The Reckless Love of an Heir

by Jane Lark

  “Indeed.” Their father grunted.

  “It is the most direct he has been, is it not?” Susan tried to encourage a sense of hope.

  “It is, and we agreed I might go to town for the season. He suggested it. May we go, Papa?”

  Their father nodded. “Well that is at least something.” His hand lifted and his fingers twisted the end of his curled moustache, as his fingers always did when he was mulling over some thought.

  “The season is only weeks away,” Susan’s mother responded. “We will need to prepare. We shall have to open up the town house, and have a ball. You must have a presentation there to gather introductions.”

  Neither Alethea nor Susan had been brought out into London society; it had seemed unnecessary because Alethea had an agreement with Henry, and Susan had never requested to go and hunt for a husband. But if her family were to go to London then she supposed she must go, and therefore also face introductions.

  When Susan and Alethea were alone later, lying in bed beside one another, whispering through the darkness, Alethea told Susan more of the conversation she’d shared with Henry. “You were right, though, it is the most direct he has been with me, and yet I feel as though he is manipulating me, I told him I would not play his game anymore. He said it is all to do with his feelings.”

  “I have always said he is selfish.”

  “I know, and I told him you have now convinced me of it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That you have always had very little tolerance for him and I should not allow your opinion to sway mine. But it is not your opinion that is changing mine, it is him.”

  Henry must lose his charm in the moments when he said no.

  “I have told him that I will go to town, but if another man courts me I will let him. I have not promised to wait a year.”

  Susan smiled into the darkness. “Was he suitably sent into a terror at the thought of losing you?”

  “I am not sure he even cares. He asked me if I loved him, but he did not say he loved me.”

  “What is the level of Alethea’s attachment to me?” He had asked Susan that too. “Did you say you loved him?”

  “No. That would have been utter folly when he is dangling me like this.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I do not know. I admire him greatly, he is very handsome, and I like his manner but I am not sure how deep being in love feels… I am not sure if I would even know. How do people know?”

  Susan had no answer.

  ~

  Once the library door had closed, Henry’s father asked, “What did you say to Alethea outside?”

  When the girls and his mother had retired, his father had asked Henry to sit with him in the library. Henry had known immediately what would come next—a berating.

  He was too old for this. “Is it any of your business, Papa?”

  “I am hoping that it might be. Would you like a glass of brandy?”

  “Yes.” If he must endure this.

  His father turned to pour it. Henry leant back against a leather chair, gripping its top with his good hand, beside his hip.

  “So what did you say? When is this proposal coming? It was clear to me tonight that Casper had expected it too.” His father turned holding two full glasses. “I think he is becoming as impatient with you as I am. Is Alethea?”

  He walked over to where Henry leant on the chair and held out a glass.

  “Thank you.”

  “Well?” His father looked him in the eyes, and his eyebrows lifted, in the way he had of challenging while smiling. His father was so hard to read at times.

  His eyebrows remained lifted, waiting for Henry to speak.

  Henry was not inclined to, yet his father kept waiting. Henry had borne numerous interviews such as this over his years both at Eton, and then Oxford. He had regularly been in trouble as a boy, and then as a young man. His father’s way had never been to shout but merely to unnerve Henry, to make him feel guilty and accept the responsibility for his actions—it usually worked well enough. Until he had returned to Eton or Oxford and then the interview and the guilt had slipped from Henry’s mind.

  Self-centered.

  He refused to feel guilty now. “Alethea is ready to marry. I am not. I have asked her to wait another year. She told me she may or may not wait. But she is to come to town for the season where she will consider my request and other men.”

  His father laughed, then smiled and shook his head. “She is a good woman for you, Henry. It is not that we wish to force you, it is just that she is—”

  “Eminently suitable and conveniently close. I know. And charming, and sweet, and pretty—”

  “And that was not what I was saying.”

  Henry sipped his brandy.

  “If she is not your choice, Henry, she is not. It is only—”

  “That it would be such a perfect union, to join our families, when Uncle Casper has no son. I know.”

  His father smiled again. “As you say, for all those reasons, and yet I do not wish either of you unhappy.” His father drank some of his brandy.

  “We shall suit. We do. It is merely that I do not wish to marry anyone yet. You did not marry Mama until you were much older, you cannot expect me to hurry into the shackles.”

  “You should not think of marriage as shackles if you wish to marry. I was desperate for your mother to marry me when I was younger than you. It did not happen and then I was even more desperate for her to accept me when I met her again.” His father sipped his brandy, then gave Henry another direct, enquiring look, which could be either anger or humour. “What do you feel for Alethea?”

  Bloody hell. “That is the question I asked of her outside, what does she feel for me?”

  “What did she say?”

  “She did not answer.”

  “As you have not answered me.”

  “I will answer you. I care for Alethea. I am attracted to her. I am not sure if that is what you would define as love.”

  His father sighed. “If it was love you would know.” He looked down at his glass and then sipped more of the brandy.

  Henry drank the rest of his, then set his empty glass aside, on a table. “I do not believe it is love. But we ramble along well together, you know we do, and I think she feels as much for me as I feel for her. Perhaps while she is in town it will become love. You should not give up on your dream yet, but it shall not be fulfilled this year.”

  His father drank the last of his brandy. Then picked up Henry’s empty glass. “Would you like another, and a game of backgammon, as I am unlikely to have your company for much longer?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Henry turned and went over to the table to set up the game.

  “It has been nice to have you home, and a novelty to have you at home and not to be angered by you on a daily basis.” His father was speaking as he poured the brandy. “When do you take off the sling? When will you leave?”

  He told his father what he had told Susan.

  “And then…”

  “I shall accompany you, Mama and Sarah to the assembly in York. I know that will please Sarah. Then I shall return to town.”

  “To sow more oats in furrows I disapprove of.”

  “You may hardly talk I am constantly told about your former reputation, even though I would rather not know it.”

  “I did not entertain myself in brothels and consort with whores.”

  “No, you entertained yourself in ballrooms and bedchambers, and consorted with adulteresses and cuckolded a couple of hundred men in society, I think that worse.” Henry placed the counters on the board with his good hand. Then looked at his father.

  His father’s eyebrows lifted again.

  Henry laughed. “They are not facts I wish to know about my father, but in town they are facts that everyone wishes to tell me.”

  His father set their refreshed glasses down on the table beside the board. “You know if Alethea discovered how you live… or even if Ca
sper, or God forbid Julie—”

  “Papa, I live as all young men live before they are wed. You cannot expect better of me than you did of yourself.”

  His father huffed out a breath as he sat. “Except that I regret that I lived that way. It brought me no happiness, as your mother will tell you. Given a chance to turn back time she and I would have married when we were young and I would have accepted the responsibility of supporting my father. I shall always consider my wild years, years that I lost or threw away.”

  “Well I am in my wild years, and I consider them precious. I am not you, and I am not throwing them away.”

  Chapter Eight

  The carriage drew to a halt before the Palladian frontage of the assembly rooms in Blake Street. A footman opened the carriage door. Henry climbed out first, and stood beneath the giant portico, then offered his hand to Sarah to help her descend. It felt very freeing to have his right arm back, and yet the muscle had wasted a little, and his shoulder was still stiff and sore.

  “Nervous?” he whispered when her foot touched the pavement.

  “Excited,” she answered, with a broad smile.

  He smiled too. He’d not imagined that accompanying Sarah to her first dance would move him at all, but he had been moved. He was proud of his oldest sister.

  She had walked downstairs into the hall with the brightest smile, looking full grown, and beautiful. She had their mother’s unusual emerald green eyes and dark brown hair, and with it styled in such a grown up manner… She had become a woman, and somehow he had missed it until this evening.

  He offered his arm to Sarah as his parents descended. “Allow me to be the one who walks you in.”

  She smiled at him again.

  Emotion clutched tight in his chest. He was the eldest; one day he would be the head of their family like his cousin John, the Duke of Pembroke, was of his. He’d never considered the idea before. Yet his father was healthy, he hoped it would be years before he must take on the earldom. He would rather his father alive and he the heir, who had the time and the money to live a care free life.

  They walked into the large assembly rooms. He’d never attended before. It was a long, rectangular room, surrounded with pilasters of beige marble and full of people, music and conversation. Henry could see no one he knew. It was not London.

  There was a country dance in progress. He leant towards his sister. “As we cannot join this dance let me take you to find the refreshments.”

  People bowed and curtsied as they walked past. Of course amongst these people they stood out because of their father’s title.

  Pride burned with a roaring flame in his chest. It must be the first time Sarah had experienced such recognition and it would be the first time she would dance outside their home, or a member of their family’s home. When the season began she would come to London and dance too. His sister, all grown up, and there was Christine to follow her.

  A different sensation clasped in his chest, one that was more brutal and aggressively masculine. A need to protect her. He knew too much of London. Too much of what occurred outside the ballrooms. When she came to London he would need to watch her. There would be rakes and scoundrels all about her; men like him and his father.

  The thought stabbed him with embarrassment. From that perspective perhaps he could appreciate his father’s view. He would not care for Sarah to know anything of his life in town.

  “Wine?” he offered when they neared the refreshment table. When she nodded, he picked up a glass and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  Their mother and father approached. “Mama?” He picked up another glass for her.

  Several people in the room stared at them yet others came forward, and then the introductions began. “This is my eldest daughter, Sarah… This is my son, Lord Henry…”

  The people Henry was introduced to were mostly the merchants and businessmen of York, though there were a small number of untitled relations of aristocratic families. Of course the businessmen and merchants benefited from his father’s patronage and so they were very keen to be introduced to his heir and compliment Sarah. Sarah would have been complimented even if she looked hideous because these men and their wives were merely scraping to gain the interest of an earl.

  Henry was glad when the current dance came to its end so he and Sarah could escape all the bowing. His intent, then, was to dance all night and avoid anymore fuss.

  He smiled at Sarah, conspiratorially, and lifted his good arm. “Shall we?”

  “Yes please.”

  Sarah’s fingers lay on top of the fabric of his evening coat. He escorted her on to the floor.

  It was another country dance, they stood and faced one another. Her cheeks had turned pink. She was holding the attention of many people in this room, and as many women as men. He presumed the women jealous of his sister’s wealth and beauty. She would have a dowry that would be sought after as much as herself. Yes, he would need to protect her in town.

  He winked at her, to make her relax.

  She smiled, and then the music and the dancing began.

  They smiled at each other every time they came together in the set, and he whispered some quip about their companions. She was laughing each time they parted.

  When the dance ended they returned to their parents to take a few sips of wine. Sarah was breathing heavily yet the colour in her cheeks was now from exercise and enjoyment.

  The music for the next country dance began.

  “Sarah.” He claimed her once more. She could have no suitors here. This was only about pleasure, and showing herself off, and so he would not hinder her chances by monopolizing her time.

  “I have not seen Alethea,” Sarah commented as they walked out on to the floor.

  Henry had not even been looking for her, though he’d promised her two dances when he did see her.

  Their communication since the Forths’ had joined his family for dinner had become irregular and colder. She was still angry with him and she had not visited to pamper her injured beloved since then. When she had visited his home it was with a claim that she had come to call on his mother and sisters, or to accompany Susan, so Susan might paint her flowers.

  Though on every occasion Alethea had been immaculately dressed and positioned herself so she might turn a shoulder to him, in a way which ensured he had the best view of her figure, and her slender neck.

  Yes, he was attracted to her. But if she continued her sulking and played such silly games, he would lose patience with her. He’d never been amused by coy, calculating women. That was why he’d always preferred the simple association of a whore. There were no games there.

  Sarah smiled at him throughout the dance, her inhibitions slipping away. She felt secure with him, comfortable and confident. It was more evidence that she needed his involvement with her introductions in town. Of course the men in their aunt’s family would be there too, the Pembrokes, a pride of dukes, and all their sons were his friends.

  The only husband of the former Duke of Pembroke’s daughters who was not a duke was Henry’s Uncle Edward, his father’s brother.

  “They have arrived!” Sarah exclaimed as she passed him in a shoulder to shoulder turn.

  “Who?” He looked at her with a sense of teasing. He knew who, but her excitement was amusing.

  “The Forths!” Her gaze came back from looking across the room to catch his eye, as they spun around and then turned the other way. “Oh, Henry, stop it.” She laughed, as she saw he had been mocking her.

  She glanced back across her shoulder. “Alethea is beautiful. She is the prettiest woman here…”

  It was a very feminine, leading, comment, supposed to draw him into gushing sentiments. Sarah really had grown up. But he was not in the mood to play along.

  He looked across the room.

  Yes, indeed, they had arrived, and Alethea was in very good looks, quite stunning really. He would lay a heavy bet a lot of care had been taken in her appearance
tonight to ensure that he noted what he might miss out upon if he did not hurry up and stop dithering.

  He looked away smiling. It was duly noted.

  When the dance finished he led Sarah back to their parents, who had been joined by the Forths. He bowed to his aunt, and then to Alethea. He did not see Susan, perhaps she had decided not to come, he’d never seen her dance, so perhaps this was not her idea of fun.

  “I believe we agreed on this dance and the next.” He offered Alethea his recovering arm.

  “You are without your sling.” Her fingers rested on his arm.

  He led her away from the others. Perhaps she did still care about his well-being. He smiled. “I have been without my sling for three days. If you had called within those day you would have known.”

  “How is your arm?” She looked at it, and therefore he looked too, at her fingers which lay gently atop his black coat sleeve.

  He glanced back up and met her gaze. “It is strong enough to dance the two dances I promised you.” Although his shoulder was already aching like the devil, but it had healed, and exercise would increase its strength which was what it needed now.

  They danced a very lively country dance, which left them both breathing hard, but there was something rather charming about watching Alethea with her colour up and her bosom heaving.

  The next dance was a waltz. They had waltzed before, several times, at family gatherings, since he’d been eighteen. His family had a habit of pairing up as couples for an entire evening when they danced, and so he and Alethea had often been paired for waltz after waltz.

  He smiled at her as he lifted his arm to form the hold. A waltz would be a harder strain on his shoulder. She held his hand, at last smiling brightly, as she usually did. He set his other hand at her back while she lay hers on his good shoulder.

  He spun her into a turn immediately. The easiness he’d always felt with her swept over him. They had shared some sort of bond since childhood, even if that bond was not yet love. “Am I forgiven my reluctance to hurry? A year is not long and you may enjoy a season of courtship in London. It is not such an awful proposition, and I would rather we spent this year as friends if not betrothed.”