by Jane Goodger
The house was silent when he entered, and a light shining in the parlor told him the ladies of the house and perhaps Lord Hubbard were likely there spending a quiet evening. The door to the parlor was ajar, and he walked in without a thought. Certainly without a thought of what he might find on the other side: A man on bended knee, Alice looking at the gentleman, her eyes soft. And the words she spoke that felt like a shot to his heart: Perhaps we can.
“Perhaps we can what?” The two separated guiltily, and that’s when Henderson recognized the chap who’d been holding his future wife’s hand in his. Lord Northrup. “What the bloody hell is he doing here?”
“Henderson, please.”
Lord Northrup stood, stepping slightly in front of Alice as if he were protecting her, which only caused Henderson’s blood to run hotter. “Who is this man?” Northrup asked, looking him over as if he were in laborer’s garb and not wearing a finely cut suit.
“This is Henderson Southwell,” Alice said. “I believe I’ve mentioned him. Joseph’s friend.”
“Ah, yes. The charity case,” Northrup drawled.
“I never implied such a thing and you know it,” Alice said, glaring at the viscount.
“Very well,” Northrup said easily. “My apologies. I thought I was being kind in my description, given he stands before us looking as if he would like to commit murder.” Northrup raised one eyebrow, all charm, as if he hadn’t a care that Henderson itched to pummel the man within an inch of his life. Something dark and primitive had uncoiled inside Henderson when he saw the other man touching Alice.
Henderson looked from one to the other, hating that he suddenly felt like an outsider. It seemed obvious that Alice had told Northrup more about him than he cared for the man to know; it put him at a severe disadvantage. “I asked a question,” he said, directing his attention to Alice, his voice softening only slightly. “What is he doing here?”
Alice opened her mouth to answer, but Northrup spoke. “Not that it’s any of your business, Mr. Southwell, but I am here making amends with my fiancée.”
“She’s not your bloody fiancée.”
Northrup breathed in sharply through his nose. “You should address your betters in a more civilized manner, Southwell. If it’s possible,” Northrup said, and Henderson had to use all his self-control not to launch himself at the pompous ass.
“For goodness sake, will you two stop?” Alice said, though she directed her question to Northrup, which felt like a minor victory to Henderson.
“Alice, what is the meaning of this?” Henderson asked, choosing to ignore the foppish fool standing in front of Alice. “This man left you standing in the church. He has no right to touch you, to even be in the same room as you. Is your father aware of this?”
“Lord Hubbard brought me here, fully knowing my intent,” Northrup said with annoying smugness.
Henderson felt the blood drain away from his head, and for a terrible moment, he thought he might sway on his feet. “Is this true, Alice?” he asked, knowing his voice sounded odd and raspy.
“Yes, Mr. Southwell, it is.” Of course, calling him Mr. Southwell was only proper, but hearing her say it, her tone so damned cold, made Henderson’s chest ache.
“But surely you have not forgiven what he did.” Alice stood, and Henderson watched in disbelief as she slowly brought her hand up to rest on Lord Northrup’s arm. He swallowed heavily. “I don’t believe it. You cannot be serious. You cannot be so foolish as to forgive this man—”
“There were circumstances,” Alice said.
“Circumstances?” he shouted. “Circumstances?”
“My dear, I fail to understand why you are even engaging in conversation with his man. In fact, what is he even doing in your home?” Northrup looked at him as if he were a mangy dog that had somehow found its way into Tregrennar.
“What is all this ruckus?” Lord Hubbard came through the door looking more than annoyed.
“This man insulted me,” Lord Northrup said. “And is upsetting your daughter.”
Richard looked at Henderson, his brows furrowed. “What are you doing here, Mr. Southwell? I understood you had no plans to come to St. Ives.” His tone was biting, all aristocrat, and even though Henderson had known Richard Hubbard for years, he had never heard that tone directed at him.
For the first time in his life, Henderson felt like an outsider in the one of the few places in England where he had always felt welcome.
“Mama insisted that he stay here while he was in St. Ives, Papa. Lord Northrup was unaware of this and has been quite unkind,” Alice said, giving Northrup a pointed look. Her defense of him somehow made things worse. He felt as if he were exactly what Northrup had called him—a charity case. To think he had walked to Tregrennar thinking he would ask Lord Hubbard for his daughter’s hand. My God, what a bloody idiot he was.
“I see. Well. Perhaps now that I am home, his presence is no longer needed.”
“Here here,” Northrup said, and Henderson didn’t miss the glare of anger Alice gave her former fiancé.
“I shall depart in the morning, sir,” Henderson said stiffly.
“Oh, Papa, is that really necessary?” Alice asked. “It’s Henderson.”
“It’s for the best,” Henderson said, looking briefly from Lord Northrup to Alice. “Please do tell your mother thank you for the hospitality. I will leave at first light.”
* * *
Alice watched in disbelief as Henderson left the room, fighting the urge to follow him. She whirled on Lord Northrup, angrier than she could ever recall being.
“You were insufferable,” she said, and was made angrier still when her father chastised her with a click of his tongue. “Papa, Mr. Southwell is a particular friend of this family and should not be made, ever, to feel unwelcome. He was upset that Lord Northrup was here because he cares for my feelings. Perhaps more than any of you do.” Alice could feel hot tears threaten. “You owe him an apology, my lord. And if you cannot bring yourself to do so, I believe any suggestion of reconciliation shall not be considered.”
To her surprise, Lord Northrup bowed and said, “Of course, you are correct. I’m afraid I allowed my temper to get the best of me. I say, I didn’t like the proprietary way he was looking at you and I fear I let my dander up.”
Alice was slightly mollified, but still angry.
“Alice,” her father said, using his lesson-teaching tone. “You must realize that most families would not welcome Mr. Southwell into their homes as we have. If it wasn’t for Joseph, no one in this house would associate with someone of his class.”
Despite the truth of her father’s words, Alice was shocked that her father had said them.
“Your family was generous, indeed, to do so,” Northrup said.
“It wasn’t charity.” She looked to her father. “Was it?”
Richard shifted uncomfortably. “Northrup, would you mind allowing me to speak to my daughter in private?”
“Of course. Good evening, sir.” He turned to Alice, his brown eyes soft and beseeching. “Please do consider what we discussed, Alice. I will do anything in my power to make you forgive me.”
Alice nodded. “I will think about it, my lord, but I cannot make you any promises.”
He smiled brilliantly, then gave her father a look that Alice couldn’t interpret. “That is all I can ask for. Good evening.”
After Northrup left, Alice made her way back to her original seat and lowered herself into it, feeling drained and exhausted. “I’m so confused, Papa.”
“Understandable, my dear. It isn’t every day an errant fiancé turns up at one’s door begging forgiveness.”
After a brief and probably unconvincing smile, Alice said, “Yes, but that’s not what I meant. I was referring to what you said about Henderson. How you acted. As if he wasn’t welcome in our home anymore. I’m certain he was terribly hurt.”
Richard let out a heavy sigh before dragging another ch
air closer to her. “You know I like Henderson, and you are correct, he has always been welcome in our home. But you must understand that if it wasn’t for Joseph, someone like Henderson would never have rubbed elbows with our ilk. Think, Alice. We have no idea who his father is. Yes, his grandparents are fine people with a large estate, but they are commoners. Without Joseph’s insistence, Mr. Southwell is certainly not the type of man I would associate with. Nor would I want my children to.”
“Then why did you allow it?”
“Joseph begged your mother and she finally relented. You know she could never say no to him. We have never regretted the decision. Henderson proved to be a fine young man with impeccable manners.”
“But not impeccable bloodlines,” Alice said softly.
“It does matter. Blood will tell, you know,” Richard said, his tone gentle. “It always did and it always will.”
Alice closed her eyes briefly, seeing again the look on Henderson’s face when he’d left the room. “I don’t believe that,” she said finally. “Henderson is one of the finest men I know. I don’t give a fig who his father is, and, frankly, Father, I cannot believe you do.”
Richard winked at her. “You always call me ‘Father’ when you are particularly angry.”
“Do not patronize me.” The tears burned even hotter in her eyes.
“Oh, Alice, you are so young. Someday you’ll realize, as Lord Northrup and I do, that nothing good ever comes from mingling with the lower classes. Joseph found out the hard way.”
Alice could not stop the horrified gasp that erupted from her. “You cannot possibly believe that Henderson had anything to do with Joseph’s death. He wasn’t even there that night.”
“No, he wasn’t. But Henderson was the risk-taker. The clown. The one who would egg Joseph to do things your brother never would have done. He may have acted the gentleman when he was with all of us, but when Joseph and he were alone, they were always up to mischief.”
“You’re wrong,” Alice said, no longer able to stop the tears from falling.
“His first summer here, I caught Mr. Southwell trying to teach Joseph to stand upon a horse and ride it. Apparently, he’d read something about American cowboys doing such a thing and wanted Joseph to try it. My son could have broken his neck. Do you really think Joseph would have taken it in his head to do such a thing if Henderson hadn’t come up with the idea?”
Alice had no answer. Her father was probably right—Henderson and Joseph had gotten into all kinds of mischief when they were together. But one could hardly blame Henderson for Joseph’s death. It was absurd.
“You seemed so glad to see him in London.”
“And I was. Truly. But now…perhaps he’s overstayed his welcome.”
* * *
That night, Alice lay in bed staring at her canopy and feeling horrid about the evening’s events. Frowning, she recalled with a certain amount of dismay how her mother had agreed with her father, that Henderson should go now that Lord Northrup was here, as if Henny might taint his lordship with his presence. Would her father have sent him away if Lord Northrup hadn’t accompanied him home? She thought not. It was obvious to Alice that her parents still hoped she would marry Lord Northrup, and she wasn’t certain how she felt about that.
“Your father explained things to me, Alice,” her mother had said earlier that evening, “and I think it’s a blessing, really. He’s a very good match, I always thought so. You couldn’t hope to do better.”
“I suppose not,” Alice had said. Lord Northrup, despite his flaws, was a good man. He was a bit of a snob, but what member of the aristocracy was not? From his perspective, Alice had to admit Henderson had seemed a bit overbearing and out of line. Yes, Lord Northrup seemed to be a good match if one was not part of that match. Alice’s heart did not speed up when he entered the room, and the thought of kissing him the way Henderson had kissed her made her slightly queasy. While Henderson’s kiss… It was magical.
Her chest hurt to know her father would no longer welcome him into their home. Nothing made any sense, not her father welcoming Lord Northrup so easily back into their lives nor pushing Henderson out.
“I might never see him again,” she said aloud, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears and spilled over to leave wet spots on either side of her pillow. When Henderson had left before, Alice had always assumed he would return. Someday. Even after years had gone by, she would think of him, think about how lovely it would be when he returned.
Now, though, he would not come to their home in London and he would never set foot in Tregrennar again.
She would never kiss him. Never hold him. Never speak to him.
It was impossible. Wrong.
Alice sat up, her breathing harsh, and swiped the tears from her eyes. She had to say good-bye, had to kiss him and hold him and remember how that felt. If she had thought that kiss in the library would be their last, well, she would have taken care to remember every moment, every touch, every sound he made.
She tiptoed to her vanity and held her small clock to the moonlight so she might see the time, smiling when she realized at this late hour of two o’clock, everyone would be abed. She knew where Henderson was, of course, for her mother had put him in the same room where he always stayed.
Alice put on her wrap and opened her door silently, her heart in her throat. This is wrong. Ignoring the strident voice in her head that sounded remarkably like her grandmother, the duchess, she moved silently down the hall until she reached Henderson’s room. Sorry, Grandmama, but I have to say good-bye.
Alice stood outside his door, her bare toes curling into the carpet that lined the hall, her arms down straight and stiff, her fingers waggling in her uncertainty. She would just say good-bye. Perhaps kiss his cheek. A hug might be permissible. After all, this was Henderson, her friend. Her friend who could kiss her and make her knees weak. Oh God. If you knock, you know what could happen. What you want to happen.
Alice lifted her hand suddenly, then hesitated, her knuckle just inches from the wood of the door. Then she knocked softly and held her breath.
Chapter 10
Henderson lay in bed, hands tucked beneath his head, and stared at the ceiling, trying to come up with a reason he was still under Tregrennar’s roof. A soft breeze, carrying with it the familiar scent of the sea, drifted over his naked torso. This room, so familiar to him, would no longer be his. The cruel thing was that perhaps it had all been an illusion, wishful thinking for the little bastard who had been lucky enough to befriend the grandson of a duke.
He should have left immediately after Lord Hubbard told him to go, but something had stopped him. He was curious.
How was it the man who’d treated him as a son for so many years prior to Joseph’s death, who had greeted him so happily not a few weeks prior, had become the cold man he’d seen that evening? It didn’t sit well with him at all. Had he done something so terribly wrong by demanding why Lord Northrup was holding Alice’s hand on bended knee? How was he to have known Lord Northrup had somehow, miraculously, gotten back into the good graces of the very man who’d wanted to sue him following the jilting?
Unless Henderson always had been a charity case.
Henderson remembered a boy from Eton who’d had few friends. Joseph, with his soft heart, had welcomed Paul into their small group, and Henderson had taken his lead and been especially kind to the boy, even though, simply put, Paul was obnoxious. The lad didn’t know how to act, was always making awkward jokes that no one thought were funny, or repeating someone else’s lines when they’d received a laugh. After a time, Henderson had deeply regretted his kindness, for Paul clung to him, taking his small kindnesses and turning them into something far different in his head. Paul called Henderson his best chum, invited him to his home for Easter break. Henderson was never unkind to Paul, but his friendship was restrained, awkward. Unwanted.
Was that how Lord Hubbard felt about him? Had he been tolerated for Joseph�
��s sake and was now the unwanted one?
A small tap on his door shook him away from his thoughts, and he wondered if perhaps Lord Hubbard had come to offer some explanation or an apology. He hastily donned his robe, but instead of finding Lord Hubbard at his door, there stood Alice, dressed in her bloody nightgown and wrap, looking so beautiful his first instinct was to shut the door in her smiling face. His second instinct, though, was far different.
He stepped back, his entire body tense, with one terrible thought: See what you have done, Lord Hubbard? You have driven your innocent daughter into the arms of a bastard.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, forcing himself to step deeper into the room. This was a pivotal moment. Should he act the gentleman? Or should he act like the man who lurked inside him, the man with his father’s blood coursing through his veins, a man who would take an innocent and walk away forever?
“My father and his lordship were horrid to you this evening and I wanted to apologize,” Alice said.
“You could have written me a letter.”
“Which, given my past, I would not have sent.” She gave him a small smile. “You are right, though. That is not the only reason or even the biggest reason I am here.”
Alice moved into the room and walked across to the window, and his chest hurt to see her lovely hair catch the breeze and fly out. He wanted to go up behind her, lay his lips on her neck, wrap his arms around her, let his hands touch her breasts and feel their fullness. He wanted to press his cock against her pretty derrière, let her feel how much he wanted her, let his hand drift between her legs and press and press and move until she was too weak to stand.
“Why are you here, then?” He smiled grimly, hearing how coarse his voice sounded.
She trailed a finger on the window, leaving behind the smallest smudge. “It occurred to me that when you leave tomorrow, it is very likely I shall never see you again.” Henderson nodded, even though she was facing away from him. “And never…” She turned, clutching her hands in front of her and looking so very young and innocent, Henderson nearly told her to leave.
