by Jane Goodger
* * *
After Henderson and Lord Berkley left, her father and Northrup were unusually quiet at dinner, and Alice couldn’t help but notice there seemed to be a tension between the two men. Where before the two would exchange droll stories about this or that acquaintance, on this night they were strangely silent.
“What did you think of Lord Berkley?” Elda asked to no one in particular.
“I didn’t care for the man.” This from Northrup at the very same moment Richard said, “I found him enlightening.”
Elda laughed. “Now those are two very different assessments.”
“I think he was hiding a deep intelligence behind his charm.” The look on Alice’s father’s face was priceless after Christina made this pronouncement. It was almost as if he had never realized how very perceptive his younger daughter was.
“Indeed?”
Christina looked slightly embarrassed to be the focus of Richard’s attention. “I sensed that behind everything he said there was some deeper meaning, something we were not privy to. Not disingenuousness,” she said thoughtfully, trying to come up with an explanation for her assessment. “Rather as if he were trying to hide just how intelligent he is. Though I cannot imagine why.”
“Perhaps he simply isn’t intelligent,” Northrup said on a laugh, and Alice felt a twinge of pity for him. It had been clear throughout the afternoon that her parents were enthralled with Lord Berkley. It would be a difficult task for any man to be noticed when Berkley was in the room. Which made it even more perplexing why Alice’s attention throughout the day had been on Henderson.
Every time he laughed, each time he moved near her, her face grew warm and she felt a thrill go through her. With all of Berkley’s charms, it was Henderson who seemed to have some sort of hold over her. It was almost as if sharing that incredibly intimate night with him had somehow created a bond between them. Even now, even with Henderson back at his hotel, she could feel the pull. Had some sort of spell been cast on her that night, turning her into the wanton creature that sat with her family and almost-fiancé at the dinner table but could only think about what it felt like when Henderson had kissed her breast? Could only fantasize about a way it would be possible for that to happen again?
“What did you think of Lord Berkley, Alice?” Elda asked pointedly, ignoring the small intake of breath from Northrup. In that moment Elda had declared her preference, and Northrup was keenly aware of it.
“I thought him quite charming and very handsome and not in the least someone whom I would like to know better,” Alice said with what she thought would put a final period on the story her mother was creating in her mind, a story that ended with her marrying Lord Berkley.
Northrup gave her a small smile of gratitude—or was it smugness?—and Alice took a large bite of roasted pork, ignoring her mother’s frown.
Elda sighed and returned her attention to her meal. The five of them ate in silence for a time before Christina nearly had her choking on her meal.
“I like Mr. Southwell much better than Lord Berkley. I’d forgotten how nice and kind he is. A shame he doesn’t have a title.”
“Or a father,” Northrup said under his breath but loud enough for all at the table to hear.
“Of course he has a father,” Christina said. “Everyone has a father.”
“Can we not discuss this at the dinner table,” Richard said.
Christina looked around the table, unaware that she had stirred up a conversation that innocent ears should never hear. “Why is Henderson’s father not a proper subject of discussion? Oh, was he a bad man?”
“I don’t believe Henderson knows who his father is,” Northrup said, jumping slightly when Richard slammed down his fork. “I apologize, it’s just that I don’t understand why he is allowed in our company, nor why Lord Berkley has apparently taken such a liking to the man.”
Alice could tell Christina was about to launch into a staunch defense of Henderson, so she spoke up to end the conversation. “I will explain to Christina later, if you will allow it, Mother.”
“Please be circumspect, Alice.”
“Of course.” Then turning to Northrup, Alice said, trying to keep the emotion she felt out of her voice, “Henderson has been part of this family for years. I know it is difficult for you to understand, but please respect our choice of whom we associate with.” Her tone was calm and gentle, but inside she was fighting a terrible urge to lose her temper. She understood Northrup’s concerns and his prejudice. Very few families, if they knew of his birth, would allow someone like Henderson into their home as a guest, and she had always been so proud of her family for ignoring social mores and treating Henderson as an equal. In her mind, he was not only equal, he was superior to them all. Henderson was all that was kind and good and she would breathe her last making certain everyone knew it.
Chapter 13
When Alice was a girl, she remembered feeling terribly jealous of Harriet, whose father owned one of the local tin mines. Harriet, because her father “worked” in the tin mines, was allowed to participate in the procession from Guild Hall to Knill’s Steeple on Worvas Hill while she, the daughter of an aristocrat, was not. Ten girls under age ten, all daughters of fishermen or tin miners, a widow, and the mayor, a mix determined by John Knill more than seventy years prior. Alice had been six, Harriet five, and she watched with fierce envy as her younger friend marched along, not truly understanding why she had not been chosen.
At eleven, John Knill day was the most exciting day of her life. At sixteen, it seemed rather silly to her. Why were they still performing this ceremony for a man who was long dead, and whom many now believed was a bit touched in the head?
Fifteen years after her first John Knill day, the ceremony was identical except for the little girls and perhaps the style of dress, and Alice looked at the celebration with fondness and nostalgia and was glad her little village protected its traditions—even if they were a bit odd. Seeing the excitement on the faces of the ten girls who had been chosen made her remember how happy Harriet had been that day, one of the few happy days her friend had ever had as a child.
Everyone in St. Ives and many from the surrounding villages watched the procession of ten girls, all in their pretty white dresses, as they made their way through town in memory of John Knill, who invented the celebration in his own honor. Every five years, the townspeople would gather and they’d all head to the pyramid obelisk on Worvas Hill. Alice waved to Harriet, who was standing across the lane looking rather miserable. It was obvious from the stern look on her mother’s face that Harriet must have done something objectionable. Harriet, in her mother’s eyes, was always doing something objectionable. Alice gave her a smile and a wink, and her friend’s face brightened a bit. Of all her friends, Alice prayed Harriet would find a husband who could take her away from her mother.
Everywhere she looked she saw familiar faces, but not the one face she’d hoped to see—Henderson’s. He’d been there when she was sixteen, hanging about with Joseph and a few other lads. Funny how so many memories of her youth included him. The people of St. Ives loved their traditions, and this one was one of their favorites and for Alice, this would be the first time she’d be old enough to attend the John Knill ball.
She remembered with fondness when she was sixteen and had snuck out of the house and, along with her friends, spied on those dancing at the ball hosted for years by Eliza’s family.
“I’m going to meet my husband at the John Knill ball,” Harriet had announced as the four of them had sighed in unison to see one young couple gazing adoringly into one another’s eyes.
“If you wait that long, you’ll be an old maid,” Rebecca had stated.
“I’ll only be twenty-two.”
“Twenty-two is well on the shelf. That’s what my mother says, at any rate.” Rebecca always held a wealth of information, most of which came from either her mother or older siblings.
Five years later, all
four women were unmarried with only Alice having a prospective husband. Since Berkley’s visit, Lord Northrup had only increased his campaign to win her hand, much to her mother’s clear annoyance. As they were getting ready for the ball, Alice’s mother had come into her room and wondered out loud if Lord Northrup was overstaying his welcome.
“Mama, you would not be saying that if Lord Berkley had not made an appearance.”
Her mother didn’t even try to deny it. “Lord Berkley would be an excellent match for you, Alice.”
Alice, whose maid was finishing up her intricate coiffure, stared at her mother through the mirror’s reflection. “What if I were to say to you that I didn’t want to marry either Lord Northrup or Lord Berkley?”
“I would say you were being silly. Both are good men. It’s just that Lord Berkley is the slightly better man.”
Alice laughed and her mother joined her. “You have to admit, darling, when the two men are side by side there really is no comparison.”
“I do not have to admit any such thing.” She paused to thank her maid before dismissing her. “You are correct, Mama, but it’s not about a title or his stature. I truly don’t care for how Lord Northrup treats Henderson.”
Elda waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that. He’s a snob. Most people are.”
“Lord Berkley isn’t.”
Elda smiled. “That’s why he’s the better man for you, my dear.”
It was on the tip of Alice’s tongue to tell her mother that she thought Henderson the best man of all, but she knew that would only cause her mother distress. It was one thing to welcome a man into your home, it was quite another to allow that man to marry your daughter. Henderson’s declaration had been in the forefront of her thoughts during the three days since Lord Berkley had visited that first time. The earl had returned one other time, but Henderson had not accompanied him. Knowing he was still in St. Ives was driving her a bit mad. On the few outings she had made with Christina or her friends she had been tense, as if at any moment Henderson would leap out and publicly announce his intentions. Worse, she wanted him to. In the days since his visit, she couldn’t stop wondering where he was, what he was doing, if he had been serious when he’d said he loved her.
What bosh. He couldn’t love her.
But his parting words to her when they’d been alone haunted her: I really did come to stop the wedding, you know.
Was it possible? Had he actually hurried from India to stop her wedding? She thought back on that morning and tried to recall how Henderson had looked, how he had looked at her. No, she thought, he hadn’t acted like a man relieved, like a man who’d nearly lost the woman he loved to another. Oh, why was he fueling her doubts this way? A man who loved a woman did not leave for four years then return on the day of her third planned wedding and suddenly announce he was in love. But a man who was ashamed of his actions, who felt guilt and obligation after ruining a girl, would make such a declaration.
Alice pressed her cool fingertips to her temples, drawing a worried look from her mother. “I’m fine,” she said. “I have to admit these recent events have been quite wearing. I came to St. Ives to escape excitement and intrigue and it seems it has followed me home.”
Her mother gave her a quick hug. “Someday you may crave this sort of excitement, my dear. I do admit having Lord Northrup show up to beg forgiveness and having Lord Berkley show interest in you is rather more excitement than I expected this summer as well.”
Alice stared in the mirror at her reflection for a long moment, seeing only the girl she always saw. “Would it be so terrible if I never married, Mama?”
Elda sighed and put two gentle hands on her shoulders. “No,” she said, giving Alice a small squeeze. “It would mean I would never lose you. But it would also mean I would never get to hold your children and watch them grow. And neither would you. I cannot imagine how very dreary my life would have been if I didn’t have you children. We’ll figure this all out, shall we?”
“Yes. I just hope you support my decision.”
“I’m sure I will.”
* * *
The night of the John Knill ball was with thick with fog. Light from the Godrevy Lighthouse hardly made it to shore as it sliced through the night. The air was moist and by the time Henderson walked up the steps of the Lowell Hall, his hair was covered with a fine mist that created annoying curls even though he had applied a thin layer of pomade to keep it in place.
It had been more years than he could count since he had taken part in an English ball. Joseph had gained him entry into a few, but he never had been comfortable in his formal wear. Lord Berkley, horrified that he didn’t employ a valet, had let him borrow his for the evening. The poor man was put in a state when he saw what Henderson had been planning to wear, and quickly engaged a tailor to “create a proper fit, sir.” Henderson had to admit the suit fit him far better than it had, and he felt rather polished in his pristine clothes, highly polished boots, and intricately tied cravat. Perhaps when he returned to England for good and set up a house, he would make use of a valet.
As he entered the home, brightly lit with glittering gaslight chandeliers, he was struck by how many people were already inside. The house buzzed with conversation, punctuated with laughter, and Henderson took a fortifying breath. Although he had spent many summers in St. Ives, he didn’t know many people outside their small circle of friends, and now Henderson found himself amongst a crowd of strangers. He searched for a familiar face, and went still when he recognized Gerald Grant. Four years hadn’t changed him all that much. He’d been a bit younger than the rest of them, and he still looked like a schoolboy. One look at him and Henderson almost laughed aloud at the thought that Gerald, who at best reached his chest and was as slight as a bean pole, could have been responsible for the deaths of four robust men. He’d forgotten how diminutive he was, a wiry, ginger-haired man with pale blue eyes who seemed about as threatening as a puppy.
Still, it did not hurt to speak to him, for old time’s sake.
“Hello, Mr. Grant. It’s been a long time and I see the years have been good to you.”
“My word, Henderson, is that you? As I live and breathe, I cannot believe my eyes. How long has it been?”
“Four years, give or take.”
“What are you doing here?” It was a simple enough question, but given his mood, he thought he heard just the slightest emphasis on the word “you.”
“I was invited by the hostess’s daughter, Miss Eliza Lowell.”
Gerald grinned. “Get that chip off your shoulder, Southie, I meant what are you doing here in St. Ives?”
Henderson remembered that old irritation he had felt whenever the lot of them had included Gerald in their plans. No one had called him Southie but Joseph, and the fact that the other man did so now was profoundly annoying. “No one calls me Southie anymore. And I’m here on business with Lord Berkley.”
“Business. Ah. Have you heard about Sebastian? Tragedy that. Thought it might be murder, but I hear the coroner just today called it an accident.”
“I saw him the night before he died. In fact, I was there when his body was found.”
Gerald’s eyes widened. “You don’t say. The night before? I suppose in a way that’s a good thing. You got to see him, say good-bye. Get caught up, all that.”
They stood together in awkward silence, Gerald rocking from heel to toe as he looked over the crowd. “He didn’t mention a Mr. Stewart?”
Now, that was odd. Sebastian had asked him the very same question. Joseph ever mention a chap named Stewart?
Schooling his features, Henderson tried to act bored, as if that question didn’t leave him reeling. “Stewart? No, why?”
Gerald shook his head. “No reason. Just an old school chum.” He turned fully to Henderson and smiled, putting out his hand. “It was good seeing you again, Henderson. Perhaps before you return to wherever you came from—ha ha—we can get together and catch up.”
“Of course. It was good to see you, Gerald.”
Henderson watched the smaller man walk away, his curiosity more than piqued. Who the hell was Mr. Stewart?
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Lord Berkley coming toward him, looking none the worse for having loaned his valet out.
“I see Mr. Carter made himself useful,” Berkley said, referring to his valet.
“I think I’m finally seeing the value of having a valet,” Henderson said on a laugh. The two men hadn’t seen each other since their visit with the Hubbards, after which he’d expressed his gratitude to his new friend. Berkley had waved his thanks away, saying the entire campaign was a welcome distraction.
“The Hubbards are here already with Northrup trailing behind them like a puppy, and Lady Hubbard has been trying to catch my eye for about an hour. I do believe she has completely misunderstood my interest in them, so I will endeavor to do a better job of pushing their interests toward you.”
Henderson saw Alice with Northrup on the opposite side of the room and felt a sick twist of nausea at the thought of failing in his quest to win her hand. She wore a light blue gown that exposed her back and shoulders, and the thought that the other man might actually touch her, lay his hand upon that impossibly soft skin, made him a little mad. Berkley’s low chuckle pulled him from his thoughts, and he felt his cheeks blush to be caught staring so intently at Alice.
“I think you should learn better to school your features, Mr. Southwell. If her father saw you looking at Alice just now, I fear he would have thrown you from the room. My God, you really do have it bad. She’s completely ruined you.”
Dragging his eyes away from Alice, Henderson took a deep breath. “I love her with all my heart.”
“Then it’s very good you found me.”
“I am grateful, but I still don’t understand why you are going to such lengths to help a stranger.”
