And Then She Fell (Cynster 19 Cynster Sisters Duo #1) by Stephanie Laurens Page B

snorted and didn’t bother listening to Sir Edward’s earnestly bumbling reply. She had business to which she needed to attend; meeting James’s eyes, she arched a brow. “Might I suggest we stroll on and find a place where I can tell you what I’ve learned thus far about Miss Fotherby?”
    Somewhat to her surprise, his lips tightened fractionally, but he nodded and led her on.
    Once past the knots of younger ladies and gentlemen dotting the areas adjacent to the carriages, the lawns were much less crowded, and it was possible to stroll and converse freely without fear of being overheard. Turning her to promenade parallel to the avenue, now at some distance, James finally asked, “So what have you learned?”
    “Miss Fotherby’s case is exactly as she stated it. Apparently her mother has an unfounded and unreasoning fear that her second husband will be captivated by Miss Fotherby and transfer his affection from mother to daughter. No one who knows the family believes this to be the case, but as you might imagine it’s made Miss Fotherby’s situation very difficult. Consequently, she is seeking a husband so she may leave her stepfather’s house, and Miss Fotherby’s mama has, of course, insisted on remaining in the country, keeping her husband with her, and has packed Miss Fotherby off to find her own way forward under her aunt’s aegis.”
    Glancing at James, Henrietta saw his lips twist. Looking ahead as they strolled on, he murmured, “So Miss Fotherby is something of a damsel in distress who needs saving?”
    Henrietta inclined her head. “You could paint her in that light.”
    And in so doing . . . Henrietta had no difficulty seeing that James might consider rescuing Miss Fotherby, while simultaneously rescuing himself and his people from the requirement imposed by his grandaunt’s will, to be a reasonable bargain all around.
    Yet she had to be impartial, and impartiality demanded she report on Miss Fotherby favorably. From all Henrietta had gathered in the short time she’d had the previous evening, Miss Fotherby possessed a spotless, entirely blameless reputation, and the difficulty she found herself currently facing was no fault of hers. Henrietta had heard not one adverse comment against Miss Fotherby, which left her with the unenviable conviction that both duty and honor dictated that she assist both James and Miss Fotherby by reporting the unvarnished truth, and subsequently, if James was so inclined, by fostering a match between them.
    Both he and Miss Fotherby deserved no less.
    Even if fostering a match between them was the very last thing she wanted to do.
    They’d been strolling in silence. After a moment more, James asked, “Did you learn anything else?”
    While Henrietta reported, in careful and neutral terms, what she’d thus far gleaned as to Miss Fotherby’s standing, character, and personality, James found himself increasingly biting his tongue.
    He wanted to ask Henrietta point-blank whether she truly wanted him to marry Miss Fotherby.
    He wanted, badly, to ask the confusing female walking so fluidly—so confidently and easily—by his side what she’d thought about the kiss they’d shared. Whether she’d felt anything at all—anything like the cataclysmic and ineradicable shift in focus that that kiss had imposed on him—and whether, just possibly, she might consider marrying him herself.
    He wanted to ask her all those things—wanted to look into her soft blue eyes and say the words, direct and without any obfuscation—but he couldn’t.
    Not while she was strolling beside him singing Miss Fotherby’s praises and all but specifically encouraging him to look at Miss Fotherby as his prospective bride.
    Confusion wasn’t the half of what he felt. Frustration roiled, mixing with a wholly unfamiliar panicky fear—a fear of not acting and through that losing her, which itself was solidly counteracted and blocked, stymied, by the weight on his shoulders and the horrible