by Kelly Boyce
“Because she is not truly your granddaughter,” Hen said. Lady Ottley’s claim had battered the inside of Hen’s head since the moment she’d issued it. The news that had shocked Hen initially, in retrospect made a certain amount of sense, explaining why Alexander avoided the little girl. Perhaps each time he looked upon her, he saw another man’s face or was reminded of the betrayal visited upon him by his wife. Either way, it explained much.
“How did you know?” Lady Franklyn whispered.
“Lady Ottley intimated such when she was at Harrow House, though I do not think she meant to. She was angry and blurted it out. But I assure you it will go no further. I do not wish to see any harm come to Lady Margaret.” Should such news get out, even though Alexander had claimed her as his child, the rumors would be enough to damage her future options. “I know all too well how cruel Society can be if one has a mark against them, even if that mark was not their own doing.”
Guilt bled into Lady Franklyn’s expression. “My daughter has treated you atrociously, I know this. Please understand, I do not condone this behavior and I have tried to curb it, but she listens to my counsel as much as Alexander does. I have failed miserably in the maternal arts, I fear.” She gave a wry smile but Hen could see the hurt and regret in her eyes. Many had commented on the change in Lady Franklyn over the past year, but Hen had not known the duchess well enough to speak to it. Regardless, the woman she saw before her was filled with strength and determination and it was clear she loved her family and wished better for them.
“Do you think it wise that my great-niece attend a party where your daughter will have carte-blanche to strike out with her special brand of venom?”
Lady Franklyn kept her fixed gaze upon Hen. “I promise you, Lady Henrietta, that if you attend, you will be under my protection. I will not allow my daughter to cause you any grief, even if I must lock her in her bedchamber to ensure such does not occur.”
“If we do agree to attend,” Hen said. “I cannot guarantee my brother will follow suit. In truth, I suspect he will all but forbid my attendance.”
“To which I may overrule if I have good cause.” Auntie’s fingers tapped the top of her walking stick, the rings on her fingers making a quiet clicking noise as they hit the polished wood. “Tell me, Lady Franklyn, will Lord Walkerton be in attendance?”
“Indeed, yes. He and his mother both. Will you help me then?”
Hen glanced at Auntie, who arched one silver eyebrow indicating she would leave the decision up to her. But there was no decision to be made. On this matter, she and Lady Franklyn were of an agreement.
“Of course, we would be pleased to attend…under one condition.”
“Yes?” Lady Franklyn drew the word out with a hint of trepidation.
Hen smiled. “I would dearly love a visit with Lady Margaret while I am here.”
Lady Franklyn’s shoulders eased with relief and she let out a small laugh that sounded rusty to Hen’s ears. “Indeed, I think she would love to see you. She asks upon you often. Perhaps Lady Dalridge and I may workout the particulars of fixing the rift between your brother and my stepson while you spend time with my granddaughter.”
She gave the directions to the nursery and Hen excused herself, traversing the staircase to two floors above them and hurrying down the hallway toward the nursery.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Chapter Twelve
Hen’s back stiffened at the stringent voice she had become all too familiar with over the past Season, but she did not allow Lady Susan to slow her down. Instead, she tossed her answer over her shoulder without missing a step.
“I’m on my way to the nursery to see Lady Margaret.” The doorway loomed closer.
What sounded like a snort—how ghastly—indicated Lady Susan still followed behind her. “And you think you have the right to do that?”
Hen reached the closed door and turned sideways to address her antagonist. “According to the duchess, yes I do. Are you planning on overriding her decree?”
She received a glare as an answer. Even Lady Susan was not so foolish as to attempt to usurp the Duchess of Franklyn’s orders.
“Then good day to you.” Hen moved to open the door, but before she could, Lady Susan spoke again.
“Such interest you have in other people’s children. Odd, don’t you think?”
She should ignore her, just walk through the door into the nursery and let the matter alone. But Devil take it, she was so weary of Lady Susan and the last thing she wished was for her to follow Hen into the nursery and spew her hatefulness in front of an impressionable Lady Margaret.
“Whatever do you mean?” Not that she cared or even wanted to know. The mind of someone as contemptible as Lady Susan was not a place Hen had a particular interest in traipsing through.
Lady Susan shrugged, but a hint of smile curled one corner of her mouth, the way it always did when she was about to deliver her special brand of hatefulness. “I noted as much at the tea Miss Caldwell threw in support of this foolish notion she has of building a school for girls of less fortunate circumstances. Imagine. That bluestocking will never find herself a husband with her odd and scandalous behavior.”
“And you will?” The pointed question shot out of Hen’s mouth before she could stop it. But she could not stand idly by while Lady Susan made derogatory comments about Rosalind Caldwell. Hen considered the work Rosalind did on promoting the education of young girls in order to give them a better life admirable and she supported it wholeheartedly. She had even toyed with the idea of taking on the position of headmistress of the school once Madalene Cosgrove turned it down and married Lord Hawksmoor.
Lady Susan pulled herself up straighter. She was taller than Hen and reed thin, a series of flat planes and sharp angles. “I am the daughter of a duke. I assure you, I will have no difficulty in finding a suitable husband.”
Hen offered her sweetest smile. “And yet, here you are in your third Season without a single proposal.”
Her words hit their mark, indicating a tender spot beneath the blanket of contempt Lady Susan wrapped herself in. “You may want to cover your scars before you enter the nursery. Wouldn’t want to frighten the dear child with what a little monster you are, now would we?”
Touché.
But the hurtful claims, so familiar now, failed to find their mark. Slowly, yet surely, Hen was coming to realize that Lady Susan’s words were just that. Words. They weren’t reality. They weren’t truth. They were just noise. Caustic and sharp, but in the end, meaningless.
“Perhaps I am a little monster. And yes, I am definitely scarred,” she said, pulling her shoulders back and taking a step toward the other woman.
Surprised, Lady Susan drew back, as if she hadn’t expected her attack to be turned back on her. And why would she? Every other time, Hen had run away or had someone else fight her battle for her.
“But I am not to be pitied, Lady Susan, and here is why.” Hen touched the obvious scars at her neck and took another step forward. “I bear these marks as a testament to my parents who died saving my life because they loved me with such ferocity that they did not think twice about doing so. I bear them because I loved them enough to try to save them as well, regardless of the risk to my life or my person. For too long I have hidden away, but no more. To do so is a slight against the love we shared and against the ultimate sacrifice they made so that I might live. A slight I refuse to continue to perpetuate. So tell me, Lady Susan—who loves you that much? Anyone? Or has your hateful nature turned even the most stalwart away?”
“How dare you speak to me in such a way. And in my own home!”
“How dare you speak to me the way you have been, as if the level of your birth gives you the right to hurt people as you see fit.” Hen advanced farther until Lady Susan’s back was dangerously close to the wall, leaving her nowhere else to go. “Is it any surprise, Lady Susan, that you have no friends?”
“I have any number of friend
s, as you well know.”
Hen shook her head. “What you have are hangers-on. Sycophants who follow you about because you are the daughter of a duke. Fools who hope to reap some reward from the association. But the sad fact remains that given a choice, if you were but the daughter of a viscount and still behaved thusly, not a one of them would deem to glance your way. You’re a despicable individual, Lady Susan, and I find that quite pitiable. Far more than any scar I bear could ever be.”
Lady Susan’s face changed as a rage swept over it. “How dare you pity me! Take that back this instant!”
“I shall not, because it is the truth. And it shall remain so for as long as you continue to behave the way you do, lashing out at people who have done nothing to deserve such treatment. You behave as if other people’s lives were trivial things. You stomp through them and you care not of the hurt and destruction you leave in your wake. What a hateful existence you must lead to do such things. I should think eventually it will all come home to roost, however. It always does.”
“You know nothing.”
It was Hen’s turn to shrug. She did not need to convince Lady Susan of what she’d said. She could see it in the young woman’s eyes. Despite the hate and resentment that resided there, it was not enough to cover the fear. The fear that Hen was right. The fear that eventually, the piper would demand to be paid and she would find herself with empty pockets.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I am going to spend a few moments with a young lady who has far better manners than the one I currently share company with.”
Hen gave Lady Susan her back and this time made it all the way into the nursery, shutting the door behind her to keep Lady Susan’s vileness from creeping in and ruining her visit.
* * *
Alex stood in the hallway, hidden in the shadow of a small alcove, alone now that the altercation between Henrietta and his sister had met its end. When he’d first heard their voices carry down the hallway, he’d hurried his pace to put an end to Susan’s vitriol before it caused its usual damage, but the closer he came, the more it became evident his services were not required. Like a voyeur, he tucked himself into the alcove and watched the spectacle, stunned and proud of Henrietta’s retaliation against his half sister’s despicable behavior.
By God, she was spectacular!
Her words, honest and true, cut Susan down, slicing at her deeds and behavior until they were left flapping about her in ribbons. She’d had no defense and all her attempts to mount one fell prey to Henrietta’s truth. Alex had always known Henrietta to be strong. He had watched her fight valiantly for her life despite all the odds stacked against her. Despite the doctor’s belief that it was just a matter of time before she succumbed. Somewhere along the way, Alex had forgotten about this strength and he believed she had as well, turning timid and fearful over the opinions of others.
Until now.
Today, her boldness had been on full display. Today, she stood tall despite her small stature. Valiant. A warrior, like the statute of Athena he now hid behind to watch the spectacle that played out before him.
He had never been more proud. How he wished James could have been here to see this. Perhaps then, he would stop trying to protect his sister as if she were a fragile piece of glass that might shatter at any moment. Perhaps then, he would understand that this time, it was different. This time he cared and wished for Henrietta’s happiness with as much fervor as did James.
And this time he wanted to be the one to make her happy.
He just wasn’t sure how. What did he know about it, after all? Joy and happiness had been fleeting things in his life, stopping by just long enough for him to grow comfortable with them before they disappeared like smoke in the wind.
His shoulders drooped and he let the wall take his weight. Perhaps James was right to order him to stay away. Perhaps he should listen. What if he couldn’t make her happy? What if he went into it with the best of intentions and failed? Then what?
He glanced down the hallway at the closed nursery door.
The call of her pulled at him. He wanted to be near her. To soak up her presence like warm sunshine on a cool day. She was a balm to every wound he’d ever incurred and though it may not be fair or wise or respectable, he couldn’t help himself.
Alex pushed away from the wall and made his way down the hallway to the nursery. When he opened the door, he found Margaret and Henrietta perched around a small table on tiny chairs conducting a tea party that involved the two of them along with a stuffed bear and several dolls Laura had resurrected from Susan’s younger years. His sister had protested having the dolls gifted to Margaret, but Laura overruled her, increasing his sister’s dislike of the little girl she referred to as the pretender. It was at the delivery of that moniker Alex decreed she keep her distance from Margaret or suffer the consequences. What those consequences could be he had yet to determine, given she had him somewhat by the short hairs with her threat to expose Margaret’s true origins should he push matters too far.
Both ladies turned at the interruption to their tea party and stood. He could not say which of them looked more surprised to see him, though Margaret’s greeting was more effusive. The girl jumped out of her seat, toppling it over as she rushed toward him, a bright smile spread across her face. She stopped short of launching herself at his legs, but from the way she vibrated with pent up energy, hopping from one foot to the other, he did not rule out the possibility of it occurring.
Alex bowed. “Pardon my intrusion, my lady. I was in the neighborhood and thought I might stop by.”
Shock registered on Margaret’s face, pricking at Alex’s guilt. He so rarely paid the girl enough attention and it was clear she did not know how to react now that he had. Perhaps it was a good thing he was not her true father as his ability at being such was dismal at best. He did not know what to do with her. How to behave. He feared having her love him as a father. Someday she may learn the truth—especially given Susan’s threats—and if she did, she would look at him differently. How could she not? Likely, she would come to despise him for keeping the truth from her, or believe he was somehow to blame. For these reasons, and others he had come up with over the years to justify his absence in her life, he had kept his distance.
But it was clear from the little girl’s expression now that she had not given up hope he might eventually come around. And it was in that hope, in the fact that she had not given up on him, where the worst of his guilt resided. Because he could not come around, not that far. He could not risk letting this child into his heart only to have her wrenched away—by the truth, or her grandparents. Or death.
He had learned early the damage such things could bring. How easily one could fall for the false hope that dangled like a carrot on a stick, promising such lovely things, only to be torn away when you least expected it. Such complacency, such belief, was a trap he had fallen into one too many times.
He would not do so again. The consequences were too great. The damage too severe.
“Won’t you sit down, my lord,” Henrietta asked, waving at a small chair he had no hope of fitting into.
“I am not sure—”
Margaret turned and ran to the other side of the room, grabbed a straight back chair of normal size and dragged it across the room to the small table set up with tiny china cups that would barely hold enough tea to wet the tongue.
“Here.” She patted the seat and short of rudely ignoring her invite and appearing a complete ogre to Henrietta, who likely already had a rather lowered opinion of him after the altercation with her brother, he had little choice.
“Very well then. For a few minutes.”
Henrietta smiled up at him from her perch on the small chair and Margaret set about pouring invisible tea into one of the small cups, handing it to him with great flourish save for the fact she forgot the saucer.
“I am surprised to see you here, Lady Henrietta.” Alex did not make reference to the verbal altercation he witnessed outside the
nursery doors.
“I had stopped by in the hopes Lady Franklyn and I might work together to convince you and my brother to mend your relationship.” She gave him a hopeful glance and it bothered him greatly that he would have to disappoint her in that regard.
Alex rubbed at his jaw that still bore the fading bruise from one of James’s more severe blows. The man certainly packed a wallop. “I’m afraid that is up to your brother, as he feels he is the injured party.”
“Is Uncle James angry with you, Papa?”
The moniker caught Alex off guard. Lady Henrietta’s doing, no doubt, as Margaret had never referred to him in such a way before she’d arrived at Harrow House. It was always my lord, or nothing at all. He’d preferred it that way. Only Edward had the right to call him Papa and his sweet boy had not lived long enough to form words. But Alex could not deny the title held great power, washing over him with a strange warmth that penetrated the wall around his heart that Henrietta had already punched large cracks into.
Papa.
He did not deserve it. He was not her father. He had certainly not treated her as a daughter beyond what duty called for nor did he entertain the notion such would change in the near future. Margaret was a dangerous trap; wracked with snares and spiked pits he could fall into without warning should he allow himself to be pulled in by the charm of her smile and the hopeful sparkle in her green eyes.
Alex shook off the thought. No. It was best he did not traipse down that path blindly. Best to step away. Use caution and common sense. No good could come from it. None at all.
“Yes, I’m afraid I have had an argument with Lord Ridgemont over a private matter.”
Why did James insist she call him uncle? Was it because of his past feelings for Ruth? A way of keeping her memory alive by engaging with the little girl she left behind? He had never given James’s feelings toward Ruth much thought after his friend had stepped aside so that Alex might pursue his own infatuation. But when Ruth had died, his friend’s grief had been a palpable thing. Dark and profound and difficult to witness. James did not blame Ruth for her untimely end in the way Alex had. He had simply mourned her loss; setting aside any opinion he had on how it had come about. Something Alex had never been able to do.
