A Prince for Aunt Hetty (5 page)

Not for the first time, Hetty wondered about the man. First, he had gallantly saved her from a long and muddy walk. Then he had had no qualms about playing with the children. And now here he was comfortably wearing clothing that Hetty suspected cost more than all of the other men's attire combined. And he was acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He would not look out of place in the fanciest ball in London.

When she felt Mrs. Howett gently elbow her in the ribs, Hetty realized she'd been staring. She quickly averted her eyes as the men approached.

Jonathan introduced his guest. “Mrs. Howett, may I present Mr. Rupert Henderson? He is our new neighbor and I don't believe that you have met as of yet.” Their host smiled back and forth between them.

“Delighted, Mrs. Howett. I have heard that you are the queen of the neighborhood and I look forward to paying my respects in whatever way that I can.” He kissed her hand and smiled.

“What a fancy notion! I shall have to inform Mr. Howett of the regime change.”

Mr. Howett had apparently heard his name from the other side of the room, as he called out, “Mrs. Howett, are you taking my name in vain over there?”

“No, my dear!” She called, drawing the attention of everyone else. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just our newest neighbor Mr. Henderson winning his way into my heart.”

Mrs. Howett turned to Jonathan and asked him about the estate. Left together, Mr. Henderson spoke. “Miss Masters, it is a pleasure to see you again.” He smiled as he took her hand.

“I am glad to see you, as well, Mr. Henderson.” Warmth flowed up her arm and settled in her cheeks.

“Have you been well?” he asked.

“I have. Thank you.” They fell silent. Why did she feel tongue-tied?

“And... and the children?” He gazed at her in an odd way that made her feel shy.

“Oh yes, they are well, too”

“Good... That is good.”

Silence again. They both looked away.

Mr. Henderson, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, surveyed the group in front of them. Hetty stood unseeing, lost in thinking of what she should say. After thirty years in London, she should be able to come up with something that would fill in the silence. But as hard as she considered it, the right words – or any words – escaped her.

“Mrs. Howett seems nice.”

“Yes,” Hetty agreed.

“Have you known her long?”

“I see her when I come to visit my sister.”

“Oh yes... of course.” There was an awkward pause. Why did they seem to trip so much over their conversation?

“Will you stay long? At Hayes house?” He shifted from one foot to the other in a gesture of discomfort.

Hetty threaded her fingers together to keep from fidgeting. “I generally stay for a few weeks.”

“And then you return to London?”

“Yes, I do.” Hetty thought about offering more information, but didn't know what exactly to say. So she asked him a question. “I have heard that
you
have lived in London too?”

His whole aspect changed. He stiffened and stood even taller beside her. He kept his eyes on the other guests as he answered in a gruff voice. “Yes. That is correct.” His manner of answering shut down any further inquiries Hetty might have made.

“Shall we join the rest of the party?” Mr. Henderson unclasped his hands and gestured toward the group in front of them.

“Yes,” Hetty agreed. She was confused and a little worried. What was it about London that made him change so swiftly? Who was he that even talking about his past made him so apparently uncomfortable?

It was easy to converse with the other guests, to talk of the weather and the crops they were going to plant and the children they were ushering through the world. From his easy way of playing with the children the other day, she had assumed that she and Mr. Henderson would get along well. He struck her as a relaxed and easygoing kind of man, just the kind she most enjoyed. The kind of man who might strike up an conversation in the middle of the ballroom. Hetty did not think she had changed that much in the ensuing days. So why did she now find it so difficult to converse with him?

All of these thoughts were spinning in the back of her mind as she was drawn into a conversation with Mrs. Brindley and Mrs. Wythe. They talked of London and their mutual acquaintances.

But Hetty was restless. No matter how she tried to concentrate on the conversation in front of her, she found her attention straying to a particular gentleman on the other side of the room. He looked at ease as he spoke with Mr. and Mrs. Howett. Each time they laughed, Hetty's brow creased more.

“Miss Masters?” Mrs. Brindley caught her attention. “Are you all right?”

Hetty blinked at her companions. “Oh, yes. I'm fine. Thank you.”

“You just looked terribly concerned about something for a moment...”

Hetty laughed it off. “Thank you. I am fine. But I think I shall excuse myself for a moment, if you do not mind.”

The women waved her off with grace.

No one else noticed her exit. And that was just as she would have it. Let them think she was attending to personal business. Just so long as they did not think she was being rude. She would hate for her behavior to put a damper on Agatha's party.

Once out of the drawing room, Hetty took a deep breath. She heard the buzz of the guests behind her. She also heard a muffled screech from the direction of the kitchen. Hetty smiled and headed down the hall toward the back of the house. That must be the children having their dinner. She would just take a moment to check on them and make sure they weren't overwhelming Mrs. Lowell, the cook and the current stand-in for the absent governess.

Hetty found the children sitting – using the very loosest definition of the word – around the large wooden table near the door of the kitchen. Further into the room, Mrs. Lowell and a young woman from the village who had been brought in to help for the night were trying very hard to mind them and keep an eye on all the pots and pans they were shuffling on and off of tables. Hetty could tell that the younger children were about ready to start running around the kitchen, no matter what their oldest sister was trying to tell them. She had clearly appeared at just the right moment.

“Children!” She spoke the word as a command and clapped her hands loudly to gain their attention. It was comical the way everyone in the kitchen seemed to freeze in their places, a frenzied tableau to rival a painting by Hieronymus Bosch. The children looked guilty and Mrs. Lowell looked intensely relieved.

“Everyone sit back down at the table, please,” again Hetty spoke in a tone that allowed for no negotiation.

“Thank the Lord, Miss Masters,” Mrs. Lowell drawled in her Irish accent. “I was about to let the wee heathens run wild in the hall just to keep me and young Maria here from spilling something hot and burning us all. Not to mention ruining dinner for the guests. Then I might have had to serve roast child!”

The younger children gasped in wonderful fright. Mrs. Lowell gave Hetty a surreptitious wink. Hetty knew she loved the children like her own. But that didn't mean she had to like them all the time, especially when they were, indeed, acting like “wee heathens”. Mrs. Lowell had been cook for the family before any of the children had even been born. But Hetty also understood that she was under pressure to make a good showing of her skills for all the neighbors. Never mind that their guests had all supped here before. Mrs. Lowell considered that she had a reputation to uphold on behalf of Hayes house.

Hetty gave a conspiratorial wink back. She would keep the children occupied for a little while until it was time for them to go upstairs to bed. That wouldn't be long now. She looked over her charges, who were all sitting at the table as she had asked them to do. They were fidgeting, though, so Hetty didn't count on them remaining still for long.

“Squish over, Agnes.” Hetty comically bumped her niece over on the seat, pretending that she needed a lot of room. The girl giggled and made way for her aunt to sit down.

“What have you had for dinner tonight?” Hetty looked at the discarded plates and spoons strewn across the table. She felt a pang of guilt for leaving Mrs. Lowell to deal with all six of the children on her own. It seemed that even the oldest children, usually put in charge of caring for their younger siblings, were in a rambunctious mood. They knew visitors were in the house and mama and papa weren't watching as closely as usual. That, combined with the fact that they'd been in the house all day because of the cold weather, meant that they had a lot of excess energy.

“Mrs. Lowell made us a stew,” young Harriet announced in answer to Hetty's question. Hetty had a soft spot for her namesake. Fittingly, the girl was currently sitting with her elbows propped on the table and her chin cupped between her small hands.

“And was it yummy?” Hetty asked.

“Yes!” They all chorused. Hetty saw the cook smile as she heard them. Hetty was very much looking forward to whatever delicious meal Mrs. Lowell had prepared. It certainly smelled good. The guests in the other room could probably hear her stomach rumble from here.

“Of course it was,” Hetty spoke slowly for the younger children. “Mrs. Lowell always makes us yummy things to eat, which is why we must stay out of her way now. She is making yummy things for mama and papa and their guests.”

“Aren't you supposed to be out there with them, auntie?” Vanessa, the eldest, asked.

“Yes. I should be, smart girl,” she winked at her niece. “But I couldn't resist checking on my favorite nieces and nephews before they went to bed.”

“Oh no,” groaned the children.

“Do we have to go to bed?” whined Margaret. At eleven years old, she had started to think she should be treated as an adult, including the privilege of staying up late. She was very jealous that Vanessa, only one year older than she was, was allowed to stay up an entire half an hour later.

“Yes, you have to,” Hetty lovingly mimicked her whine. “But we still have some time before that happens. What should we do?”

“Play!” Stephen yelled and ran over to her. He used his messy hands to grab onto her dress near her hip.

“Play? I believe we could manage that,” Hetty said and hoisted the young boy onto her lap. “What would you like to play?”

“The apple game!” Margaret yelled before her brothers or sisters could say anything.

“The apple game, huh?” Hetty asked. “Is that fine with everyone else?”

Hetty counted it as a small miracle that they all agreed.

“We must ask Mrs. Lowell for some apples,” Hetty prompted. They'd been working this week on manners and using polite words to ask for what they wanted. Here was a prime opportunity to see if any of those lessons had stuck.

They all looked around, trying to spot the apples, but no one spoke up to ask the busy cook. Suddenly, Agnes jumped up and ran to the opposite side of the kitchen. Hetty braced herself to call out to the girl, but Mrs. Lowell had stepped out to get something from the larder and was not currently bustling around the kitchen. Hetty held her breath, but Agnes made it back to the table without incident. This was even more surprising considering that the small girl was gingerly carrying a heaping bowl of apples. She tipped it up onto the table, nearly spilling them out. She beamed at her brothers and sisters.

They each started to climb over the table to reach the fruit. “Ahem,” Hetty cleared her throat and they froze in place. “Have we asked Mrs. Lowell if we can have these?”

“But they were on the other table,” Agnes said and pointed to where she had gotten them.

“Yes, they were. But did you
ask
?” Hetty responded.

“No, she didn't!” Vincent delighted in accusing his sister.

“No, she didn't,” Hetty repeated slowly. “And do we need to
ask
in order to use things that are not ours?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Agnes looked like she was about to cry.

“Do not worry, my love,” she consoled the girl. “Before we use these, let's ask. Agnes, since you kindly found the bowl of apples for us, will you please ask Mrs. Lowell if we can have them for our game?”

The girl nodded, but looked reluctant to approach her task. “Mrs. L?” she said shyly. The cook had returned and was again bustling back and forth across the kitchen. She hadn't heard the girl. Agnes looked at her aunt, hoping to get out of her task. Hetty gave her a private smile which seemed to boost the girl's confidence.

She spoke up. “Mrs. L?”

The cook stopped and smiled at her. “Yes, love?”

Agnes grew even more confident, seeing that the older woman was not going to grind her bones for bread. “We want to play the apple game and I found these apples on the table over there,” she pointed. “So we wanted to know if you needed the apples for anything or if we would be able to have them for our game. Please.” The speech had come out nearly all in one breath with the 'please' added as an afterthought. Hetty bit her lip to keep from laughing. At least the girl had remembered to be polite. Agnes looked expectantly at Mrs. Lowell.

Hetty watched the scene play out. Mrs. Lowell, as busy as she was, paused for a moment to carefully consider this request.