by Kelly Boyce
“I shall see you soon.”
She smiled and it was as if sunlight flooded the room. Flooded him. “I should hope so, my lord.”
“Alex.”
“Alex,” she whispered.
Chapter Seventeen
“Forgive me, Lady Henrietta, I am not sure I fully understand what it is you are saying.”
Hen pursed her lips. Heavens, but this was an awkward conversation to have, to tell someone you had proposed to a little over a month ago that you no longer wished to marry them. Not that Lord Walkerton had agreed to Hen’s proposal exactly, but he had agreed to court her with a view to moving things in that direction in a more proper and appropriate fashion.
Proper and appropriate—two words that did not describe the nature of her relationship with Alex or the manner in which it had developed. At all. Not even a little.
Hen glanced down at her hands so that Lord Walkerton did not see the smile that jumped to her lips at the thought of what they had shared in the dark hours of the night. But staring at her hands was of little help as it pulled her thoughts in the direction of all the places those hands had been and…well, those were thoughts best left for another time and in different company. They were of little use now while sitting across from the man whom she must inform she had no desire to marry.
Hen took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to Lord Walkerton. “You see, my lord, and please do not take any offense to this, but I have…well, it’s just that…I appear to have fallen—”
“Oh, bloody hell!”
His words shot out as he stood abruptly. The sudden motion shocked Hen and arrested any well-constructed explanation she had been about to deliver. She had never heard Lord Walkerton speak so. Why, she would hazard a guess to say not many people had. He was a man of mild mannerisms and not given to outbursts or high emotion of any kind. Or so she had thought. She glanced toward the open door of the receiving room where Mrs. Broadbent sat just outside for propriety’s sake.
“I beg—”
“You’ve fallen in love with someone else, haven’t you?” A high color reached Lord Walkerton’s sharp cheekbones and his hazel eyes burned with emotion, too many for Hen to inventory, if she’d had a mind to. But she didn’t. She was too busy attempting to reconcile the fact he knew what she was going to say before she’d even gotten the words out.
“How did you know?” Was it so obvious? Why she could count on one hand the public interactions she and Alex had had and none of them would have raised eyebrows on any account. Save for the kiss they’d shared on the terrace, but had anyone witnessed that it would not have remained a quiet secret. Fodder such as that would have spread like wildfire before the night had ended.
Whatever emotions had prompted Lord Walkerton to vault from his chair and stalk to the fireplace a few feet away dimmed slightly, though remnants of it remained in the tightness of his mouth.
“Forgive me, but I have had some experience in this regard,” he said. “It seems a precursor of sorts. Apparently being courted by me is a surefire way to ensure one finds their real true love.”
A fact he did not seem at all pleased with. Hen winced. She loathed hurting Lord Walkerton in such a way, digging into a wound she hadn’t realized existed. “If it is of any consolation, my lord, I do think you will make someone a fine husband and that is why I proposed initially. Honestly, I was not expecting this.”
“No. Oddly enough, neither was I.” He turned away from her to stalk from the fireplace over to the window that looked down upon Grosvenor Square. “Maybe I should have married Lady Susan. At least the chances of anyone else usurping me in that regard would have been slim to none.”
“Oh no, do not say such awful things! Nobody deserves a fate such as that. Oh, Miles,” she said, getting up to join him at the window. The use of his given name seemed to startle him and she wondered how often he heard it. Even his mother referred to Walkerton, at least in her presence. “I am truly sorry. You have been most kind to me over the past year and I will be forever grateful for that, but it wouldn’t be right for me to marry you when I love another, would it?”
He didn’t look convinced. “I was not seeking love, Lady Henrietta. Just someone I could live with companionably. That is not a lot to ask for, is it?”
The loneliness in his eyes cut through her and if she had felt bad before, well, her guilt had just tripled. She had dragged him into her world and he had come, accepting her offer instead of turning her inappropriate proposal on her and making her a laughingstock. And in return, she was showing him the door with little more than a thank you, but I’ve changed my mind.
Could ladies be cads? Because she truly felt as if she embodied the word standing here unsure of what she could say to make things better.
“No, my lord. It is not a lot to ask for. But perhaps you should be asking for more. You are a wonderful man. You deserve more than a simple companion. You deserve a great love. Don’t you want such for yourself?” Wouldn’t anyone if they had the choice between the two options?
“No, I do not. Such high emotions come with a hefty price and not one I am willing to pay. I wish for a simple and peaceful life, nothing more.”
Once upon a time, that was all Hen had wished for, too. But then she’d had a taste of something different. Something complicated and heady and all consuming and now she could not imagine her life without it.
“And I am most certain you will find this life you wish for, my lord.”
He looked at her for a long minute then returned his gaze to the window, though she could not shake the sense it was not the street below he looked at but something much farther than anything her eyes could see.
“I am not sure I agree with you on that account, Lady Henrietta. I am not sure at all.”
* * *
Alex walked into his father’s study, surprised to find James standing in the middle of the room, his hands clasped behind his back and his feet planted at shoulder distance apart as if he were a man at arms called to stand at ease. Goodwin had announced the visitor to Alex but he had been certain the man was finally losing his wits. That James had come around so quickly did not seem believable. His friend possessed a stubborn streak that stretched longer than the Thames and went even deeper.
Had Henrietta said something to him about what they had shared?
Alex studied James as he stood there, the two men taking each other’s measure. No, he did not know. Had he known, he would have shown up pistol in hand and Alex would, in all likelihood, be staring up at the ceiling with a hole in his chest. Or lower. James took his responsibility as Henrietta’s protector very seriously.
As did Alex.
James broke the silence. “I understand Lord Franklyn is unwell. I came to inquire as to his well-being.”
The words were spoken with all due formality. Alex released the breath he held, and with it, let go of the tension that had wound around him since his friend had kicked him out of his house and sent him packing. He hadn’t realized how heavily he had relied on James all these years. How steadfast his friendship had been during times when he’d pushed everyone else away. James had been the only one who’d resisted these attempts and stayed. The only one who had held on and kept Alex from being pulled under by the pain of losing Edward and by Ruth’s betrayal and eventual death.
Now, with Alex’s father’s illness, here he was again, despite the fact that Alex had committed an unforgiveable transgression by overstepping his boundaries and kissing Henrietta. Worse than that, he had the audacity to not regret it.
Lord, what would James do to him if he knew what had transpired between them last night?
“My father is improving. His heart was weakened by fever several months back, apparently. I believe the party may have overtaxed him and caused him to collapse.”
“I understand my sister stayed here last night and helped calm Lady Margaret’s upset.”
Alex nodded. “She did. She has a way with the girl.”
“They gr
ew quite fond of each other while she was at Harrow House. Henrietta has missed her in her absence.”
The stilted formality of their conversation gnawed at Alex’s nerves. This was not who they were. “James—”
“—Alex.”
They both stopped and stared at each other a moment, the space between them loaded with apology and accusation. It was not until James’s shoulders sagged and his militant stance relaxed that Alex knew the battle between them had been set aside.
“I reacted harshly,” James said, though he did not apologize for this, nor did Alex expect him to. He’d had every right.
“You did as any decent brother would have done. But I must tell you—” James raised his dark eyebrows as Alex took a deep breath and forged on. “I am in love with your sister.”
“You are—” He leaned forward as if by drawing closer he could better understand the words that had come from Alex’s mouth.
“In love with Lady Henrietta.”
“Love?”
“Yes. And I wish to marry her.”
James straightened, his expression that of a man who had been given news in a language he did not speak and could make neither head nor tails of it. “Forgive me, you what?”
“I wish to marry her and she is amenable to the idea.”
“You have spoken to her then?” A fact James did not sound pleased about.
“Yes.”
“Without speaking to me first?”
Alex raised one eyebrow. “All due respect, James, but it isn’t you I wish to marry. It’s Henrietta, and therefore I thought it more pertinent that she be agreeable to it before I took the matter any further.”
James’s tongue rolled against the inside of his cheek. Alex waited, unsure of which side of the coin James would land on. The reasonable side that realized it made perfect sense that two people who wished to marry and had no impediment standing in their way should be celebrated, or the unreasonable side where James behaved like a five-year-old who wasn’t given first pick of the sweets offered.
Neither, as it turned out. Instead, James seemed to find a thin section of neutral ground that allowed him to discuss this turn of events. Though, for reasons Alex could not fathom, he sensed his friend was dead set against the idea. “She said nothing to me about this.”
“She thought it best to break the news to Lord Walkerton before we took the matter further.”
“I see.” James lifted a hand and ran it through his dark hair. He turned away and walked toward the far wall where a painting of Alex’s father and grandfather hung side by side.
“And you haven’t made a formal proposal?”
Formal in the sense he asked permission of her family and worked out the particulars of dowry and such? No. But he had indicated to Henrietta that if they were to share what they did then there could be but one outcome—marriage. Though he wasn’t about to tell her brother that part of the story.
“No, not formally.”
“Then no one else knows of this?”
An unexpected tension threaded through the air and made the hair on the back of Alex’s neck itch. “James? What is it you are not saying? Has Walkerton already spoken to you with respect to marrying Henrietta? Have you given your blessing?” Was that what this was about? Because if so, that could prove quite the messy conundrum. Though, given Walkerton’s aversion to scandal, hardly insurmountable. Likely, he’d go away quietly, should the situation be explained to him.
James did not answer, nor did he turn to face Alex. When he spoke, his voice had quieted. “I assume you are expecting an heir from this union with my sister.”
It was a statement, not a question. “Yes, naturally. I have a duty in that regard as you well know.”
For the past decade, he held tight to the belief he had already done his duty. He had produced the son to carry on the St. John name and inherit the duchy. When Edward died at only six months old, Alex cared little about duty or bloodlines or carrying on traditions. He had buried these dreams with Edward. It was easier than to face such loss again.
But now, with his father’s health in decline, the duty he had shrugged off loomed large and the pressing need to put his father’s mind at ease in that regard had become more important than ever. Though even in proposing to Henrietta and the thought of one day holding their child in his arms the way he had held Edward, he could not ignore the growing fear within him.
What if he lost her? Or their child? He would never survive such loss a second time. How could he?
James bowed his head, his eyes closed as a long breath escaped him. “Then there is something you must know.”
The words came low and laced with trepidation. “What must I know that I do not already?”
James turned toward him, his shoulders far more stooped than when Alex first entered the room. “Henrietta is unlikely to be able to give you the heir you require.”
Though Alex had heard James clearly, he rejected his claim instantly. “Nonsense. She is young and healthy and perfectly—”
James cut him off. “The injuries she sustained in the fire go beyond what you see on the outside. The doctors have indicated it is unlikely that Hen will be able to bear children.”
If James had planted a facer on him—something he now had experience with—Alex could not have been more stunned. He rocked back on his heels, the power of James’s claim as potent as the force of his fist. “I—she—what?”
Sadness, the likes of which Alex had not witnessed in his friend since Ruth’s death, lay heavily upon his features. “Hen was caught in the fire when a beam fell from the rafters and landed across her. It pinned her to the floor and she was unable to escape. That is why she incurred such deep burns. She could not get away from the flames, not until Father arrived to save her.”
“What does that have to do with whether or not she can produce an heir?”
“The doctors indicated the force of the beam landing upon her caused internal damage to the womb. This, coupled with the scar tissue on her abdomen, has made the prospect of her carrying a child to term, or becoming with child at all, unlikely.”
Something poked at Alex’s memory. His mention of marrying sooner rather than later in case she had already become with child. The shadow that had crossed her face. The way her hand had traced the scars that snaked over the right side of her abdomen. He had brushed it off as nothing, but now he wondered. Did she know she could not carry a child? Anger simmered below the surface. Why had she not said something? She must know how important it was for him to do his duty, to produce an heir to carry the title after he was gone.
“Is she aware of this?”
“I do not know. I—” James shook his head. “I’ve never had the heart to tell her myself. She loves children. You’ve seen it. And she has such a way with them. She inquired years ago but I danced around the subject. To take that dream away from her when she’s already lost so much…I just couldn’t. But Dr. Baker informed me Hen had inquired on the subject with him upon returning to London. He did not tell her no outright, but he left her with the impression that it was highly unlikely her hope for motherhood will have a happy outcome in that regard.”
Alex didn’t know what to say. Why had she said nothing to him about this when he spoke of marriage? Yet, when he first broached the idea with James at Breckenridge his friend had turned him down flat. “Is that why you initially turned down my suit? Because I require an heir?”
James nodded.
“Yet you thought nothing of foisting her off on another unsuspecting lord?”
Anger blazed in James’s eyes. “I have only approached gentlemen with brothers or cousins, to ensure her inability to have children would not hinder the title being passed down to the next generation. But you are the last male in your line. Even your cousins are all girls.”
Alex could not refute the facts. James spoke the truth. Alex was it. The last St. John man standing. If he died without issue, the duchy would die with him. An heir was an absolute nec
essity.
And Hen, in all likelihood, could not provide him with such.
When he’d left her bed the night before, he did so with the tentative dream of a home filled with love and happiness, laughter and children. A dream he had set aside years ago. Buried and walked away from. But Henrietta had resurrected it and the hope he could have it again helped balance out the fear happiness may slip from his grip once more.
He should have known better. He should have known the dream to be nothing more than a slippery lie.
“You know I understand the necessity of an heir,” James said, clearing his throat. He pulled his shoulders back, his hands behind his back once more. The look was a familiar one to Alex. Whenever James was being forced to do his duty, a duty that was oftentimes distasteful or unwanted, he reminded Alex of a general about to address his troops.
“I do.” James had but one option should he not produce a son himself—a second cousin of rather ill repute. A wastrel more interested in playing the tables and drinking copious amounts of brandy than being responsible, an imbecile who would run the estates and fortune into the ground within a year of inheriting the title.
A curt nod. “Make no mistake, I hate that it has come to this. If you had only spoken to me first, all of this could have been prevented. I might have warned you before you took matters this far. Now, my sister must suffer for it and that I cannot forgive.” James cut a hand through the air and Alex understood his pain. The last thing he wanted was for Henrietta to suffer.
“I wish she had told me.”
James shot him a hard look. “It is hardly the thing a lady brings up in polite conversation. I should have been more diligent in her interactions with you. I cannot believe this went on right beneath my own nose, that neither of you told me.”
“If it helps, it came as a surprise to me as well. I was not expecting to develop such tender feelings for your sister.”