Henry had never blamed her for not replying. He craved her forgiveness, but he could not pretend he deserved it. Nevertheless, he wanted to make her a proper apology. He owed her that much, at least.
He had arrived at Astley House. Traffic was normally sparse at this hour of midmorning, but a queue of carriages stretched around the block. What was going on?
He made his way up the front steps. Inside the foyer there was a crush of humanity. Why the devil were so many people here? Did the Astley ladies host a salon?
That was when Henry noticed the common denominator between the people crowding the entryway. Every last one was a gentleman. An unmarried gentleman, based on those whom Henry recognized.
And they were all carrying flowers.
