And Then She Fell(41)
Henrietta tried a smile, but even she could tell it came out rather wan and weak. Drawing one of her hands from James’s clasp, she lightly touched his hair, gently brushing the rumpled locks into better order. “Thank you.” She met his eyes. “That was . . . frightening.”
Running footsteps sounded in the hall.
Letting her hand fall, Henrietta looked toward the door.
James rose; squeezing her hand briefly, he reluctantly released it and stepped to the chaise’s head.
The door burst open and Mary tumbled in, a maid, presumably Hannah, on her heels.
Mary’s wide, cornflower blue eyes took in the scene in one sweeping glance, then she focused on Henrietta. “Are you all right?”
Henrietta’s smile wobbled even as she said, “Yes, it was just”—she waved in weak dismissal—“a trifle oversetting.”
From the looks on Mary’s and Hannah’s faces, James deduced that Henrietta saying she was a trifle overset was the equivalent of her admitting to being halfway to death’s door; the pair swooped, enveloping Henrietta in effusive, if not smothering, feminine concern. Mary patted her hand and asked questions. Hannah shook out a knitted shawl and spread it over Henrietta’s legs, then the tea tray arrived and, barely pausing for breath, Mary poured.
James stood beside the chaise, fielding Mary’s questions, relieving Henrietta of that, at least. He watched all the fussing, listened to the chorus of exclamations, and saw Henrietta gradually relax.
Then the door opened and Henrietta’s mother swept in. After a swift survey of her daughters, Louise’s gaze rose to his face. James inclined his head. Louise smiled briefly in acknowledgment. “Mr. Glossup. I understand we must thank you again for rescuing Henrietta.” Her expression turned wryly understanding. “You seem to be making a habit of it.”
James glanced at Henrietta, caught her eye. “I’m just glad I was near enough to help.” A chill touched his soul as he realized that, once again, being close enough to rescue her had been pure luck.
“So tell me—what happened?” Louise sat in an armchair, waved James to another, accepted a cup of tea from Mary, then fixed her gaze on Henrietta. “It’s not like you to lose control of your mount.”
Henrietta frowned. “I don’t know what happened. Marie suddenly reared—I didn’t see or hear anything that might have caused it.” She glanced at James. “Did you?”
He shook his head. “And my mount didn’t react.”
Henrietta nodded. “True. But Marie screamed as if she was in pain and reared, and then she just shot off.” Setting her cup on her saucer, Henrietta visibly quelled a shiver. “That would have been frightening enough in the country, but there I would have been confident I would have been able to ride it out. But in the streets here . . .”
James looked into his cup and decided no one needed to hear just how close to a fatal fall she’d come. With the barrows, drays, and carts cluttering the street, if a carriage had come the other way . . . raising his cup, he sipped, and glanced again at Henrietta, reassuring himself that she was indeed there, was indeed hale and whole, albeit a trifle overset.
Color was gradually returning to her cheeks, and her gaze was alert as she listened to her mother and sister debate her state.
James tuned in to their comments as Louise and Mary exchanged projections as to Henrietta’s recovery, much to Henrietta’s fond annoyance, but Louise was adamant in decreeing that Henrietta rest for the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon. In wholehearted agreement, James held his peace. If he could have, he would have wrapped her in the proverbial wool and sequestered her away somewhere out of everyone’s reach, at least until he learned enough to soothe the protectiveness currently prowling, anxious and concerned, just beneath his skin. But, it seemed, he could rely on Louise and Mary to act in his stead.
Hannah, who had lingered, suggested a warm bath, as Henrietta wasn’t going out again that morning. Henrietta agreed, and James approved; she was, apparently, taking the need to rest and recuperate seriously.
“And we can pack for the house party this morning, as well,” Henrietta called to Hannah as the maid headed for the door.
“Yes, miss.” Hannah bobbed and opened the door. “I’ll get a footman to fetch your bag and bandbox from the box room.”
James stared at the closing door, then looked back—first at Louise and Mary, sipping their tea apparently unconcerned—then at Henrietta. “You’re not still going to Ellsmere Grange?”