Henrietta by M.C. Beaton

Author:M.C. Beaton [Beaton, M. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4721-0128-0
Publisher: Constable & Robinson
Published: 1979-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“I SHALL NEVER SURVIVE THIS SEASON.”

Henrietta looked mournfully down at her swollen ankles, the result of dancing all night and then accepting an engagement to ride in the Row first thing in the morning.

Her return to Town from the Abbey had been marked with outstanding social success. That arbiter of fashion, Mr. George Brummell, had been warned by Lady Belding to avoid Henrietta. “The girl is quite mad, you know,” she had informed him. “And no person of the ton should be seen in her company.” Mr. Brummell cordially despised Lady Belding and had made a great effort to be seen constantly in Henrietta’s company. He even went so far as to label Miss Scattersworth as “a truly charming English eccentric.” Poor Miss Mattie found that all her most ordinary remarks were treated as brilliant witticisms and all the attention went immediately to the spinster’s head. Henrietta rarely saw her and often had to rely on Lord Reckford’s sister, Lady Ann Courtney, to act as chaperone. Most of her social engagements were blessed with the presence of Lord Reckford but there never seemed a moment to talk to him alone.

There had been no more attempts on her sanity and all the past episodes leading up to the murder of the magician took on a vague dreamlike sense of unreality.

Still wearing her ridingdress of pale blue gaberdine, its severe lines flattering to her new slim figure, Henrietta crossed to the looking glass to adjust her curls.

Lord Reckford was announced and she swung round in surprise, a tell-tale blush creeping up her cheek.

He bent punctilliously over her hand and then straightened up and looked at her with unwonted severity. “You look tired,” he remarked dryly.

“Of course I’m tired,” retorted Henrietta. “These past weeks have been exhausting. I have been dancing and partying almost every night. I declare I am worn to a frazzle.”

“Is that all you have been doing?”

Henrietta stared at him in surprise. “Is that not enough?”

He sat down and stretched out his long legs and tapped his boot with his quizzing glass. At last he said very slowly, “You have not… by any chance… been gambling?”

“Gambling! Well, I suppose… a little faro and silver loo and things like that. Everyone does it.”

“Everyone does not however frequent the gambling hells of the demi-monde and behave in a raucous, drunken manner.”

Henrietta looked at him coldly. “Out with it, my lord. Speak plain.”

“I shall try to put it as simply as possible. Various members of my acquaintance have seen fit to inform me that you have frequently been gambling heavily and drinking heavily. Now, it is all very well for young men to frequent these establishments but any woman who does so is facing social ruin.”

“I have not been to any of those places,” said Henrietta outraged.

“I had it on good authority that you were at a certain Mrs. Slattery’s last night.”

Henrietta’s eyes were like agate. “I take leave to inform you, my lord, that I attended the Beauchamp’s ball last night chaperoned by your sister.

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