The Bad Luck Bride for comp

by Jane Goodger

  “At the White Hart Inn at the moment, but I shall be leaving soon. I’m expected in London by the end of August, and after that, I plan to travel to India. I don’t expect I can be of more assistance as I have told you everything I know. Would you mind telling me what will happen next?”

  Bennet shook his head. “Likely nothing.” At Henderson’s sound of outrage, Bennet held up a placating hand. “Please, you must understand how very difficult these cases are. Every man died of accidental causes, all clearly documented and dismissed. I suspect that some were not investigated at all by my predecessors, and these deaths happened years ago. Mr. Hubbard’s death, for instance. Witnesses saw him fall.”

  “Only Gerald Grant saw him fall. I don’t know what the other lads saw, and now they are conveniently dead.”

  “No one else came forward to dispute his claim at that time, did they? You must realize that other than the very real coincidence that all four of the men were present when Mr. Stewart died and the only one left is the man who caused that gentleman’s death, I have no evidence. I don’t know if the magistrates would even agree to hear the case.”

  “They will hear it,” Berkley said with a smile. “I can guarantee it.”

  Henderson looked over at Berkley and suspected his father must have something on at least one of the magistrates who would oversee such a case.

  “Even so, there is scant evidence. I will pursue this, rest assured. Perhaps when Mr. Grant is confronted by the facts, he will confess. I can’t imagine it has been easy all these years living with the guilt of such crimes.”

  Standing, Henderson said, “I have a feeling that a man capable of what Mr. Grant has done feels little guilt. I have come to realize over the years the depths of what a man can do to preserve himself.”

  * * *

  The two men left the constable feeling only slightly satisfied with their accomplishment.

  “It’s in his hands now,” Lord Berkley said, looking out over the fishing fleet that remained in the harbor. “At least now you know that even had you been there that night Mr. Hubbard died, you likely could have done nothing to stop it. I have a feeling Mr. Grant would have killed him, if not that night, then another.”

  Henderson came up short, his mind whirling at this possibility. For some reason, he’d silently counted Joseph’s death separately, as a suicide that could not be tied to the other men’s deaths. He’d kept the secret so long, it had become a part of him, a particular truth that he no longer even tried to dispute. Gerald had told him about that night—Gerald, who had likely killed Joseph.

  “What’s wrong, Henderson?” And when tears filled Henderson’s eyes, Berkley clasped one shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

  “My God, all these years I felt to blame for Joseph’s death, not because he died, but because I thought it was suicide.”

  “Suicide?”

  “That night Joseph died, I came upon Gerald in the White Hart Inn. He was clearly upset and he told me Joseph had killed himself, that they all agreed never to speak of it to protect the Hubbards and Joseph’s memory.”

  “Jesus, man.”

  “I thought if I had been there that night, I could have stopped it or that Joseph never would have done it. And all this time, he’d been murdered and I likely wouldn’t have been able to stop it. Sebastian and Tristan were there that night and they saw nothing. I know they would have told me if they had.” Henderson gasped, in and out, as the enormity of what he realized hit him. “These last four years have been a living hell because of that man. By God, if they do not arrest him I do not know if I can stop myself from putting him in his grave.”

  Berkley squeezed his shoulder and dropped his hand. “A foolish thought, but one I completely understand. I’m afraid I cannot allow you to commit murder, but I swear I will do everything in my power to make certain Gerald Grant hangs for his crimes.”

  Chapter 17

  “I am terribly sorry, my lord, but I’m madly in love with another man and cannot in good conscience allow you to continue to court me in hopes that we will marry.” No, that wasn’t quite what she wanted to say. “While I will continue to hold you in the highest esteem, my lord, I’m afraid I cannot marry you.”

  Alice smiled at her reflection and nodded. That was much better. She’d informed her mother of her decision when she’d returned from her knitting group, an announcement that was met with stony silence. While she did not exactly give Alice permission to end her relationship with Lord Northrup, her mother did not outwardly forbid her to reject his proposal, and so Alice chose to take that as implicit permission. This rift between herself and her mother felt odd and uncomfortable, but Alice had faith that her mother would come around and accept Henderson. After all, she’d accepted him when he was Joseph’s best friend.

  Northrup at this very minute was waiting in the parlor for her; she’d promised a game of checkers that morning and this meeting would be perfect for sending his lordship on his way. When she entered the room, he was sitting at a small table setting up the board, and Alice felt an unexpected twist of sorrow. He really was a good man and she did not want to hurt him, but she feared she was about to.

  “My lord, I was wondering if we might talk.”

  Northrup looked up and immediately stood, his smile slowly fading as her words and tone hit him.

  “Ah,” he said, and there was so much unsaid in that single syllable.

  “I am sorry. I do want you to know that I admire you and hold you in the highest—”

  “Please,” he said. “You don’t have to continue. I cannot say I am surprised. I suppose I was holding out hope you would come to care for me as much as I care for you. That is it, isn’t it? You do not love me in the least.”

  Alice shook her head, feeling horrible. “I wanted to. I thought we would suit, but so much has changed in the past few weeks. I have come to realize I would make you a terrible wife, that you need someone better, not as apt to argue or be cross.”

  He smiled sadly. “You would have made me a wonderful wife. Had you loved me.” He swallowed, and for a fleeting moment Alice thought he might break down, but he gathered himself, straightening his jacket as if putting his emotions in order.

  “Thank you so much for understanding. I do feel horrible and mean, but I know this is the right thing to do.” This was far more dreadful than Alice had thought it would be; Northrup seemed truly distraught and Alice found herself fighting tears.

  “The right thing for now,” he said, and touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. “If you should change your mind, please do write me.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to assure him that would not happen, but instead she simply smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  As Alice watched Lord Northrup leave the parlor, no doubt heading up to his room to pack, she was hit with a powerful rush of relief that left her nearly giddy. One chapter of her life was over, a very dreary and upsetting one, and now she could get on with the rest of it. Hugging herself to hold close the complete joy she felt, Alice slowly walked from the parlor, stopping suddenly when she spotted her mother descending the stairs.

  “I just saw Lord Northrup,” she said. “Oh, Alice, how could you? How could you throw away such a chance?” She shook her head, her eyes filling with unshed tears, dousing that fierce joy Alice had been feeling just moments before.

  “I am sorry, Mama, truly I am. But I don’t love him. I never have. I thought we would suit, that liking him would be good enough. It isn’t. Now that I know what it is to love someone—”

  Her mother let out a sound of exasperation. “A good marriage requires so much more than love, Alice. I thought you understood that.”

  “I do understand. It’s about understanding and laughter. Sharing dreams and values. Henderson and I are friends, the best of friends, and we have been for a very long time.”

  Elda shook her head and looked so sad, Alice felt her heart wrench. “He didn’t writ
e for four years, Alice. And now he’s suddenly in love? How can you be so naïve? Do you think it’s pure coincidence that he had to come to St. Ives? I like Mr. Southwell, you know I do. But I fear he’s a bit more opportunistic that either of us realized.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Alice said, “Opportunistic? You think his secret plan all along was to somehow trick me into marrying him? That he returned to England for me and not for his relief efforts?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “No. You don’t believe that, Mama. I know you don’t.”

  Elda let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said, sounding weary.

  “Then I shall do all the thinking for us,” Alice said, making her mother chuckle lightly.

  “Come here, my little sunshine,” she said, using Alice’s childhood nickname for the first time in more than ten years. Letting out a small sound, Alice threw herself against her mother and burst into tears.

  “I dislike arguing with you, Mama. It is purely awful.”

  “I know. I do not care for it either.”

  Lifting her head, she asked, “Does this mean you are accepting Henderson?”

  “Not yet,” Elda said, but Alice leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder and smiled.

  * * *

  That night, Alice went to bed feeling better than she had in days. Everything would work out—she just knew it. In her heart, she knew her mother would relent; it was her father who was her real worry. After all, her father was the one who’d asked that Henderson leave, who’d struck Henderson, who felt most keenly his obligation to maintain Alice’s social rank. But he would come around. As she lay in the darkness, she fought that terrible feeling in her stomach when she recalled her father’s anger, his ugly words, memories that only served to feed her doubt.

  Her window was open, letting in the cool night air, and she gazed out at a nearly full moon, trying to push away her doubts. She really should get up and shut the window, for it was quite chilly, but instead she snuggled deeper beneath the covers and closed her eyes, only to re-open them less than a minute later.

  Someone—and she had quite a good idea who—was tossing pebbles at the windows of the empty room adjacent to hers. Really, she thought, if Henderson was going to do something as foolish as come to her window in the middle of the night, at least he should have been careful about which window to hit. If he’d erred on the other side, he would have awoken Christina.

  Throwing off the covers, she tiptoed to her window, making sure to stay out of sight of whomever was out there. Sure enough, Henderson stood in her garden gathering up more pebbles from the gravel path. Though it was full night, the moon cast a silvery light on him; she would have recognized his form anywhere. Alice grabbed her light robe and the blanket from her bed and hurried across her room and out the door, pausing only briefly to be certain no one was about. On silent bare feet, she padded quickly past her mother and father’s rooms, hugging her blanket against her, breath held, heart beating madly, and made her way down the stairs and to the back of the house, where a set of French doors led to a small terrace and their back garden.

  Henderson was on the far side and so did not see Alice as she slipped through the doors and down the stairs, taking the time to deposit the blanket on the top step. The grass was cool beneath her feet, and wet with dew. Picking up her skirts, she ran toward where Henderson stood. She was nearly upon him when he turned, and Alice launched herself into his arms, letting out a small sound of pure happiness. She wrapped herself around him, locking her ankles behind his back, until he was wearing her.

  “Oh, God, it’s so good to hold you,” he said, his voice low and rough as he held her to him, squeezing so tightly it was very nearly painful, but wonderfully so.

  She nuzzled her face against the crook of his neck, breathing him in, mad for him. Henderson nudged her head up with his and kissed her with so much need, Alice cried out and clung even tighter. It was a long, hot, drugging kiss, filled with love and lust and a need that left her light-headed and her core on fire.

  Henderson spun slowly around, holding her tightly, kissing her insensible, for several long minutes, making up for the days they had not been together. Finally, he pulled back, kissed her again, and again, then let her slowly slide down his body until her toes once again touched the cool, wet grass.

  “Not seeing you has been torture,” he said, then leaned in and kissed her again, as if he couldn’t get enough of tasting her. “How is your father?”

  “Better. I’ve only spoken to him briefly. And I told my mother that I love you and that I plan to marry you.”

  He drew her against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. “What did she say?”

  “It matters not. Either way, we are getting married.”

  “I’d much rather your parents be, if not excited by the prospect, then at least accepting of me. But I’m not certain it’s possible.” He stepped back until he was no longer embracing her, and Alice felt a coldness that was more than just the night air.

  “What is wrong?” she asked, reeling at the idea that he had changed his mind about getting married. Surely he was not going to allow what had happened at the ball to sway him.

  “I have to talk to you about something and I’ve no idea where to start.”

  It sounded so much like what she had just said to Lord Northrup, Alice found herself unable to speak, bracing herself for a pain she knew was coming.

  Henderson began pacing back and forth in front of her, clearly tortured by whatever it was he was going to say.

  “I’ll understand if you no longer wish to marry,” she said, the ache in her heart nearly unbearable. “You never did formally propose, so you have no obligation to follow through with—”

  Henderson stopped pacing and stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “You’ll understand, will you?”

  She wished it was daylight so she could better see his expression, but his voice sounded oddly…amused.

  Shaking her head, she said, “Actually, no, I will not understand.”

  Henderson reached out with both palms and gently grasped her head, ducking his own so that they were looking into each other’s eyes. “I love you. I am going to marry you. Now, shush and let me tell you what I came here to say.”

  “Shush?”

  “Shush.” He let out a long breath. “I fear the thing that has lifted a weight from my soul will only add a burden to yours.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. I don’t know where to start, but once I am finished, you will understand why I left four years ago, why I stayed away even though it nearly killed me to do so, and why I came back when I did.”

  Alice took his hand and led him to a small bench in the garden, the pebbles of the gravel path sharp against her feet. Once they were seated, she turned toward him, her hand still in his, needing his strength and warmth. “Tell me.”

  “It’s all about Joseph. He is here, in this story, from beginning to end.”

  Alice shook her head in confusion. The last thing she’d expected him to talk about was Joseph.

  “When Joseph was around fourteen years old, about a year before we met, he and a few of his friends were building a tree fort. One of those friends accidently dropped a branch on a Mr. Stewart, killing him.”

  Alice gasped. “I remember that. The entire town went to the funeral. It was the first funeral I’d ever attended. Joseph was there when it happened?” She sagged a bit as she was hit by the realization of the terrible secret her brother had kept, a terrible burden for such a young boy to carry.

  “As were Peter, Tristan, Sebastian, and Gerald. All dead, except for Gerald Grant, who happens to be the lad who dropped the branch.”

  A chill enveloped her as she understood the implication of what Henderson was saying. “You think he killed them all? That he killed Joseph? But it was an accident. There were others there. Wouldn’t one of them hav
e said something?”

  “I don’t know what happened that night. As you know, I was not there and I carried the guilt of that for years. Joseph asked me to go, was angry when I wouldn’t, but I had other plans.”

  “No doubt with a lady friend.”

  “Perhaps,” he said with a small smile. “That night, I stopped into the White Hart and saw Gerald there. He looked bloody awful, and I knew something had happened. Alice, he told me Joseph had committed suicide, that he stood on that roof, said ‘Tell Southie I’m sorry,’ and fell back.” Henderson’s voice thickened on this last, and Alice gripped his hand even tighter. “It was all a lie, one made so that I would not discuss what happened. It was my idea not to speak of it, not to tell your parents, who would have been devastated to know their son killed himself. It was brilliant on Gerald’s part, you see. By telling me that, I remained silent. I didn’t question the other lads who were there, who most certainly would have disputed his story. I was silent and then I left, so filled with guilt, I could hardly live with myself. I couldn’t bring myself to look at you or your parents; it felt as if I had pushed Joseph myself.”

  “Oh, Henderson,” she said and pressed her lips against his beard-roughened cheek.

  “I had to leave. I felt I was to blame for Joseph’s death, that if I had been there, he would not have killed himself. All this time, I’ve suffered, unable to fully live knowing that I was responsible for my best friend’s death.”

  “My parents, I don’t know what I should tell them.” Alice could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, recalling that terrible night when they’d been informed of Joseph’s death.

  Henderson scrubbed his face with his free hand. “They will find out at some point. The constable is fully aware that Gerald Grant is likely responsible for the deaths of five men.”