or perhaps he even likes the way I look. Do you think those might also be explanations for such interest?’

Arthur’s apologetic grimace served as her answer. Hetty felt it as a physical blow. Was the thought of someone such as the Marquis finding her attractive truly so far-fetched to Arthur?

‘Do you truly think so little of me?’ she asked, except this time, out loud.

Finally heeding the strain in her voice, Arthur ducked his head to properly look at her. ‘Of course you have many qualities, Hetty! I know that better than anyone.’

Such bland and pat reassurance did nothing to appease Hetty’s hurt, and her voice, as she responded, was bitter: ‘Do you? Your behaviour these past days gives me reason to doubt it.’

And yet she had continued to hope, had she not? Had continued on her merry, silly way, crossing her fingers and saying her prayers, waiting and watching for him to consider her worthy – when all along it had been entirely pointless. Mortification rose in her throat like bile.

Arthur knitted his brows together, for he did not understand her meaning, but when pressed Hetty could only shook her head.

‘Are you referring to our disagreement over Belcourt?’ he guessed after a pause. ‘Hetty, I do not wish to speak of that. My decision is entirely final.’

‘It is a foolish decision,’ Hetty muttered petulantly – the temptation to cause him to feel some of the hurt currently paining her was overwhelming. ‘I cannot believe you would so easily cast aside such an important piece of—’

Arthur’s own temper began to rise. ‘You overstep,’ he warned her.

‘As do you,’ she fired back. ‘I did not ask you to conduct such an investigation into Nicolet, you know!’

‘It is my duty to do so.’

‘It is your duty to inform me with whom I may or may not associate?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur asserted, glaring now. ‘Your father entrusted you to our care, and so it is my duty to ensure you do not make a terrible mistake.’