by Kelly Boyce
“Hen, you can’t just up and leave. What about your future? What about—”
“Love? Please do not say, love.” James meant well, but his belief that if he could find her a proper husband, that he could see her happy was ridiculous. As if love was the way to do that. She had learned the hard way that love was a rather thorny proposition at best. Yes, some found it. One only had to look across the ballroom at Lord and Lady Blackbourne with their heads together whispering in the corner. Or at Mr. and Mrs. Bowen waltzing so closely, it was sure to be noted in the scandal sheets the next morning. And what of Lord and Lady Hawksmoor who had sneaked away shortly after arriving with secret smiles upon their faces, a clear intent of what would follow once they reached the privacy of their own home.
Yes, love existed. It simply did not exist for her. While others were gifted with the rose, she had received nothing but a heart full of thorns.
“Can I say nothing to change your mind?”
She loathed the defeat in James’s voice. He took his job as brother and protector so very seriously and viewed his inability to protect her heart as a great failure on his part. But it was not his fault. He had warned her away from Alex but she had been too stubborn to listen, to certain that he loved her, and she him.
At least one half of that equation had been correct. But one half did not make a whole, did it?
“I plan to put some distance between myself and this city, James. I am tired.” So very tired. Lethargy had crawled into her bones and made a home. Dragging herself from bed each morning proved a Herculean feat. All she wanted to do was sleep. Her appetite was off and a strange ennui had invaded her body, making it difficult to concentrate on anything for any length of time. The things she loved failed to hold her interest. Even her lungs betrayed her, causing her to become winded by tasks she once found easy.
Perhaps the fresh air of the country and distance from everything that reminded her of Alex would help revive her.
“Then I shall come with you.”
“Don’t be silly, James.” She did not need him hovering over her like a nervous nursemaid, constantly inquiring over her well-being. “You are needed here while the House of Lords is still in session.”
He said nothing. There was nothing to say. James had a duty. And duty trumped all in the end. A truth she had learned the hard way.
“I will be fine. Now go. I believe you promised one of the Miss Lindwells’ a dance, did you not?”
Her brother shot her a dark scowl. “Promised is an overstatement. Miss Lindwell’s mother practically issued the request that I do so like a marching order. I could hardly turn it down without offering grievous insult to the girl. But for the love of all that’s holy, Hen, how many more Seasons are the Lindwells going to haunt Society in the hopes of finding a titled gentleman willing to marry either of them? They’re Americans for heaven’s sake!”
A hint of laughter bubbled up Hen’s throat, surprising her. “Hush! Someone will hear you. And don’t be so pompous. The Lindwell girls are quite pleasant despite their parents’ desperation to buy their way into the aristocracy.”
James gave her a look that clearly conveyed his doubt in that regard.
Hen nudged her brother with her arm and laughed a little, though it sounded rusty to her ears. “Regardless, you have promised Miss Lindwell a dance and you cannot be so rude as to renege. Ladies are rather sensitive to that kind of thing.”
Her words brought a dark shadow to her brother’s features. “Hen…”
She shook her head. She would not get into that now. Nor later. The matter of Alex’s change of heart was a closed one. “I am fine. Off with you now. Go.”
Hen shooed James off and let out a slow breath. She had at least another two hours to suffer through before Auntie would even consider leaving and much to her dismay, Charlie and Patience were nowhere in attendance. Rumor had it the Lindwells had left them off the guest list at Lady Susan’s request. Another reason to despise the woman, as if Hen needed one.
“I see you’ve come out of the shadows, Lady Henrietta. Feeling brave this evening, are we?”
Hen forced both her expression and her tone to remain neutral. “Speak of the Devil and the Devil appears. I suppose the adage is true after all.”
Lady Susan circled Hen like an animal stalking its prey, determining the best angle to strike the deadliest blow. Should she tell the woman there was no point? Any caustic words, pointed jabs, or harsh criticisms she might issue were sure to pale in comparison to being jilted by the man she loved. Such hurt changed a person, after all.
The pain of losing Alex in such a way had filled her with an unfamiliar hardness that had seeped around her heart, a barricade against the softness that still lived there and refused to leave.
She bid it welcome. That hardness was what kept her going. Kept her from cowering behind plants and hiding amongst the shadows. It saved her from being the girl who believed love held some magical power that could cure all her ills and make her feel whole again. Because love hadn’t done that. Instead, it had only chipped away at her heart. First by Pengrin who had only wanted her dowry and then by Alex who had only wanted an heir and had ruthlessly determined she could not provide him with such.
Lady Susan stopped just behind Hen’s elbow. Out of sight unless she turned her head. Something she was disinclined to do. “You should be nicer to me, Lady Henrietta.”
“I cannot imagine why I would.”
“Because I know a little secret.”
“I care little for what you know.”
“Really?” Lady Susan leaned forward, bringing her lips perilously close to Hen’s ear. “Not even when that secret is about a certain future duke who visited the bedroom of a particularly scarred houseguest and came away from the room far more disheveled than when he entered?”
Hen’s heartbeat gathered speed and her fingers tightened around each other where she had clasped them in front of her. “I’m certain I do not know what you’re talking about, but I would suggest you keep your vile gossip to yourself.”
“Well to borrow a phrase, I cannot imagine why I would? Such a story is just ripe for the telling, don’t you think? Though to be honest, Lady Henrietta, I did not think you had it in you. Tell me, is that why you ended your courtship with Lord Walkerton so abruptly? Did you think after taking your innocence my brother would do the right thing and make you his wife?” Lady Susan laughed and walked around to face Hen.
She gripped her hands closer, though this time it was to keep from pulling Lady Susan’s vile tongue out of her mouth.
“Your assumptions are ridiculous and you will only embarrass yourself if you reveal such lies. Do you think Lord and Lady Franklyn will countenance such behavior from you? They are already mortified by your conduct this Season.”
Lady Susan’s mouth tightened and her eyes flashed, neither of which boded well for Hen. “You underestimate me then. For I have no intention of making it appear the information came from me. All I need to do is whisper in one little bird’s ear and watch the story spread from one to the next until there is not a one left who has not heard the story, embellished the more it is told. There were plenty of people at the party who could have seen something. Or perhaps the gossip came from a servant. You know how those below stairs like to talk amongst themselves about their betters.”
As much as Hen hated to admit it, what Lady Susan claimed was true. She would feign innocence and never be held accountable for the destruction that would follow, should people learn what had happened between her and Alex. While even the slightest whisper of impropriety, especially on such a grand scale, would leave Hen ruined.
“I fail to see what end you hope to achieve with this.”
Lady Susan smiled, an ugly sight to behold. “My dear girl, you forget. I made you a promise that I would ruin you and I always keep my promises.”
A sick desperation began to claw at Hen’s insides. She had little ammunition in this fight. “You realize, of course, that if yo
ur lies are believed your brother will be forced to propose marriage to save my reputation and his. That will make me the Duchess of Franklyn one day and I fail to see how you would benefit from that arrangement.”
“My brother will not marry you. You see, I am aware that Lady Margaret does not possess an ounce of St. John blood running through her veins and should Alexander even think to propose to you, I shall whisper this knowledge to yet another little bird and, well, you can imagine what will happen then, hm?”
Horror wrapped around Hen and squeezed tightly. “You would ruin a little girl?”
“I will do whatever needs to be done to meet the end I wish to see. And the end I wish to see is you ruined as recompense for what happened to Lord Pengrin. So brace yourself, my dear. Because I think life is about to get a little worse for you very soon.”
Lady Susan spun on her heel and lost herself in the crowd. A specter of ill will bleeding through the throng like a poison. Hen continued to stand where she was, unable to move, paralyzed by the vile threats made against her and, even worse, little Margaret.
How long would it take for Lady Susan to enact her misguided revenge and what would Alex do, knowing Lady Margaret’s reputation and future hung in the balance?
* * *
If there was a more contemptible man walking the face of the earth, Alex vehemently doubted the man’s claim, as he was quite certain no one could surpass him for the unwanted title. It had been several weeks since he’d spoken to Henrietta, since she walked proudly from the room, dismissing him from her life. As she should have.
He did not deserve her.
If only that knowledge was enough to make him stop wanting her, he might be able to rouse himself from the sofa, but it wasn’t. He had holed himself away in his father’s study, unfit company for anyone. Only Margaret had dared breach his self-imposed prison to tell him stories of her daily exploits, but she had already come and gone for the day and likely, he would not see her again until tomorrow. Odd how her presence, once so reviled, was now the high point of his day, the only bit of light in an otherwise dark world.
Alex reached for the bottle of brandy next to the sofa. He’d long ago eschewed the snifter, tiring of the constant refilling. He tipped the bottle to his mouth, rivulets spilling over his lips as it went down the wrong way. He sat up sharply, coughing, brandy spewing out of him in drops and dribbles.
Perfect.
It seemed a fitting end, for him to choke to death on the liquor. Perhaps it would be quicker than actually drinking himself to death. That method had failed as it was three weeks later and still, he lived on. If one could call this living. More like wallowing. As if he were the injured party.
He had actually managed to convince himself of that for the first few days, halfway believing that Henrietta should have informed him of her inability to bear children. She knew he required an heir. That he must do his duty. He had no choice. He clung to this self-righteous reasoning like a lifeline, but by the third day, it grew thin and flimsy. Because he did have a choice. He could have challenged fate, thrown caution to the wind and taken his chances.
He almost had. The agony of losing Henrietta, the memory of the pain etched into her lovely features, somehow making her even more beautiful, refused to abate. He could not imagine calling anyone else wife. He could not envision rolling over in bed and finding any other woman there but her. He could not fathom loving anyone else.
Needing anyone else with the depth that he needed her.
How quickly she had slipped beneath every defense he’d erected, fearful of letting people in. Afraid of suffering their loss when they left.
Fear. It was, he determined, the worst of all things, but he could not eradicate it. It lingered around him like a dark cloud, asking its ridiculous questions. What if Hen became with child but then the child died before taking its first breath? What if he was wrong and the doctors right and she was never able to bear children at all? Or worst of all, the terror that woke him from his deepest stupor, what if she bore him a child but neither of them survived the birth?
Many a woman—healthy and strong—had died in childbirth. But Hen’s health in this regard had already been compromised, her body put through enough pain and suffering. If she became pregnant and died producing an heir, it would be his fault, wouldn’t it?
How could he exist in a world where she was not, knowing it had been his doing that caused her loss?
“I thought you to be a good man, but I see I was mistaken. From what I can see, you are not much of a man at all.”
Her assessment had annihilated him. But worse than that, he could not deny her claim. He was a coward, frozen in one place by fears he could not conquer. He’d sat in the receiving room at Harrow House until the sun began to sink into the horizon, unable to move. Unable to cut the last tether to the love they had shared, even if they had not spoken of it aloud. It was not until Lady Dalridge came into the room and instructed him to leave, that he no longer had a place here, did he rouse himself, her claim adding another layer to his pain.
When he stood, his bones had creaked and his muscles resisted the movement as if he’d aged fifty years while sitting there for the few moments it took to destroy all their plans for a happy future.
Would she ever be able to forgive him?
Likely not.
Nor did he deserve to be.
He would stay at Franklyn House until his father had regained his strength, then he and Margaret would return to Breckenridge. He would dedicate himself to being a good father to his daughter, the father she deserved. The father Henrietta had shown him Margaret needed.
It was the least he could do.
It was all he could do.
Chapter Twenty
As Judith painted a colorful picture of Lord Hamstead’s drunken behavior at his son’s birthday party two nights previous, Hen smiled in what she hoped were all of the right places, but her mind continued to drift elsewhere.
Her monthly was late. Not that such an occurrence was unusual. Unlike most women, she could not set her calendar upon it and expect it to arrive when it should. Sometimes two or three months could pass before it decided to appear, so such speculation that anything was amiss was farfetched at best.
Except…she felt different. Things had been off lately. She had attributed it to the deep sadness that had enveloped her since Alex’s rejection, but now she wondered. And the more she wondered, the more she was certain she could feel it, this quiet tingle deep inside of her that whispered, I am here. That her belief that her body was stronger than the doctors claimed had not been in vain.
Hen rested a hand upon her belly.
If her assumption proved true, despite the pickle she would find herself in, she did not regret it. She should, likely. She should be horrified. Frightened. Beside herself. She was none of those things.
What she was, however, was unsure. She could not take such news to James or Auntie until she knew for certain and had determined a course of action. The last thing she needed was James marching over to Franklyn House, pistol in hand, and demand Alex marry her this very instant. Because that was not a possibility. Not now. Not after Lady Susan’s promise to ruin little Margaret if such an event should come about.
If someone were to be ruined, it would be Hen. She had made the decision to make love to Alex and therefore she would bear the brunt of the result. What she would not allow, under any circumstances, was a young girl to be destroyed due to her folly.
Her heart rejected the word as soon as it entered her head. Perhaps making love with Alex had been folly. Perhaps she should regret it. She wanted to, but no matter how much effort she put into conjuring up such regret, the feeling never quite stuck.
A long breath eased out of Hen, seeping through a few cracks in the hardness she’d surrounded herself with. Cracks she had yet to fill. Crevices that widened enough to allow reason to prevail. She had, after all, had the opportunity to be honest with him about the possible inability to bear children
when he’d hinted they may have created a babe that night, but she let the chance slip by and said not a word. Had she, maybe all of this pain could have been avoided. Maybe if he’d heard her belief that the doctors were wrong, that deep inside she believed her body would, once again, surprise them all with its resilience, she might have convinced him everything would turn out just fine.
But she hadn’t. And when he came to her to rescind his proposal, he had already made up his mind on the subject and she’d been too hurt to plead her case. She’d walked away, letting pride carry her from the room before her knees gave way and she crumpled to the floor in a sea of tears and regret.
“Are you not feeling well, Hen?”
“Hm? Oh,” Hen looked up at her dear friend and smiled. How things had changed in such a short period of time. Judith, who had shown up in London as a lady’s companion, was now Lady Glenmor. How well she wore the mantle of countess, giving the title a sense of gravitas and depth. Hen had met few people in her life that possessed the level of honor and courage of the woman sitting next to her, an example she drew on now when she needed it most.
When James had hired Judith as Hen’s companion, she had resisted the idea, but Judith quickly won her over with her natural warmth and strength. It was Judith who had been the first to coax Hen out into Society and it had been Judith who had protected her from Pengrin’s grasp, risking her own reputation and life. She was a true and trusted friend. And an observant one.
“I saw you rubbing your stomach and thought perhaps you were feeling under the weather. Would you like me to have our driver take you back to Harrow House?”
Hen shook her head, but the need to speak to someone pushed at her, and who better than Judith? Her friend had always been fair. She would not judge or look harshly upon her. And Hen knew of no one better to offer sensible counsel if her suspicions proved true.
“Might I discuss a private matter with you?”
