She carried so much inside her, her heart sloshed like an overfilled, heavy bucket. She was desperate to see Mr. Elliot, but he never returned to the park.

Kesseley left the house early on the day of his engagement ball. She heard his door close. He paused by her door. She could see the shadow of his feet from where she sat at her dressing table. Her heart tightened. Then he walked on. The thud of the entrance door reverberated up the stairwell.

Later in the afternoon, Henrietta tapped Lady Kesseley's chamber door. Her lady's maid, with pins pressed between her lips, let Henrietta inside. Silk and sheer gowns were strewn about the bed and chairs.

Lady Kesseley stood before her commode, dressed only in s.h.i.+ft, stays and a diamond necklace. Tiny anxious lines radiated from her thinned lips. She pressed her palm on her forehead. "I'm not sure what to wear on the day I lose my son. Oh, Henrietta, everything has to be perfect. I have to be perfect."

"You will be the most beautiful lady there."

Lady Kesseley shook her head, as if Henrietta hadn't answered her question properly.

Henrietta carefully folded back the edge of a pale voile gown on the edge of the bed and sat. "I do not think I can be your companion for the remainder of the Season," she said. "You see, my father and his colleague have an appointment at Greenwich Observatory tomorrow night. I'm not sure how long my father shall stay in London, but when he leaves, I want to go with him."

"Becky, please let us continue in a few minutes," Lady Kesseley said to her lady's maid and waited for her leave.

"I do wish you would stay. And, well..." She paused. A sad smile teetered on her lips, then faded. "It's all so peculiar. I wasn't invited to dine this evening. I've not heard from the duke or d.u.c.h.ess. Yet Winslow and the princess tell me it is true that all of the ton ton is talking of the engagement. Does my son seem happy to you?" is talking of the engagement. Does my son seem happy to you?"

"I-I don't know."

"I'm so afraid. He doesn't care for Lady Sara. I hear only coldness in his voice. There is nothing I can do. He still despises me because of my affair with Gilling. Nothing I say will work on him. Everything that happened before is happening again, and it is because I was too weak to stop it."

Lady Kesseley looked at Henrietta expectantly as if Henrietta was supposed to say something to make everything better.

"I-I've lost Mother's pendant," she said, her voice cracking. "I've looked everywhere. I fear it may be in the park or the street. But if you find it, please return it to me."

Lady Kesseley nodded, pursing her lips together. Henrietta rose to leave.

"Why didn't you love him?" Lady Kesseley asked.

"I do love him." The words burst out of Henrietta. "It was all my fault. I wanted him to steal Lady Sara away, because I thought I loved Edward. I urged him to dress better and change his manners. I was foolish and ignorant. Then he kissed me, and I realized I loved him all along. But when I told him, he said I was t-too late."

Lady Kesseley stared at her, her face stricken with pain. "Oh no." She reached out, but Henrietta couldn't bear to be touched. She hated herself too much at this moment.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispered and fled.

"Wait! Henrietta!" She heard Lady Kesseley call behind her but Henrietta couldn't go back. She rounded the stairs and then stopped short.

Kesseley waited at the banister. Their eyes met. His mouth twitched and for a moment she thought he would say something. Instead, he turned and went into his chamber, closing the door behind him.

Henrietta took her bonnet and pelisse from her chamber and walked out of the house, without a footman or Samuel. They would reprimand her, but she couldn't take anyone or anything crowding her thoughts, demanding her attention.

The sun was bright and high in the sky. Large cauliflower-shaped clouds billowed above the treetops and roofs. She pa.s.sed through the outer ring of Hyde Park into the familiar spot by the Serpentine.

She hoped he would be there, then admonished herself. Of course, he wouldn't. Why did she always hope, only to be let down again?

She could see the old bench where the philosopher shared his chocolate with her. A mother and her son sat there. She suddenly wanted to cry.

Can't I at least just sit on the bench? Can't I have something I want?

Just as Henrietta resigned herself to sitting on the gra.s.s and ruining her gown, the mother and son suddenly left, and the bench was vacant. Henrietta scurried forward, claiming it as her own.

She squinted until the water reflected like jewels on the surface. For a small second, everything seemed to lift from her. But then it all came back, refusing to be hushed or solaced.

"I brought you a small present," she heard a man call behind her.

She whipped around. There was her friend, with his wild white hair shooting out from the edges of his hat. The edges of his easel pointed out from his back and his cracked leather satchel hung from his shoulder.

"Thank G.o.d you're here!" she cried. "I thought you had gone away to Africa or India!"

"No. Just wandering through the countryside and old memories." He set his satchel on the bench, dug around in it and brought out a gray shale rock streaked with thin white veins of calcium.

"A rock?" Henrietta said, perplexed, taking it into her hand.

"This is from Lyme, where one afternoon I picnicked among the tall brown gra.s.s and listened to the waves rolling onto the beach." He pulled out a rolled-up canvas and opened it, revealing a splotchy painting vaguely resembling a beach with sun setting on the ocean's horizon. The sky glowed luminous shades of oranges and pinks.

"I got your rock here." He pointed to the gray, round stones lining the beach.

Henrietta turned her little stone over in her hand, feeling its weight and solidness. Her throat hurt as she tried to speak.

"Lady Kesseley still loves you," she finally said. "You must go to her. I can take you."

He sat on the bench, leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "I can't."

"What?"

"I can't."

"Why not? Isn't that why you are here? You can't just come this far and stop. She loves you."

"What did she say when you told her I was here?"

"I didn't tell her. She doesn't know you're here."

He rose, suddenly agitated, rubbing his large palms on his pantaloons. "What did she tell you about me?"

"She loved you and rejected you and when you put her in a boat on a pond. I figured it out. You had inscribed a book of Kant to her. If the world is my perception, then I am in love with the world for wherever I look, I see only Eleanora. If the world is my perception, then I am in love with the world for wherever I look, I see only Eleanora. Then your name-Danny Elliot." Then your name-Danny Elliot."

He gave a snort. "Did she tell you anything else? About anything that happened after?"

"No."

"My dear, there isn't enough forgiveness in the world for the pain I caused her. You just have the sweet memory of how it all started, but not the end. Yes, Lady Kesseley rejected me, but my circ.u.mstances changed and I used them to hurt her. Irreparably."

"But I think she will forgive you. She needs you. I know it."

"Why does this matter so much to you?"

"Because you must forgive each other, you must, because something has to be right. Something has to be redeemed." Henrietta started to weep and covered her face.

"Come here." He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her in front of all the ducks, swans and people pa.s.sing. "What happened?"

"I told him I loved him, and he told me I was too late." The remainder of the story fell out, blabbered on his shoulder, more horrifying in the retelling. She finished with the announcement to be made at a ball that evening.

"Oh, my sweet child. I wish I could say something to make it better, but I can't."

She pushed him away.

"Yes, you can. You can tell Lady Kesseley you love her!"

"You don't understand."

"What do I not understand? You told me to tell Kesseley that I loved him, even if it was hopeless, but I did. And now I tell you to do the same thing and you can't!"

"Henrietta-"

"You wanted me to tell her I found you in the park, didn't you? You wanted me to tell her because you couldn't."

"Perhaps."

"Were you ever my friend? Did you even mean the words you said? Or were they just pretty things you thought I wanted to hear?"

"No, I-"

"All this time, you made me believe you were wise with your stories and exotic fruit. All we have is this moment, the blue of sky. You're a coward. You didn't go on all those adventures, you ran away!"

"Forgiveness is not that easy!"

"Clearly, since I'm the only one willing to do it!" Henrietta stomped away, then turned back. "I'm sorry. I can't tell her, because she's been hurt enough. I have to know you will be there for her. Will you?"

He sunk his head in his hands. "I don't know."

"Then I suppose her memories are better." Henrietta turned the rock over in her hand, wondering if years from now, when she took it out of some memory box, it would still be fresh and sweet in her memory when all the other pain had long been worn down.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

Boxly opened the door. Henrietta searched his face for disapproval, but found none in his placid expression. "This letter arrived for you, miss," he said, and placed it in her hand.

Samuel-by some intuitive canine knowledge-knew she had gone to the park without him and came bounding down the stairs. He sniffed Henrietta's skirt to confirm his suspicion, then sat back on his hind legs and emitted low cries. She knelt down to console him.

"Samuel, I will take you later. I promise. I just had to be alone." He licked her face. "I know you can't understand" He tried to scrunch his thick body into her lap. "Yes, you're still my favorite hound."

"Down, Samuel." She heard Kesseley's voice booming from above. He came down the stairs, his buckled shoes clicking on the steps, his evening clothes under his greatcoat. He gripped his hat in his hand.

She clutched Samuel, her muscles going loose. Kesseley was so beautiful.

"Good evening," he said, making a slight bow.

Henrietta rose and brushed the dog fur from her gloves onto her pelisse. "Are you leaving? You're not dining with us?"

"No." They stood together, silent as prayer, while she waited for the impossible-for him to say he loved her again.

"You look very handsome," she whispered. "I hope Lady Sara knows how lucky she is, for she is marrying the finest gentleman in England."

"You know I am not."

"Yes, you are." She held his gaze to hers. His eyes were an impenetrable cold gray, no light inside. "I sincerely hope you will be very happy."

"Thank you." He brushed past her, putting on his hat. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the door to close.

"You will marry a good man and have beautiful children," she heard him say. "He will give you everything I couldn't. You will forget all about London-and about me."

She turned. "Do you truly think so?" She could more easily perform miracles than love another man.

"Yes," he said, his lips thin as a knife's blade. He paused for a moment, gazing at her, and then he opened the door and left.

Not possessing the strength to make it up two flights, Henrietta collapsed onto the rosewood parlor chair. She untied her bonnet and let it fall on the floor. Samuel put his paws in her lap, bending the letter lying there.

She recognized her father's barely legible scratch on the address.

Inside were two letters, the first a curt message from her father. He and Mr. Van Heerlen had arrived at Greenwich Park in the morning. They were staying at The Green Man in chambers seven and eight-very nice accommodations that Mr. Van Heerlen had suggested. He had forgotten his hairbrush. A carriage would be sent for her tomorrow in the late afternoon.

The other letter was penned in a more elegant hand.

My Dearest Miss Watson, I do not recall if the trip was hard. It might have been. The hotel in Royster may have been drafty, and the wine watered down to a pale pink. I did not think of these things. I thought only of tomorrow evening and yourself. Lesser men win ladies with their athletic prowess or by executing cha.s.se or glissade, but I shall endeavor to turn the telescope to the sky and find the elusive heavens for you.

Knowing you are not seven miles from me makes my heart long to fly from here and find you. I wish I could steal away. I am impatient for tomorrow evening. Unable to concentrate upon these old numbers and pages, my mind turns to our beautiful future.

Your faithful servant, Pieter Van Heerlen Kesseley's s.h.i.+ny crested carriage lurched off the curb. He sat back in the shadows. How much time did he have? Ten minutes? He tried to practice.

Lady Sara, please do me the honor of...

The carriage stopped in front of the Duke of Houghton's white boxy mansion. Hedged boxwoods ran in two parallel lines to the entrance.

Kesseley's heart contracted-he felt dizzy. He couldn't do it. Not yet. He needed a place to hide where no one knew him for a few minutes, just until he could get his thoughts straightened.

He knocked on the carriage roof. "Take me to the Strand."

On the Strand the merchants were lighting their torches and locking the doors to their shops. A few drops of rain fell from the dense clouds overhead.

Kesseley sent the carriage back to Curzon Street and then walked down to the corner. He turned down a small alley by a print shop. A large rendering of a British wars.h.i.+p firing its cannon into a white smoky cloud hung in the window, smaller ill.u.s.trations around it. He didn't stop to view the prints, but headed to the Thames.

He thought of his future bride. Lady Sara would just be a beautiful face to the world, diverting its attention while he did as he pleased. Few of his station had the luxury of something more than an agreeable marriage. It was a business arrangement, like selling a breeding mare. Yet he knew every time that he would touch his bride, he would wish she were Henrietta. As Lady Sara lay under him, he would pretend he was making love to Henrietta.

He had the sensation that he was no longer looking down at the water, but had sunken below and looked up to the water's surface from the bottom. As if he had drowned in the brown stinking waters of London.