A Prince for Aunt Hetty (16 page)

Chapter Twelve

I
T HAD ONLY
been a few days since Stephen's illness and subsequent recovery – thank goodness for the resilience of youth – but for Hetty it felt like a lifetime. They still didn't know what had caused it, but none of the other children had fallen ill. Buoyed by their high spirits and their attention, Stephen had now recovered enough to romp around the drawing room, though the doctor had cautioned that he was not to go outside for a least another couple of days.

Normally Hetty enjoyed their games, but today the noise was making her cross.
Maybe I should just go back to bed.
It would be easier than admitting to herself that she was upset about a silly kiss. Well, upset not about the kiss but about the kisser's subsequent and conspicuous absence. Every day that passed without word from him made her feel more and more ridiculous. Her fears, all of those thoughts that had told her not to be silly because Mr. Henderson could never like her, would never want her, were confirmed.

Hetty sighed heavily, the mending on her lap long ago abandoned in annoyance. She of all women should know the dangers of close proximity for sparking affections where there should be none. Without distractions, without other interests and other people around, a little spark could grow into an imagined flame. What would be a mild attraction in another situation might grow into a dangerous infatuation. Sympathies could be imagined where there were none and the smoke of those fires would blind you to the truth.

Hadn't that been what had happened to her all those years ago? A house party, a handsome man in close proximity, and an overactive imagination. Was Rupert Henderson going to be Barry Dungworth all over again?

Hetty tortured herself with the remembrance of all those years ago. She spent a long and hot summer with her friend Marion. For weeks they had lounged around, dreaming of marriages to handsome men and estates and babies of their own. The girls, and they had been girls though they thought themselves terribly adult, had built castles in the air for themselves. And then Marion's brother had come, bringing a troop of young men with him. Hetty had been doomed from the start. She'd spent the summer dreaming up romance and then it had fallen in her lap. Or what she had thought was romance.

Barry Dungworth was the handsomest of all the young men who came to stay that summer. Of average height, but with broad shoulders and long, blond hair. To Hetty he looked like a god. And she'd treated him like it. That was probably why he'd looked her way in the first place. It was hard for a man to resist a woman, no matter how he'd ignored her before, that treated him like a king.

For two weeks they'd flirted and danced and walked the estate together, stealing kisses when they could. He'd declared her to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and she had believed him. And then he had gone.

Hetty laughed at her younger self.
How naive I was to think that that was love, that a man I barely knew could be the true romance of my life.
And yet the very nature of being twenty years old meant that everything was of great significance and her heartbreak was to be interpreted by what she had done wrong. Marion had nursed her through the worst of it, but the shame of those freely-bestowed kisses and words of love had haunted her for years. Now she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of and that Mr. Dungworth had taken full advantage of her merely to amuse himself. But at the time it had not hurt any less.

At fifty years of age, she thought she'd left that all behind. Grand passions did not become ladies of a certain age. Not that she harbored a grand passion for Rupert. They'd had even fewer conversations than she'd had with Barry Dungworth all those years ago. And their only kiss had probably been brought on merely by proximity and circumstances and not by any real affection.

And of course he did not owe her anything. It was not as if they had declared their love for each other. But, her mind added, he might have written to the family at least to say he would be away. Was he in London? Was he somewhere else? Hetty realized how very little she actually knew about the man.

But though she might spend all day and all night telling herself over and over that she should not be upset at his leaving without a word, Hetty could not tell her heart that. It insisted on hurting. And it kept telling her that Rupert Henderson had done wrong. And, even worse, that she had done wrong by thinking that there was anything between them.

Jonathan's voice cut through her reverie. “Come to me, Stephen.”

Hetty watched as the boy ran to his father. Jonathan hoisted his youngest on his shoulders and marched the delighted child out the room. The others followed him, like ducks following their mother. Hetty couldn't help but smile at the scene. Jonathan really was an excellent father. Hetty wondered if Agatha had seen that in him when they'd first met each other.

And speaking of her sister... Agatha moved toward Hetty and sat down in the nearest chair. “Talk to me.” Agatha said without preamble.

“About what?” Hetty asked.

“Don't be shy with me, Hetty,” Agatha said. “Your mood has been changing ever since Stephen fell ill. And not in a positive direction. As much as I would like to think it is because you were worried for my son, that crisis has passed. But your mood has not improved. So what is going on?”

“Nothing, really,” Hetty shook her head.

“It doesn't take much to notice that you're out of sorts. Even the children have noticed!”

“They have?” Hetty was horrified.

“Calm down, calm down. They only noticed that you were less playful than you usually are. You've been nearly silent all day today. So I'll command you again: talk to me.” Agatha was speaking kindly, but she knew her sister wouldn't give up until she'd found out what was troubling Hetty. “Does it have something to do with the conspicuous absence of our handsome neighbor Mr. Henderson?”

“Must you push me, Agatha? It's embarrassing.” Hetty looked down at her lap. She hadn't accomplished any sewing at all this afternoon.

“It does have to do with him then?” She asked. Hetty nodded. “What on earth has happened? I don't think I can ever recall you being like this.”

“I know. It's so silly. That's why it's embarrassing.”

“Hetty,” Agatha took her sister's hands in her own. “Tell me.”

“He kissed me.”

“What?” Agatha nearly yelled it. The exuberance of her children was clearly something they'd inherited from their mother. “He kissed you?”

“Not so loud, please.” Hetty shushed her.

“Tell me everything right now. Is this why you've been in such a mood these past few days?”

“It was on the night after Stephen fell ill. I needed a moment to myself, so I stepped outside --”

“That was when I saw you, wasn't it? Oh no! Did I interrupt something? I'm so sorry.” Agatha was nearly bouncing up and down in her excitement.

“You are overly enthusiastic about this, my dear.” Hetty finally had to laugh.

“And so... continue!”

“There's not much to say. He said some things and I said some things and when I turned to come back into the house, he stepped toward me and kissed me.” Recounting it in the starkest terms helped her rationalize it.

“He just kissed you? Just like that? And how was it?” Agatha's eyes sparkled in delight.

“It was chaste and more like a simple peck on the lips is all. Nearly nothing. Then he was gone.”

“Fine. I grant that you don't want to tell me much about the kiss itself --”

“There
really
isn't much to tell,” Hetty interrupted.

“But why would he think he could kiss you in the first place? I mean, I have met the man and I suspect he isn't one to go around kissing women willy-nilly. So you must tell me everything that's happened. Are you in love with him?” Agatha gasped in delight. She acted like they had in their youth.

“No!” Hetty protested. “How could I be in love with a man I don't know?”

“Harriet Masters, what is going on? What has happened these past weeks?” Agatha demanded.

Hetty signed heavily. Her sister wouldn't let it go, she knew. And it might be good to speak all of it out loud. Then she could hear how silly it all sounded and be confirmed in her own thoughts. “Fine. When the children and I were at his home the other day, I accidentally stumbled into his painting studio.”

“Yes, I know that. It was how you all discovered that he was a painter.”

“But that wasn't all... I didn't tell you that in his studio was a half-finished painting of me.”

“You?” Agatha's eyes widened.

“Yes. It shocked me.”

“Did you know about the painting?”

“I didn't until I saw it.”

“That's very unusual. Did he explain why he had done that without your knowledge?”

“I'm getting to that part. I wasn't sure how to feel about being painted. He saw that I was upset by it and offered to destroy it.”

“Destroy it?” Agatha was aghast.

“Yes,” Hetty confirmed. “I, of course, couldn't let him do that. So I asked him not to do anything with it. Not to paint it
or
destroy it until I could think about it.”

“And did he?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

“So how did he come to be at the house the other night?”

“He heard that Stephen was ill and came by to offer his help if we needed it.”

“That was it?” Agatha seemed disappointed.

“Yes, that was it. We said goodbye and as I walked into the house, he called out. I turned around and there he was. He kissed me and the next second he had disappeared like a ghost into the woods.”

“How peculiar.”

“It was,” Hetty admitted. “And exciting...”

Agatha smiled at her sister. “I hope it was. So why are you so out of sorts now?”

“He left, didn't he?”

“Oh,” Agatha's brow creased in thought.

“So there it is.”

“But why does that make you upset?”

“Because I am feeling silly. He does not owe me anything and yet I cannot help feeling somewhat abandoned. He has not sent word of where he's gone or when he will be back.”

“So you wonder if he ran off because of you?” Agatha realized. “Oh, Hetty! Surely you must know that's not true.”

“I don't know anything,” Hetty was almost angry. “I fancied I knew something of him. I let my vanity be flattered. It is not often that men look at me anymore. And now he's gone. I had built such a romance in my head and I find that none of it is true. That's why I'm out of sorts. I've tried not to be, but I cannot help berating myself over my absolute silliness in this whole matter. Honestly, it's like I'm eighteen again.”

“Nonsense. You had every right to imagine a romance. In my time, I have imagined romances based on nothing more than sideways looks across a ballroom. So don't you berate yourself for this. He kissed you! That is something!”

“But his absence now makes me realize that I don't know the first thing about him.”

Her sister laughed. “What do any of us know of each other?”

“What?”

“Well,” Agatha explained. “I have known you all of my life. And I don't know
everything
about you. I have shared some of life's most intimate moments with Jonathan and yet still there are times he is a complete stranger to me, as if I've never met him before in my life, much less shared his home and his bed. We have been married for how many years? And he still surprises me, not always in the best of ways.”

“I guess you're right,” Hetty grudgingly agreed.

“Even my children, Hetty. They came from me. They
are
me. But every moment they are growing and changing into people I don't know. It's scary and wonderful. And some days I don't like them very much. But others I feel my heart will burst out of my chest with love.”

“But those are your children...”

“I'm not saying you should rush into anything with Mr. Henderson. But I'm making the point that even those people we spend the most amount of time and love on are always going to be strangers to us in some ways. So if your heart reaches out toward him, why not take a chance?”

Hetty looked worried. “I don't know.”

“At this time in your life, Hetty, you have told me that you don't need marriage or children. You don't even need money! So what happens if you put yourself forward? What happens if you spend time seeing what he wants? If you're lucky, even for a short time you'll suit each other. And if it doesn't last, what will you have? You'll still have the same life you have now. You'll just be a little richer in experience.”

“But I am not beautiful or young...” Hetty said.

“And when has he ever indicated that those are things he wants? He
painted
you, for goodness' sake! What more do you need to convince you that he thinks you're worth looking at?”

“I guess you are right,” Hetty conceded. Agatha's talk was making her feel a little bit better. It at least convinced her that she had not imagined everything.