Striking Gold

8. Honestly

Henry's dark eyes fluttered as he slowly opened them, wincing as he immediately blocked the sunlight from blinding him. With his hand, his eyes drooped as he contemplated falling asleep.

That dream of Hilda lingered in his mind.

Was that his baser desire to speak, or was it something much more?

The dream ended before anything more happened, and Henry was simultaneously relieved and annoyed by its hasty end.

He was relieved, as he didn't wish to destroy Hilda Montague's virtue and thus ruin her and her family's reputation with the actions of a rakish gentleman.

He was annoyed because he wished to be the only man to know Hilda Montague in such a carnal way.

His Victorian mind said no, but his heartbeat screamed yes and pounded violently at the mere thought of Hilda in such an intimate way.

"Mater Henry? Breakfast is ready." Georg's voice called out, pulling Henry away from his lewd thoughts.

Henry gulped, "Uh, th-thank you, Georg."

Scrambling out of bed, Henry rushed to his armoire, pulling out a pale blue waistcoat with dark grey trousers, matching boots, and a silvery paisley vest under his white long-sleeved shirt. As he did the buttons of his vest, Henry tried not to think about Hilda's teasing smirk that hinted at mischief or how she resembled an ancient Roman woman.

He chuckled as he tied the cravat around his neck, completely changing his outfit. He exited his bedroom and walked down the hallway to the dining room, where his aunt and uncle sat at the table having breakfast.

Henry covered his mouth with his fist as he yawned, pulling out a chair and sitting close to his aunt. His uncle was beside his wife on the other side of the table.

"Good morning, Henry," Beatrice said, gently touching her nephew's wrist.

"Good morning, Auntie. Uncle." Henry replied, looking his aunt and uncle in the eye before glancing at the cup of tea sitting by his hand.

"I wanted to wait until closer to Christmas to announce this, dearest angel, but given that horrid fire and you being in the bush when it happened, I think it would be best to distract you from such unpleasantness by inviting you to join us at the Montague's upcoming Christmas ball in two weeks."

Henry looks up from his tea at his aunt. "Oh?"

Beatrice nods, a cheerful smile forming on her face. "Yes. This will be your first Christmas in Australia, and we can put aside this nastiness between you and Miss Montague."

"Miss Montague is coming over to collect the stockings she wrapped my hands in," Henry interrupts his aunt, setting down his teacup with a loud clank against the teacup's saucer.

Beatrice exhales, "Oh, good! Your uncle is taking me to a picnic in the town's park. Perhaps you'd like to join us after Miss Montague collected her stockings?"

"It'll depend on when Miss Montague arrives, Bea." Sir Reginald says, glancing at his nephew with a knowing smirk, "Right, lad?"

"Right." Henry agrees.

Beatrice hums, glancing from her nephew to her husband as the three begin breakfast.

💎💎💎💎💎💎💎

Hilda stood outside the front door of the small single-storey Georgian-styled sandstone house with a deep mahogany brown door.

"Yes?" A German man's accent asks, revealing a man in his late forties with a hooked nose.