The Awakening Of Miss Henley

The three friends exchanged another look and a mutual nod. ‘We can certainly pledge to do that,’ Emma said. ‘Perhaps during our visits, we can find other ways to be useful.’

‘I would very much appreciate it,’ Ellie said. ‘But now, I must return to the school.’

‘I’m afraid I am due elsewhere soon as well,’ Lady Maggie said as the ladies all rose. ‘No time for letter writing today! But I will see you Tuesday morning, as usual?’

‘Of course,’ Olivia said. ‘We look forward to it.’

After bidding the others goodbye, the friends descended the front steps to await the hackney a footman had summoned.

‘What obstacles Ellie Lattimar has overcome,’ Olivia said.

‘Temperance told me her father virtually sold her to an older lord to pay off his debts,’ Emma confided.

‘Much as I sometimes feel…unappreciated, at least Mama cared enough to delegate my aunt to look after me,’ Sara said.

‘Imagine, being cast out at sixteen all alone, with nothing to protect you or secure your future but your own wits and determination,’ Olivia said, shaking her head in awe.

Emma seized both her friends’ hands and pressed them. ‘Thank heavens, whatever happens, we will always have each other, no matter how scandalously unconventional we become.’

The hackney arrived and they set off, planning where they would meet at the various upcoming social engagements as they dropped off first Sara in Upper Brook Street and then Olivia at Hanover Square.

After seeing her last friend to her door, Emma descended the stairs back to the street. No reason now to delay returning home—and facing the inevitable, and inevitably unpleasant, encounter with her mother.

Halting in mid-step, Emma surveyed the position of the sun. It was still mid-afternoon, she calculated. Her mother would only now be rising from her bed to drink her morning chocolate—and learn of her exasperating daughter’s latest folly. She probably had another hour or so before she would add tardiness to the tally of faults her mother would bring against her.

Deciding on the moment, she waved away the hackney and set off walking.

Chapter Four (#u88348b11-c34f-541c-afae-7eb9dfa42511)

A short distance away, having consumed a restorative beefsteak and ale at his club and won a few guineas at cards, Lord Theo descended the steps to St James’s Street in a contemplative mood. The afternoon being mild and sunny, he elected to walk while he thought about the best way to end the liaison with Lady Belinda without having to endure an explosion of tears, pleading, excuses and recriminations.

Dismissing the lady face-to-face might be kinder, but was almost guaranteed to set off the unpleasant encounter he wished to avoid. After his pointed escort of her, unwilling, back to her husband’s box, his coldly furious demeanour sufficient to convince even that volatile lady that he would not tolerate protest, she must know he was at least considering ending their association. Hopefully she wasn’t so confident of her beauty and allure that a bland note and a handsome parting gift would come as a shock.

Resolved to follow that course, he halted his perambulations around Mayfair and walked northwards up Bond Street, intending to get a hackney and go to Rundell and Bridges. He’d just turned on to Oxford Street when, to his surprise, he spotted a well-dressed female walking at a brisk pace in front of him. From her speed and determined gait, he was able even at a distance to identify the lady as Miss Emma Henley.

The happy chance of meeting her twice in one day set him smiling. But even as he picked up his pace to close the distance between them, caution warned that, despite his own and the lady’s disinclination towards marriage, it probably would not be prudent to be seen walking with her outside the park or shopping areas where he might reasonably have encountered her by chance.

He’d halted to heed the voice of self-preservation when he suddenly realised that, once again, Miss Henley appeared to be quite alone. She was on foot, so there couldn’t be a groom trotting somewhere behind her. Concerned, he surreptitiously began walking after her.

After a few more minutes spent trailing her, he had to conclude that there wasn’t a slower-paced maid or a dawdling footman following her, either.

For another few minutes, he debated the wisdom of approaching her. But concern for her safety soon outweighed the possible complication of having to come up with some glib excuse to explain away his presence to any member of society who might chance to spy him escorting her, unchaperoned, so far from her home.

The scene he observed as he drew closer justified that concern. A fat, red-faced fellow in a bulging waistcoat was loitering some distance ahead of Miss Henley, openly gawking as she approached. The man’s blatant scrutiny was definitely making her uneasy, for her pace had slowed and she was darting occasional, surreptitious glances at the man.

Indeed, so preoccupied was she with Greasy Waistcoat that Theo was able to draw quite near with her still unaware of his presence.

‘What, escaped your traces again, Miss Henley?’

Gasping, she whirled to face him. ‘Lord Theo!’ she cried, the alarm in her voice fading as she recognised him. ‘You gave me such a start!’

‘As you did me. I’ve followed for a few streets, enough to confirm, to my astonishment, that you are, in fact, walking without any escort at all. Outriding your groom in the park is one thing. Whatever are you doing in this part of town, bereft of footmen or even a maid to attend you?’

‘Shop girls and housemaids walk everywhere in London without anyone to attend them,’ she responded, aggravation and a touch of defiance in her tone.

‘Shop girls and housemaids are not dressed in a gown of fine silk topped by a fur-trimmed pelisse. In some streets in London, you could be robbed for the clothes you stand in—if not worse.’

Her eyes widening in alarm, she glanced towards still-loitering Greasy Waistcoat. Who, after Theo caught his gaze with a look of unmistakable warning, hastily turned and scurried off in the opposite direction. ‘Surely not here!’ she protested.

‘No, probably not here,’ Theo allowed. ‘But where are you going? Stray a few streets to the east and you could find yourself in trouble in short order.’

‘In my defence, I hadn’t intended to walk alone. After visiting Lady Lyndlington with some friends, I shared a hackney home with them. I’d just bade Miss Overton goodbye in Hanover Square when the idea struck me to make…one more visit before returning home. The day being fair, I decided to proceed on foot.’

‘Visiting Lady Lyndlington, were you? Attempting to avoid the confrontation with your mother a while longer?’ he guessed. ‘Or delaying your return home to put off having to deal with the consequences of that interview?’

She grimaced. ‘If you must know, I haven’t spoken with her yet. It’s a discussion I freely admit I’m not looking forward to. But it must take place, for I am determined to assert my independence, sooner rather than later. I suppose I could have returned to the Overtons and borrowed a maid from Olivia—but why should I? If I’m soon to be on my own, able to come and go freely as I please, why not begin now? It’s not as if Mrs Lattimar’s school on Dean Street is a dive in St Giles.’

‘Ah, so that’s where you are headed. Is supporting her endeavour to be part of the good works you mentioned?’

‘I certainly hope so. It’s a worthy cause.’

‘I applaud your intentions, but even an independent lady takes a care for her safety. Shop girls and maids often walk in pairs and few women wander about London entirely on their own.’

She sighed. ‘Much as it pains me to admit it, you may be right. This is the first time I’ve ever walked in the city entirely on my own. Perhaps I just never noticed before, while accompanied by a maid or footman, how men…stare at a woman. Which is so unfair! Men can walk unmolested wherever they please!’

‘Gentlemen walking alone are still cautious and generally carry a potentially lethal walking stick. A well-dressed female going about unattended is remarkable enough to invite scrutiny from a number of quarters, some of which are bound to be unsavoury.’

‘Perhaps it would be more prudent to take an escort,’ she conceded. ‘But admitting that doesn’t mean that I intend to waylay you! Surely I can get from here to Dean Street without incident. I promise I will send for a footman to accompany me home.’

‘I’m sure Mrs Lattimar would not allow you to leave the premises without an escort. But I can delay my task long enough to see you safely to her school.’

Somewhat to his surprise, she didn’t protest further. If the scrutiny of Greasy Waistcoat had shaken her enough to eliminate further argument, he could only be grateful.

But, being Emma Henley, the chastened mood didn’t last long. A moment later, she peeped back up at him, her unsettled look replaced by one of curious scrutiny. ‘A “task”, you said? The word implies a burden. I thought you adept at wriggling out of doing anything truly onerous.’

‘This task isn’t precisely “onerous”. Completing it does get me out of something that has become…annoying.’

The lingering anger beneath that innocuous word must have coloured his voice, for she raised her eyebrows and chuckled. ‘Headed to Rundell and Bridges to find just the right bijou to inform Lady Ballister of her congé?’

Both impressed and exasperated by her perspicacity, he said loftily, ‘A necessary task is best done as swiftly as possible.’

‘Putting you in quite a dilemma! What, exactly, to select? It must be something fine enough not to insult the lady, but not so opulent as to give her any hope that the gesture isn’t a final one.’

‘Does your lack of sensibility have no bounds?’ he shot back, surprised once again. ‘A gently bred virgin should know nothing about such matters!’

‘Oh, pish-tosh. Just because—alas—I am never likely to be in such a situation doesn’t mean I can’t imagine it.’

Meaning she never intended to take a lover—or would never behave badly enough to lose one? He found his gaze lingering on the full, sensual lips that so often uttered such unexpected comments…and heat built again within him. Would she make as unconventional and surprising a lover as she did a conversationalist?