The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) by Frances Fowlkes Page B

intentions of sharing. She was still trying to process the flood of emotions the earl’s touch unleashed. To even attempt to describe the feeling to her sisters was… why, it was nonsensical.
    And none of their business.
    “The earl was replanting an herb that had been shoddily unearthed,” she said jauntily. She swept past her sisters and toward the door.
    Sarah and Albina exchanged glances. Neither of them appeared convinced.
    Henrietta sighed and attempted to explain as she lifted the latch and stepped out into the hall. “Someone had uprooted a licorice root. Someone beside myself and the earl. Likely the same someone who has been stealing from my stores of herbs.”
    “Someone has been taking your herbs?” Albina asked, somewhat skeptically. She glanced down the dim hall, pulling the train of her dress behind her.
    “Yes. Everything I brought with me from Rosehearst has been taken.”
    “Likely misplaced,” Sarah corrected. “Who would wish to steal dried flowers and bagged blends? It doesn’t make any sense.” She closed the door and hastened toward Henrietta, who continued to progress down the hall.
    “The earl suggested it might be someone with an agenda.”
    “An agenda?” Sarah asked.
    “He posed an interesting theory and one I cannot disregard, despite my doubts anyone would act cruelly.”
    Albina touched a hand to her lace-trimmed chest, her fan dangling from her gloved wrist. “Cruelly?”
    “The earl believes one of the ladies present might be endangering the others to eliminate the competition. To increase their chances of being selected as the countess.”
    “An interesting theory,” said Sarah with a reflective tone, her voice little more than a whisper. “Has he any proof? Other than your missing stores and an unearthed plant?”
    Henrietta settled her hand atop the stair rail and shook her head. “No.”
    “Then why are we discussing subterfuge, when we could be dissecting your kiss with the earl?” Albina asked. “Did he taste like lemons? Someone with his sour expression really must, though that is only my supposition.”
    Honestly. Lemons. The man had tasted more like salt than lemons. And sage…
    “Lady Georgiana’s irritated throat and Lady Isabella’s blemishes hardly seem the work of blended herbs,” said Sarah, interrupting her woolgathering.
    Sarah’s comment was unsettling. Henrietta had given consideration to Lady Georgiana’s symptoms. A swollen throat by itself hardly suggested the misuse of herbal medicines. It did, however, in combination with Lady Georgiana’s sensitivity to chamomile tea, raise Henrietta’s concern. Should anyone else know of that weakness, they could have infused her diet with enough of the flower to cause a reaction.
    And the same held true for Lady Isabella’s blotchy rash. The possibility she had ingested a known irritant was possible. But more likely was that she had brushed against a nettle or some sort of disagreeable plant while walking in the marsh, unknowingly transferring the toxic oils to her face.
    “Both women are simply ill,” Sarah continued. “There is nothing more to it. I highly doubt the incidents are connected. The earl’s paranoia likely stems from his past—at least if the gossip is to be believed.”
    Henrietta adjusted her skirts, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. Should her mother see the crumpled fabric Henrietta would never cease to hear the end of it.
    “Speaking of which, the rumors suggest the earl is more than apt at kissing.” Albina batted her lashes, her innocent expression fooling no one.
    “You believe the rumors hold merit?” Henrietta asked.
    “I am not certain, which is why I am asking you.” Albina smiled.
    Henrietta sent her what she hoped was a very stern glare as she rounded the last corner and stepped into the drawing room.
    All heads turned in their direction, the conversation ceasing as Henrietta and her sisters stepped farther into the room. Bustling toward them, their mother