But in truth, she admitted to herself, even if there were no babe, she would still want to weep.
Unnoticed, Fleur stood at the entryway, eyes locked on Henry as he leaned toward Lady Angela.
From Fleur’s vantage point, their shoulders curved together; to her, Henry and the lady’s profiles seemed to form a heart.
The fissure inherheart deepened.
Henry smiled the same charming smile Fleur had fallen for at her cousin’s wedding breakfast ages ago. This time, he meant it; the company beside him was of appropriate origins—a family he respected rather than despised, unlike Fleur’s. He found Lady Angela flawless, which she was, and Fleur…tolerable. Just then, he said something that brought a healthy blush to the young woman’s high cheeks.
A painful knot developed in Fleur’s throat.
Fleur’s cousin, Linnie, saved her. Henry, Lady Angela, and the Talberts stood to greet her. His imposing presence stilled the room.
As Henry’s sister-in-law and closest female kin, Linnie acted as hostess. Her words were met with nods.
Fleur watched Henry focus his charm on Lady Angela.
More words passed, then Henry took the lady’s hand. Fleur noticed each detail, including the lady’s simple white satin gloves—never as frilly as Fleur’s.
Fleur reflexively clenched her own gloves at her sides.
He bowed, hovering a kiss above her lily-white gloved hand before turning the floor over to Linnie. As the Duke and Duchess of Talbert and Lady Angela reclaimed their seats, Henry began to turn away but paused. He scanned the crowd as though looking for someone.
Me?
Fleur, her heart beating fast, slid hastily into the shadows and craned her neck to see if Henry had seen her—pathetically spying on him and his chosen bride.
She needn’t have worried.
Fleur’s breath seized sharply in her breast.
Henry had again taken the seat next to Angela, fixing his enigmatic gaze on the person he sought.
Linnie’s voice rang out, making Fleur jump.
“Welcome to Hartwell House. His Grace assures me tonight’s musicale will surpass every Season’s assembly.” Linnie wagged her eyebrows. “Let us see if he spoke the truth.”
Her witty retort was met with the expected, polite laughter.
“I will not keep you from the music, as I know we are all keen to begin. A sincere welcome to you all, and to the ladies set to perform. Please enjoy the evening. Ladies and Gentlemen—Lady Angela.”
Envy pricked Fleur as Henry stood, escorting Lady Angela to the pianoforte. It was a blatant declaration—a cannonball announcement following their two sets at Cassia’s ball.
Lady Angela bent her long, graceful neck; her poise alone at the keyboard captivated the room.
Fleur was petty enough that she wanted Henry’s soon-to-be betrothed to croak like a frog or be as pitchy as a mouse.
And then the lady sang, her lyrical soprano filling every corner of the room. Fleur’s eyes slid shut and she rested against the doorjamb.
“’Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;”
Fleur’s heart wrenched viciously. What had she expected? That Henry would marry a woman who possessed anything less than the voice of an angel?
“All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;”