Simon grinned and had bent to retrieve his shirt, when he caught a glimpse of his patch resting on the small table beside the bed.
His hand went to his face, the raised and knotted skin of his injury rough against his fingertips. He had forgotten its absence, his mind distracted by the beauty before him. A beauty who was now, in the early light of dawn, seeing the full extent of the damage done to his face and the hideous result. No wonder she was pushing him away.
She was ashamed.
Uttering an oath, he reached for his patch, when Henrietta’s hand settled on top of his.
“Must you wear it?” she asked. “I’ve seen the indentions the tie leaves in your skin, Simon. It is no wonder you suffer from maladies of the head. The patch and its ties are abrasive. If it is not required for the protection of your eye, I would advise tossing the thing. Your skin needs to breathe….and heal.”
Simon moved back, his hand still beneath hers, his gaze now intently focused on the woman standing half-covered before him.
She never ceased to amaze him. Her proposal was…well, he didn’t quite know what the hell it was, but he had not expected her to suggest that he…that he…not hide behind his eye patch. The notion was plain ludicrous.
“Are you serious?” he asked, certain she was playing some sort of joke.
“Entirely. I’ve never been more serious.” She squeezed his hand, his skin warming at her touch.
He pulled his hand away, along with the silk-covered patch. “I guarantee no else wishes to see what lies underneath.”
“You have nothing to hide. You are innocent, a man greatly wronged—”
“And scarred. The whispers… God, they follow me with the damn patch on. Without it—no.” He shook his head and lifted the stiff patch to his eye, tying the strands firmly behind his head. While beyond relieved Henrietta was not repulsed by his injury, even in the light of day, he was not about to run around without the small measure of protection the patch afforded.
Simon flung his shirt over his head, shrugging it over his shoulders. While stunned by her suggestion, he could not deny the tiny pricks of truth behind it. He was hiding behind the patch. His fears. His insecurities. His past…and his heart.
His heart had been stolen by Henrietta’s tiny hands, her acceptance, and her intelligent mind. Simon’s hands shook as he thrust his legs into his breeches. She had somehow taken something he had guarded so tightly…and he was not ready to part with anything else.
“Simon.” Henrietta reached for him, but he pulled away, still shaken by the depth of his affection.
“I need to leave. You were right. It is best if I am not seen until my intent has been declared.”
He snatched up his waist coat and shoved his arms through the holes, not caring if he tore the expensive jacquard. He’d have another one made. He was, after all, the bloody damn Earl of Amhurst.
Who had just claimed his countess, his reputation be damned.
…
Henrietta nibbled her bottom lip and frowned while her hands plunged into a deep pile of earth as she repotted a recently clipped chamomile plant. The early morning sun heated her back, its rays sinking through her knit shawl and the thin muslin of her gown, reminding her of the warmth of Simon’s arms.
He had touched her with such tenderness, had loved her with a gentleness she would never have expected from a man of his impressive height and rough exterior. To deny the excitement pulsing through her at the idea of having him as her husband would be futile at best.
A lifetime would not be long enough to enjoy the pleasures wrought by his embrace.
“He’s on the verge of offering for me, I can feel it.”
Henrietta froze at the voice. A soft breeze caressed her skin, tossing the loose curls on her neck—and sending hushed murmurs of feminine conversation across the garden.
“Has he declared his intentions?”
A high-pitched giggle erupted in the morning stillness. Miss Saxton.
She hadn’t counted on anyone being up so early, especially Miss Saxton, who should still be recovering from her bout of illness the evening prior. But then, she had seen the physician, a man who routinely prescribed cool fresh air along with short walks to rid the body of ill tempers.
Of all the mornings for the physician’s advice to be followed. Brushing the dirt off her hands, Henrietta scrambled to her feet, slipping between the stone wall and a full bush of rosemary. Heaven forbid the women see her kneeling on the ground, with her hands dirtied, adding yet another offense against her character and another layer of tarnish atop her reputation.
Miss Saxton and Lady Georgiana strolled around the corner of the wall, their covered heads bent low together.
“He has not said so much in words as he has in his behavior toward me.” Miss Saxton linked her arm through Lady Georgiana’s. “He came to my room last night. Chaperoned, of course. To dote on me.”
Lady Georgiana’s eyes widened. “He did?”
“Oh, yes. Under the guise of being a dutiful host and making certain I was on the mend, which of course I was, thanks to his staff’s diligent care, but his eye said otherwise. I am certain he came to gauge the depths of my affection toward him.”
Fear crept up Henrietta’s throat, its icy grasp stealing away her breath. A dutiful host. His eye. Singular. As in one. There could only be one person to whom Miss Saxton referred.
“And how deep are your affections toward him?” asked Lady Georgiana.
“Deep enough for me to accept his offer once it is given. The two of us are well-suited. He requires a proper wife, and I, a wealthy husband.”
“But what of the trial and the rumors of his past? Are you not fearful you may befall the same fate as his late mistress and end up…dead?”
Miss Saxton pulled away, her back stiffening. “I am not some fallen woman for him to carelessly cast off. I shall be his wife. With a very powerful and respected father. He wouldn’t dare lay on a hand on me. Not if he wishes my father’s support.”
“Yes, but you cannot disregard what everyone believes to be certain,” said Lady Georgiana.
Miss Saxton lifted her chin. “I trust my father’s judgment. If he is willing to overlook the earl’s past transgressions, then so shall I. Once I become the countess, my father will make certain all this nonsense of the Black Earl ceases, never to be circulated again. No doubt the details of someone else’s torrid affairs will surface and take its place.”
Lady Georgiana offered her a feeble smile. “Of course.”
Henrietta flattened herself against the house, shrinking into the shadows as the two women passed.
She had to speak with the earl, had to hear from his own lips, to whom he intended to offer—indeed, if he intended to offer for her at all. Doubt gnawed at her insides, for no matter how much she wished to disregard Miss Saxton’s careless comments, Henrietta could not deny the truth behind them.
Miss Saxton’s father was an influential viscount who could offer Simon something she could not—a clear slate. A fresh start without the whispers.
All she had to offer was a stutter…and her heart.
Slipping back out into the sunlight, she ran along the path in the opposite direction of Lady Georgiana and Miss Saxton. Henrietta bounded through the kitchen doors, past her alcove—and into her sister’s slender form.
“Henrietta?” Sarah’s light brown eyes widened with surprise.
“Sarah, I did not expect to see you here. And so early in the morning. Whatever is the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Wha—well, I have.” Sarah placed a hand to her chest. “You look near as pale as one. Are you feeling well?”
“I am.” Henrietta clenched her teeth. Or at least she had felt well before Miss Saxton had opened her mouth. “You, however, appear piqued. Perhaps you should sit down.” She touched Sarah, who waved off Henrietta’s hand.
“I am fine, just a little taken aback to find you out and about so early in the morning. We
re you unable to rest?”
Not with the memory of Simon’s fingers dancing across her skin and his lips flitting over her neck. “I may have had some trouble sleeping.” Her cheeks blazed.
“Did you take some valerian or lemon balm?”
“No, I was just—” Henrietta peered at her sister. “Have you been reading up on plants?”
Easily the most intelligent sibling, Sarah’s thirst for knowledge was expansive, but it did not usually veer to nature, especially flora. Her interests were geared toward historical fact and politics, not earth science.
And yet, her sister had correctly identified not one, but two herbs known to induce slumber.
“Yes,” Sarah said quickly. “The last book I read on Socrates and his criticism of democracy had me curious to look up the poison the Athenians used to sentence him to death. I thought I would find more on hemlock in one of the books Father kept in the library, and well, you know how it is—one page leads to another and then to another, and I fear I read the entire book before everything was said and done.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Sarah was a voracious reader, putting Albina and Henrietta’s piles of completed books to shame. It was not unlike her to read through an entire book in one sitting.
“I was just repotting some chamomile. Over half of the plant’s blossoms had been harvested. The poor thing was severely abused.”
Sarah tilted her head, her face in a familiar expression of contemplation. “Chamomile?”
Henrietta nodded. “Chamomile is also known to induce rest. Perhaps another guest had difficulty sleeping. I only wished they had taken what was needed and not harvested so much. I require some for Sim—” She bit her tongue, the taste of blood sharp in her mouth. “A-a-a healing skin salve.”
Sarah shot her a curious look. “Perhaps they did not know the proper dosage. Likely someone from Miss Saxton’s entourage clipped the flowers. She had a difficult time of it yesterday, and along with restlessness, chamomile is also known to provide relief from stomach cramps.”
“Yes,” Henrietta said slowly. Sarah appeared agitated, as though she had things to accomplish, and one of those things was not standing here, discussing missing herbs with Henrietta. “Are you certain you are well? You seem…distracted.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, I suppose I am. The swirl of guests, Lady Georgiana, Lady Isabella, and Miss Saxton’s illnesses, the earl—they have my mind running in all different directions. I am sorry, dear. I did not mean to cause you any concern.”
Henrietta stiffened. “The earl?”
Sarah nodded, covering her mouth with her hand as she let out a little yawn. “Yes. Albina, Mother, and I have been working hard to ensure the silly man selects you as his bride. The very thought of Miss Saxton stealing away that victory, well, I won’t allow it. You will be the Countess of Amhurst. So help me God, I will—”
“Sarah.” Henrietta grabbed her sister’s arm and stared into her frantic eyes. “What has gotten into you? Have you slept at all?”
She wrenched her arm from Henrietta’s grasp. “Yes, of course.” She lifted her head. “I simply do not appreciate your flippant air on a matter of grave seriousness.”
“Grave seriousness?”
“Goodness, Henrietta, have you forgotten? Plumburn. You yourself said it must remain in the family. That it was essential you champion for her by sacrificing yourself to the earl.”
She had forgotten. Plumburn had somehow slipped in its importance, falling from its treasured spot on the top shelf to somewhere on the floor….though she couldn’t recall when it had occurred. The stone and mortar of her father’s beloved estate no longer held the same allure as the man who currently possessed them.
“The earl,” Henrietta whispered.
“Yes, the earl,” Sarah exclaimed. “I should think you would be much more interested in acquiring his hand than concerning yourself with some missing chamomile flowers. The earl is not a man easily impressed. We need to make certain you appear in the best possible light.”
Henrietta blinked, shaking herself out of her reverie. “You do not think I am capable of attracting the earl?”
“Attracting his attention, no. Doing so in a dignified and distinguished manner without calling question to your character, yes.”
Henrietta’s mouth fell open. “What the devil has gotten into you?” What sort of temper had taken hold of her mild-mannered sister?
“I should ask the same of you. For a woman looking to secure her father’s home, you have a poor way of showing it. I realize your inclination for clumsiness, but really, Henrietta you have outdone yourself this week.”
“You know very well I-I-I did not choose for the vase to spill onto my gown,” Henrietta sputtered. “Or, or to be pulled into the mud, or for the silly horse to go afield.”
“No, just as you do not choose to utilize your tongue to form complete words.”
Henrietta gasped. “My stutter is not a choice. It is an impediment, and one I work hard to overcome. Every. Single. Day. I can’t believe you think I-I-I am incapable, that you think me s-s-slow.” Dammit. Her tongue was as thick and incompetent as Sarah claimed.
“I did not mean to insinuate—”
Henrietta shook her head, her heart racing. She shoved past her sister and toward the staircase leading up to the house. She had to leave before any more insults could be hurled in her direction. She did not need Sarah’s help. Or Albina’s. Or her mother’s. She had earned the earl’s affections without their assistance. Her knowledge of plants had garnered his attention, not the cut of her gown, the placement of her ribbons, or any other frippery.
Her skirt went taut against her legs, a firm tug on the muslin jolting her to a halt.
“Henrietta,” Sarah breathed. A sheepish smile on her face, she released Henrietta’s gown. “I am sorry. I should not have called attention to a matter that, as you stated, you have no control over. I am simply concerned and overwrought, and…tired.”
She sighed. Her sister’s anxiety, while misplaced and no longer warranted, was her fault. Had she been more dexterous, or poised in social settings, her family’s assistance would not have been required in the first place.
She had been so focused on Simon she had thought little of the burden she had placed on her family’s shoulders.
She turned around and pulled Sarah into a hug. “It is I who should offer my apologies. I-I-I did not mean to encumber you with the fate of my future. It is my future, not yours.”
Sarah gripped her harder. “I just want you to be happy, dear. And if Plumburn is what you want, then I will do everything I can to be sure you obtain it.”
But Plumburn was longer what she wanted. Yes, she wished to remain in its comforting rooms, with its familiar paintings and furniture, but they were things, relics, and could not offer her any love in return. Without Simon to share them with…they were simply reminders of a time long past.
“I appreciate everything you have done for me, my dear, but Plumburn is no—”
“You can thank me when the earl offers for you, Henrietta. Though, I do hope it is before the marquess.”
“The marquess?” Henrietta frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Come now, Henrietta. It is no secret the marquess fancies you, despite Albina’s objections to the contrary. He, in fact, seems quite besotted and can offer you a large estate in Surrey. But I know you have your heart set on Plumburn, so I did not think to encourage the marquess’s advances toward you, despite his persistence.”
Henrietta blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lord Satterfield. He seeks your hand.”
What nonsense was this? The marquess had shown some signs of interest, but she had credited them to his rakish reputation. Surely he hadn’t seriously considered her for the position of the marchioness. It was common knowledge the marquess was set against the very idea of marriage, a man devoted to the pursuits of the flesh, not the filling of his nursery.
Henrie
tta gave a firm shake of her head. “The man is a rake. If he were to be with anyone, he would be with Albina. As she has said more than once.”
“In her mind, perhaps, but one would have to blind to dismiss Lord Satterfield’s interest in you.”
“Then I shall have to politely and firmly refuse him. I did not mean to mislead him.”
“I don’t believe you did, but with Miss Saxton so certain of her claim on the earl’s hand—”
“You’ve heard that as well?”
A look of sympathy settled over Sarah’s face. “Yes. Only this morning. But the race has yet to be won. The earl has not made any offers. Though, if you are not his selection, the marquess is an option, Henrietta.”
“An option I will not consider, and I suggest you never let Albina hear you recommend otherwise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find the marquess and settle things with him quietly. I do not wish him any humiliation should he plan on making a public declaration.”
She lifted her gown to her ankles, hastening her steps in her rush to find not only Lord Satterfield, but Simon. Declarations were being made, and she wanted to know to whom they would be given.
Chapter Twelve
Pulling a handkerchief from his waist coat pocket, Simon swiped it across his brow, the linen square soaking up an afternoon’s worth of sweat. Satterfield joined him under the shade of a sprawling tree, lifting a ladle of water to his lips.
“I wager another few beams and the wall will be shored up and finished.” Simon folded the handkerchief, placing it back into his pocket.
Satterfield offered him the ladle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, and another few beams and I’ll be on my back, dead from exhaustion, too tired for even a massage from one of the locals.” He eyed the comely, buxom daughter of the tenant farmer whom they were assisting. No more than fifteen, the girl caught Satterfield’s hot gaze and flushed.
Simon let out a bark of laughter, thankful Satterfield’s wandering was, for once, not settled on Henrietta. “Come now, I’m certain you’ll find the strength to sit up at dinner and replete your lost stores of nourishment.”
The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) Page 13
