Masquerade Page 6

  Peace and blessed quiet, Henrietta thought, a little guiltily. She adored her sisters but - sometimes - she liked nothing better than going to the forest where they couldn’t find her. Not that she would ever dream of saying so. Despite Prudence’s somewhat overbearing nature, Henrietta missed having her at home with them although - in reality - marriage had done little to keep her younger sibling out of their lives for too long which, to Henrietta’s mind at least, was mostly a blessing.

  Cecilia flounced over. Her blonde hair was beautifully neat beneath her bonnet; its ribbons perfectly framed her heart-shaped face. Henrietta tugged at a twig that had caught in one of her own brown curls and wondered how her sister managed it.

  “Henrietta, please inform Prudence that we are going to the ball tonight,” Cecilia complained, “whether you are there or not!”

  Before Henrietta could answer, Prudence turned on her younger sister. “Neither you nor Millicent should be going to any balls or country dances while Henrietta is still unattached.” She wagged a disapproving finger. “I don’t care what Henrietta - or even Father - has to say about it.”

  “That’s not fair!” Millicent stamped her foot. “If we have to wait for Henrietta to become attached, we’ll all die spinsters!”

  “Watch your tone, Milicent!” Prudence glared at her youngest sister. “And stop behaving like a child!’

  “You cannot blame us if Henrietta does nothing to encourage the attentions of any eligible men,” Cecilia cut in. “Look at her!” She waved a hand crossly in the general direction of her oldest sister and continued, “Walking around with soot on her face like a servant!”

  Henrietta quickly stepped in between them. “Thank you, Cecilia,” she said, rubbing ineffectually at her blackened cheek. “I was sketching and hadn’t realised I had charcoal on my face.” She gave her sister a pointed look. “Perhaps, next time, you could just say so?”

  Cecilia turned away, not looking at all humbled. Henrietta put her hand on Prudence’s sleeve. “Do let the girls go with you and Miles this evening,” she said appeasingly. Sometimes, it felt to Henrietta as if she spent half her life trying to pacify one sister or another.

  Ignoring the black smear that now decorated the sleeve of her dove-grey dress, Prudence narrowed her eyes. “And what about you, Hetty?”

  “Oh, you know I am not terribly fond of going to country balls,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “And - don’t forget - poor Father hates to be left alone.”

  “Poppycock!”

  Milicent snorted at her usually prim sister’s choice of word. Prudence gave her a quelling look, which did the job, and turned back to Henrietta. “Father will be perfectly fine on his own for one evening.”

  At just that moment, their father, dogs in tow, crossed the lawn towards them. “Ah, there you all are! Nothing I like more than the sight of my four lovely daughters having a nice chat together,” he called out optimistically.

  “Father! I need to speak with you,” Prudence replied sternly.

  “Papa, please tell Prue we are allowed to go to the ball,” Millicent whined.

  “Yes, Papa, why shouldn’t we go just because Henrietta doesn’t want to?” Cecilia complained.

  “My dears!” Lord Pemberly chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender, “give your poor old father a chance to catch his breath!”

  “Surely not that old,” Henrietta teased, taking his arm. In fact, their father was quite the dapper gentlemen and had been known to turn the head of many a widow in the local vicinity. Not that he seemed to notice.

  William Pemberly smiled affectionately at his eldest daughter. “My dear Hetty, will you please tell me what all the kerfuffle is about?”

  “Of course, Papa,” Henrietta said, her cheeks dimpling - though she dared not smile for fear of incurring her sisters’ wrath. Quickly, she filled her father in. “Prudence thinks I should be going to the ball this evening instead of festering away at Riverly with my ancient father.” She giggled at Lord Pemberly’s look of feigned outrage. “She also disagrees with you allowing Millicent and Cecilia to go to the ball without me.”

  Frowning in confusion, Lord Pemberly looked from one daughter to another. “Am I missing something?”

  Prudence heaved an irritated sigh. “For goodness’ sake, Father, you cannot allow the two younger girls to gad about when Henrietta remains unattached!”

  Lord Pemberly’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t?”

  “No! If the girls are going then so must Henrietta,” Prudence said, slamming her hands on her hips as though ready to do battle. If it weren’t aimed at her, Henrietta would have admired her sister’s fierce resolve.

  “You want me to force poor Hetty to go to the ball?” Her father sent her an apologetic look, as though already conceding defeat. “But you know she hates dressing up and parading around at these things. She’ll have a miserable time.”

  “She won’t be miserable - she’ll be too busy dancing!” Prudence exclaimed. She began to pace, mercilessly kicking the autumn leaves out of her path. Henrietta’s shoulders slumped in resignation. Once Prudence started pacing, they were doomed to give in.

  “Prue, you know there are never enough men to go round at these balls,” she said, giving it one last try. “And I inevitably end up stuck with the dowagers, drinking warm lemonade and taking their pooches outside to relieve themselves.”

  Milicent laughed. Prudence barely paused in her furious pacing to glare at the girl. When she was satisfied that her youngest sister was suitably chastened, she turned the full force of her irritation on Henrietta.

  “You do know you don’t actually have to walk their dogs?” she said. Then, continuing her tirade without waiting for a response, added, “Nor will you be standing around drinking that revolting lemonade.” She held up her hand, anticipating Henrietta’s objection, “And you will have Miles to dance with.”

  Cecilia gave a delicate shudder. “I cannot imagine anything worse than a pity dance.”

  “At this rate, you won’t be dancing at all,” Prudence snapped. Milicent gave Cecilia a nudge, worried her sister would ruin it for both of them.

  “Really, Prue,” Henrietta pleaded, “I would rather ….” But Prudence cut her off. She was having none of it.

  “Father!” she bellowed, turning the full force of her displeasure on Lord Pemberly, who had been quietly trying to escape, “Please remind your eldest daughter that husbands are not found wandering the forests and looking for maidens to rescue. They are found at balls and other civilised social functions.”

  Caught in the act, Lord Pemberly gave Henrietta an imploring look. “Hetty …?”

  Henrietta sighed, resigned now to going to the ball. “Prue, you worry far more about my unwed state than I do,” she said crossly, “and it’s not like I haven’t already met every available man in the vicinity. They are pretty thin on the ground after all. You know I take no pleasure in going to these functions and standing around in the vain hope of bagging a husband.”

  Prudence’s face softened. She reached out to tuck an unruly curl behind Henrietta’s ear. “I know that’s not how you imagine finding your great love … but, Hetty, you are twenty-two years old. You do not have much time left before - well - spinsterhood.”

  How was Henrietta supposed to explain to her practically-minded sister that, if she couldn’t have true love, she would rather be here, at Riverly, taking care of her father and sisters? Prudence would never understand that; all she had ever wanted was to marry Miles and have a family of her own.

  “I am in no hurry to marry, Prue,” she said quietly. “Especially if the only thing that interests my husband is my inheritance.”

  Prudence tutted in a motherly fashion. “Goodness, Henrietta: not every man is so Machiavellian as to court purely for money!” She nudged Henrietta playfully. “Who knows? If you made an effort, one or two might even find you attractive.”

  “And, who knows?” Henrietta said, wrinklin
g her nose, “If I look really hard, I might even find a compliment somewhere in that statement.” Prudence chuckled.

  “For heaven’s sake, Henrietta,” Millicent whined, “just say you’ll come to the ball!”

  Lord Pemberly whistled the dogs who had wandered off.

  “Girls, you are giving your poor Father a headache.” He patted Henrietta’s shoulder. “Sorry, little hen, but it looks like you’re going to the ball after all.”

  Now read on!