s that all, Lady Wolcott?” Henry said frigidly.

Sarah-Jane did not have to feign surprise. “Then you already knew. You must be an exceptional young woman to dote on him so when there is another woman in his life.”

“I do not believe you, Lady Wolcott. I think you are malicious in the extreme. Now, if you will excuse me—”

Sarah-Jane caught hold of Henry’s sleeve before she could make her escape. “I can understand your reluctance to accept that what I say is true. You probably fancy yourself in love with him.”

Henry almost blurted out that she didn’t “fancy” anything—she was in love with Dunford—but not wanting to give Lady Wolcott the satisfaction of seeing that her emotions had been roused, she simply clamped her mouth shut. Sarah-Jane cocked her head in an extremely condescending manner, and Henry, unable to take any more, tugged at her sleeve and said coldly, “Please let go of me.”

“Her name is Christine Fowler. He is going to see her on Friday. At midnight.”

“I said, ‘Let go of me,’ Lady Wolcott.”

“Have it your own way, then, Miss Barrett. But think about this: if I am lying, how could I possibly give you the specific time of his next assignation? You could simply go to her house at midnight, see I am wrong, and declare me a liar.” Abruptly, she let go of Henry’s sleeve. “But I am not a liar.”

Henry, who had been poised for flight just moments earlier, found herself rooted to the spot. Lady Wolcott’s words held more than a grain of sense.

“Here.” Sarah-Jane held out a piece of paper. “This is her address. Miss Fowler is rather well-known. Even I know where she lives.”

Henry stared at the slip of paper as if it were a monster.

“Take it, Miss Barrett. What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

Henry still stared, unable to identify the awful emotions coursing through her. Lady Wolcott finally picked up her hand, uncurled her fingers, and tucked the paper into her palm. “In case you don’t read it, Miss Barrett, I will tell you the address. She lives at number fourteen, Russell Square, in Bloomsbury. It is quite a nice little house. I believe your husband-to-be acquired it for her.”

“Please go away,” Henry said, her voice flat.

“As you wish.”

“Now.”

Lady Wolcott inclined her head gracefully and disappeared into the crowd.

“Oh, there you are, Henry!”

Henry looked up and saw Belle approaching.

“What are you doing off in the corner?”

Henry swallowed. “Just trying to escape the crowds for a moment.”

“I certainly cannot blame you. It can be rather wearisome being the latest rage, can it not? But have no fear, Dunford surely will be along shortly to save you.”

“No!” Henry said wildly. “That is, I don’t feel well. Would I be terribly rude if I went home now?”

Belle looked at her with concern in her eyes. “Of course not. You do look a trifle flushed. I hope you do not have the fever.”

“No, I just... I just want to lie down.”

“Of course. Why don’t you make your way to the door? I’ll find Dunford and have him escort you home.”

“No.” The word came out quickly and with more force than Henry intended. “That’s not necessary. He’s probably with his friends, and I don’t want to interrupt him.”

“I’m certain he won’t mind. In fact he would be most upset with me for not informing him you are ill. He’ll be very concerned.”

“But I really want to go now.” Henry could hear a note of hysteria creeping into her voice. “I really would like to lie down, and it may take you ages to locate him.”

“All right,” Belle said slowly. “Come with me. I’ll have my carriage bring you home. No, I’ll escort you. You don’t look very steady on your feet.”

Henry wasn’t surprised. She certainly didn’t feel very steady, either on her feet or otherwise. “That’s not necessary, Belle. I’ll be all right once I lie down.”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Belle replied firmly. “And it is no trouble at all. I’ll see you to bed and then return to the party.”

Henry nodded, not even noticing when the hated piece of paper slipped from her fingers.

They made their way outside, stopping to ask a friend to inform John and Dunford that they had left. When they reached the carriage, Henry realized she was trembling; the shaking stayed with her the entire way home.

Belle’s eyes grew more and more worried, and she reached to touch Henry’s forehead. “Are you certain you do not have the fever? I had one once. It was dreadful, but we can treat you more effectively if we detect it early.”

“No,” Henry said, clutching her arms to her chest. “It’s just fatigue. I’m sure of it.”

Belle did not look convinced, and when they arrived at the Blydon mansion, she prodded Henry quickly up the stairs and into bed. “I don’t think I should leave,” she said, sitting down in the chair next to Henry’s bed. “You don’t look at all well, and I shouldn’t like you to be alone if you take a turn for the worse.”

“Please don’t stay,” Henry begged, thinking that somehow she needed to be alone in her misery and confusion. “I shan’t be alone. Your parents employ an army of servants. And I don’t intend to do anything other than lie down and go to sleep. Besides, John will be expecting you back at the ball. You did leave word that you planned to return.”

“You’re certain you’ll go right to sleep?”

“I’m certain I’ll try.” With all the thoughts swimming in her head, Henry wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to sleep peacefully again.

“All right, then. But don’t think I’m going to enjoy myself.” Belle smiled as she tried to tease some good humor into her friend.

Henry managed a feeble smile in return. “Would you please blow out the candle when you leave?”

Belle nodded, did as she was asked, and walked out.

Henry laid awake in the dark for several hours. She stared up at a ceiling she could not see, her mind whirling around in a maze that always seemed to take her back to the same spot.

Surely Lady Wolcott had to be lying. She was obviously malicious, and Henry had been made very aware that she wanted—or at least once had wanted—Dunford for herself. She had every motive for trying to destroy Henry’s happiness.

Furthermore, Dunford loved her. He had said he did, and Henry believed him. No man could have gazed upon her with such tenderness, made love to her with such exquisite devotion, if he did not love her.

Unless—what if she hadn’t pleased him? When they had made love, Dunford had stopped short of completion. He had told her it was because he hadn’t wanted her to become pregnant. At the time she had marveled at his control.

But would a man in love possess that kind of control? Maybe he hadn’t felt the same sort of urgency she had. Maybe he would have found a sophisticated woman more desirable. Maybe she was still too much of a green, country-bred girl. No, a tomboy. Maybe she wasn’t enough of a girl at all.

When it came right down to it, she still knew very little about being a woman. She had to consult Belle on nearly every matter of importance.

Henry curled into a ball, pressing her hands against her ears as if this could shut out the pessimistic voice inside her. She wouldn’t let herself doubt him. He loved her. He’d said so, and she believed him.

Only a man in love could have said in such intense, grave tones, Sometimes I think I would give my life just for one of your smiles.

If Dunford loved her, and she was certain he did, then he couldn’t possibly want to keep a mistress. He would never do anything to hurt her so viciously.

But then why would Lady Wolcott have offered a specific time and place for his supposed meeting with this Christine Fowler? As she had said, if she was lying, it would certainly be easy for Henry to find her out. All she would have to do is lurk outside Christine Fowler’s house at the appointed time and see if Dunford arrived. If Lady Wolcott was lying, Dunford would never show.

So there must be some sort of truth in Lady Wolcott’s story, Henry decided. She didn’t know how she could have acquired this information, but she would not put it past the woman to eavesdrop or to read other people’s missives. But regardless of Lady Wolcott’s treachery, one thing was certain: something was going to happen at midnight on Friday.

All at once Henry felt a wrenching wave of guilt. How could she doubt Dunford like this? She would be furious with him if he displayed a similar lack of trust in her. She knew she shouldn’t doubt him. She didn’t want to doubt him, but she couldn’t very well go up to Dunford and question him about the matter. Then he would know she had doubted him. She didn’t know if he would react with fury or cold disappointment, but she didn’t think she could bear either one.

She was running in circles. She couldn’t confront him because he would be angry that she thought there might be even a kernel of truth in Lady Wolcott’s words. And if she didn’t do anything, she’d spend the rest of her life with this cloud of doubt over her head. She didn’t really think he kept a mistress, and to accuse him would be provoking in the extreme. But if she didn’t confront him, she would never know for certain.

Henry squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she would start to cry. Tears would exhaust her, and then maybe she’d be able to sleep.

“What do you mean she’s ill?” Dunford took a menacing step toward Belle.

“Just that, Dunford. She wasn’t feeling well, so I took her home and put her to bed. It’s been a most tiring fortnight for her, in case you hadn’t noticed. Half of London decided they simply had to make her acquaintance in the last two weeks. And then you practically abandoned her to the wolves the moment we got here.”

Dunford winced at the note of reproach in Belle’s voice. “I am trying to keep gossip to a minimum. If I pay too much public attention to her, the tongues will begin to wag anew.”

“Will you cease about the gossip!” Belle snapped. “I know you say you’re doing it all for Henry, but she doesn’t care a fig about it. All she cares about is you, and you disappeared this evening.”

His eyes burned, and he started to walk past her. “I am going to see her.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Belle said, catching him by the sleeve. “The poor girl is exhausted; let her sleep. And when I said to stop worrying about the gossip, I did not mean to imply that it was acceptable to storm into her room—in my mother’s house, no less—in the middle of the night.”

Dunford stilled, but he clenched his jaw against the strength of his self-loathing and impotence. He’d never felt this way; it was as if something were eating him from the inside out. Just knowing that Henry was ill, and if not alone at least not with him, made him shiver with cold and hot and fear and God knew what else. “Is she going to be all right?” he finally got out, his tone carefully even.

“She’s going to be just fine,” Belle said softly, laying a hand on his arm. “She just needs a bit of sleep. I will make certain to ask my mother to look in on her later this evening.”

He nodded curtly. “Do that. I’ll be by to see her tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. I’ll stop by as well.” She started to walk away, but he called out her name. Turning back around, she said, “Yes?”

“I just want to thank you, Belle.” He paused, a muscle working in his throat. “For befriending her. You have no idea how badly she needed a friend. It has meant a great deal to her. And to me.”

“Oh, Dunford. You don’t have to thank me. She makes it so very easy to be her friend.”

Dunford sighed as he left the ball. The party had been tolerable only because he had known that he would soon claim his fiancée in a waltz. Now that she was gone, there was nothing left to look forward to. It was amazing to think how bleak life looked without her.

What was he thinking? With a shake of his head, he banished the thought from his mind. There was no reason even to contemplate life without Henry. He loved her, and she loved him. What more could he need?

“You have a visitor, Miss Barrett.”

Henry looked up from her bed at the maid who had just made that announcement. Belle had come by that morning to keep her company, and the two of them were presently leafing through fashion plates.

“Who is it, Sally?” Belle asked.

“It’s Lord Stannage, my lady. He said he wants to see how his fiancée is faring.”

Belle frowned. “It’s not really proper for him to come up here, but you are ill, and I am here to chaperone you.”

Henry didn’t have time to say that she wasn’t certain if she wanted to see him before Belle added, “I’m sure you’re just dying to see him. It will be all right for just a moment.” She nodded at the maid, who went downstairs to fetch Dunford.

He appeared so quickly that Henry thought he must have taken the steps two at a time. “How are you?” he asked huskily, moving quickly to her side.

She swallowed spasmodically, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. He was looking at her with such love in his eyes, she felt like a traitor for ever having thought, however briefly, that Lady Wolcott was telling the truth. “A—a bit better.”

He took her hand and held it between his. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

Belle cleared her throat. “I’ll just wait outside the door.” She leaned down and said to Dunford, “Only two minutes.”

He nodded. Belle left the room but did not close the door. “How are you really feeling?” he asked.

“Much better,” Henry said truthfully. She did feel much better now that she’d seen him again. She felt like a fool for ever thinking he’d betray her. “I think it was mostly fatigue.”

“You do look a bit tired.” He frowned. “There are shadows under your eyes.”

The shadows were probably entirely due to her inability to sleep the night before, Henry thought ruefully. “I think I shall spend the rest of today in bed,” she said. “I cannot remember the last time I did so. I feel sinfully lazy.”

He touched her chin. “You deserve it.”

“Do I?”

“Mmm-hmm. I want you well rested when we get married.” He grinned wickedly. “Then I intend to tire you out.”

A hint of a blush crept across her cheeks, but she was not too embarrassed to say, “I wish we were married right now.”

“As do I, my love.” He leaned forward, his heavy-lidded gaze dropping to her lips.

“Hello!” Belle poked her head into the room.

Dunford cursed rather fluently under his breath. “Your timing is, as always, impeccable.”

Belle shrugged. “It’s a talent I cultivate.”

“I wish you’d cultivate it a bit less,” Henry muttered.

Dunford lifted one of Henry’s hands to his lips and kissed it before rising to his feet. “I shall call tomorrow to see how you are doing. Perhaps we can go for a walk if you feel up to it.”

“I’d like that.”

He took a step as if to leave, then turned back to her, bending his knees slightly so his face was more on a level with her own. “Would you do me a favor?”

Henry nodded, startled by the serious look in his eyes.

“Will you promise me that if you feel the slightest bit worse, you will consult a physician immediately?”

She nodded again.

“I also want you to see one if you don’t begin to feel better by tomorrow.”

“I already feel much better. Thank you for coming.”

He smiled, one of those secret smiles that never failed to turn her knees to butter. Then, with a slight bow, he left the room.

“Did you have a nice visit?” Belle asked. “No, don’t even bother answering. I can see for myself. You’re positively radiant.”

“I know that ladies aren’t supposed to go into trade, Belle, but if we could bottle one of his smiles as medicine, we’d make a fortune.”

Belle smiled indulgently as she straightened her skirts. “Much as I adore Dunford, I feel obligated to point out that his smiles are not nearly as special as those of my husband.”

“Bah,” Henry scoffed. “Speaking from a purely objective standpoint, anyone can see that Dunford’s smiles are clearly superior.”

“Objective standpoint, my foot.”

Henry grinned. “What we need is an impartial observer. We could ask Emma, but I have a feeling she’d simply say that both of us are mad in the head and that Alex has the nicest smile.”

“I imagine that is the way it should be,” Belle said.

“Mmm-hmm.” Henry plucked at her blankets for a few moments before saying, “Belle? Might I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It pertains to married life.”

“Oh,” Belle said knowingly. “I thought you might want to talk to me about that. Since you don’t have a mother, I didn’t know whom you’d turn to with questions.”

“Oh, no, not that,” Henry said quickly, feeling the now-familiar blush stain her cheeks. “I know all about that.”

Belle coughed, hiding a bit of her face behind her hand.

“Not from firsthand experience,” Henry lied. “But remember I grew up on a farm. We did a fair amount of animal breeding.”

“I... ah... I feel I must interject here for a moment.” Belle paused, looking as if she were trying to figure out the best way to proceed. “I did not grow up on a farm, but I am not wholly unfamiliar with animal husbandry, and I have to say that although the mechanics are the same...”

Henry had never seen Belle blush this much. She decided to take pity on her friend and quickly said, “The matter I wanted to talk to you about is slightly different.”

“Oh?”

“I understand—that is to say, I’ve heard that many men keep mistresses.”

Belle slowly nodded. “That is true.”

“And that many of them continue to keep their mistresses after they are wed.”

“Oh, Henry, is that what this is about? Are you afraid Dunford is going to keep a mistress? I can assure you he won’t, not when he loves you so much. I imagine you’ll keep him so busy he won’t have time for a mistress.”

“But does he have one now?” Henry persisted. “I know I cannot expect that he has led the life of a monk before meeting me. I’m not even jealous of any women with whom he might have had liaisons before he met me. I certainly cannot hold it against him if he didn’t even know me at the time. But what if he still has a mistress now?”

Belle swallowed uncomfortably. “I cannot give you anything less than complete honesty, Henry. I know that Dunford was keeping a mistress when he left for Cornwall, but I don’t think he has seen her since he returned. I swear it. I’m sure he’s broken it off with her by now. Or if he hasn’t, he’s going to.”

Henry licked her lips thoughtfully, relief sinking into her bones. Of course, that was it. He was planning to see this Christine Fowler woman on Friday night to tell her she would need to seek another protector. She’d rather that he had taken care of the task when they first arrived in London, but she couldn’t censure him for putting off what was probably an unpleasant chore. Henry was sure that his mistress wouldn’t want to part with him. She couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to part with him.

“Did John keep a mistress before he met you?” Henry asked curiously. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was frightfully personal.”

“It’s all right,” Belle assured her. “Actually, John was not keeping a mistress, but he also wasn’t living in London. It’s quite a common practice here. I know Alex kept one, though, and he stopped seeing her the minute he met Emma. I’m sure it’s the same for you and Dunford.”

Belle sounded so convinced that Henry couldn’t help but believe her. It was, after all, what she wanted to believe. And in her heart she knew it was true.

For all her certainty in Dunford’s innocence, Henry still found herself oddly jittery on Friday. She was startled every time someone spoke to her, and the slightest noise made her jump. She spent three hours reading the same page of Shakespeare, and the thought of food made her sick.

Dunford collected her for their daily walk at three in the afternoon, and the sight of him left her tongue-tied. All she could think about was that he would be seeing HER that evening. She wondered what they would say to each other. What did SHE look like? Was she beautiful? Did she look like Henry? Please, God, don’t let her look like me, Henry thought. She wasn’t entirely certain why this meant so much to her, but she thought she might be ill if she found out she resembled Christine Fowler in any way.

“What has you so preoccupied?” Dunford asked, smiling down at her indulgently.

Henry started. “Just wool-gathering, I’m afraid.”

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“Oh, they’re not worth it,” she said with unnecessary force. “Believe me.”

He looked at her oddly. They walked on for a few paces before he said, “I hear you have been making use of Lord Worth’s library.”

“Oh, yes,” Henry said with relief, hoping that a benign topic would help to take her mind off Christine Fowler. “Belle has been recommending some of Shakespeare’s plays to me. She has read them all, you know.”

“I know,” he murmured. “She did it in alphabetical order, I believe.”

“Did she? How odd.” Another silence, and Henry’s thoughts were back to precisely where she did not want them. Finally, knowing she was absolutely, positively doing the wrong thing but unable to help herself, she turned to him and asked, “Do you have any special plans for this evening?”

The tips of his ears grew red; a sure sign of guilt, Henry thought. “Ah, no,” he said. “I was just planning to meet some friends at White’s for a game of whist.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”

“Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “Curiosity, I suppose. Tonight is the first night in weeks that our plans for the evening don’t coincide. Except, of course, for when I was ill.”

“Well, I don’t expect to be seeing quite as much of my friends once we’re married, so I’m rather obligated to join them in a card game now.”

I’ll just bet you are, she thought sarcastically. Then she berated herself for thinking so badly of him. He was going to his mistress’s house that evening to break it off. She should be happy. And if he was lying to her about it, well that was only natural. Why would he want her to know he was going there at all?

“What are your plans?” he asked her.

She grimaced. “Lady Worth is forcing me to attend a musicale.”

Horror slid across his face. “Not...”

“I’m afraid so. Your Smythe-Smith cousins. She feels I ought to meet some of your relations.”

“Yes, but doesn’t she understand...? Henry, this is too cruel. Never in the history of the British Isles have there been four females less gifted with musical talent.”

“So I’ve heard. Belle has flatly refused to accompany us.”

“I’m afraid I dragged her to one last year. I don’t even think she’ll walk down their street anymore for fear she might hear them practicing.”

Henry smiled. “Now I’m growing curious.”

“Don’t,” he said, very seriously. “If I were you, I would endeavor to have a serious relapse this evening.

“Really, Dunford, they can’t be that bad.”

“Yes,” he said darkly, “they can.”

“I don’t suppose you could swoop down and save me this evening?” she asked, giving him a sideways glance.

“I wish I could. Truly, I do. As your future husband, it is my duty to shield you from all unpleasantness, and believe me, the Smythe-Smith string quartet is beyond unpleasant. But my engagements this evening are most pressing. I cannot break them.”

Henry now was certain that he was going to see Christine Fowler at midnight. He’s breaking it off, she repeated to herself. He’s breaking it off. That was the only explanation.