The Sweetest Sin

by Kelly Boyce

  “Of course,” Judith said, leaning forward expectantly, her expression open and encouraging.

  The tightness in Hen’s shoulders eased somewhat. She took a deep breath and blurted out the words that had lived in her mind this past week. “I believe I may be with child.”

  For a moment, Judith did nothing but blink. Then, “Are you certain?”

  Hen shook her head. “Not completely. My body does not care to function in a proper manner where such things are concerned but…”

  She shrugged.

  Judith sat back, gripping her cup of chocolate against her breast as if its warmth and sweet scent would help find a solution to Hen’s dilemma. “This is a bit of a quandary. Obviously not by Lord Walkerton.”

  “No.” Hen dipped her brows downward. “How did you know?”

  “Well…it is Lord Walkerton. The chances of him doing anything outside the bounds of perceived propriety are slim to none despite the temptation. I shall not inquire as to who the gentleman is—”

  “Lord Rothbury.” His name slipped from her tongue before she could stop it.

  “Oh. Oh! Well. That I did not see coming.” Judith quickly collected herself and waved a hand as if to dispel her surprise. “I assume you have not yet spoken to him about the matter?”

  Hen shook her head. “Nor shall I.”

  “Why ever not? Lord Rothbury is a good man and a close friend of your brother’s. I would think a match between the two of you would be most welcome and I can only assume the fact that you were with him means you, too, would be amenable.”

  “I—” Hen stopped. “It is rather complicated.”

  “Hen, I can understand it is a rather awkward conversation to have with his lordship, but it is necessary before too much time passes.” She gave Hen a knowing look.

  Hen shook her head with great vigor. “You don’t understand. And I can say nothing else on the matter other than to say to marry Lord Rothbury would mean the ruin of a young innocent. And I will not do that.”

  “But Hen, you may well carry the man’s heir in your belly. Do you not think he at least deserves to have a say in the matter? Or that he will not come by the information eventually? And if you do not marry before the child is born—”

  “I will go away,” Hen said. “Far away, if need be. Italy, I think. James has always raved about the time he spent there.”

  “But Hen, what if Lord Rothbury wants to marry you? Did he give any indication to his feelings? Other than the obvious, that is,” Judith said in a wry tone that almost coaxed a smile from Hen.

  “Yes. I suppose. Lord Rothbury had already proposed to me before the…event occurred.”

  “He did? And you declined?”

  “No, I accepted.”

  “Then…” Judith’s gaze narrowed as if she were trying to mentally put the puzzle together but had one too many missing pieces. “I don’t understand.”

  “Shortly afterward, Lord Rothbury learned that a strong possibility existed that I may not be able to bear children due to the injuries I sustained during the fire. Given this, he determined it best that he rescind his proposal two days after issuing it. Apparently ensuring he has a proper heir was of far more importance than his feelings for me.”

  “Men and their heirs,” Judith’s muttered then sat up straighter, her practical nature in full force. “Well, regardless Hen, you must speak to him. You cannot risk having this babe out of wedlock. Think of the scandal. Regardless of how far away you go, it will follow you. I know you say another innocent will be ruined if you marry, but so will the babe in your belly if you do not. Surely, the two of you can put your heads together to come up with a solution to rectify the matter. You at least owe everyone concerned to at least try.”

  Hen set the cup of chocolate on the table in front of her and dropped her head into her hands. She had wished Judith to speak sense to her, to help her find a way out of her current predicament, but how could she with only half of the information? But Hen could not reveal the secret of Margaret’s birth. Though she trusted her friend with her very life, Margaret’s true parentage was not her secret to tell.

  “It would never work. Why, Lady Susan threatening to ruin me over her misguided belief I am somehow responsible for Lord Pengrin’s demise alone would cause nothing but strife within the family. Hardly a recipe for happiness.”

  “Responsible for Lord Pengrin’s death?” Judith gaped at Hen. “Why that is preposterous! Lord Pengrin brought about his own end and good riddance to him! It is unreasonable for Lady Susan to hold you responsible for such.”

  “When has anything Lady Susan done been reasonable?”

  Her friend scowled. “Point taken. But I am certain Lord Rothbury can mitigate the circumstances with respect to Lady Susan’s behavior. Please, Hen, reconsider. Talk to him.”

  “I know you give good counsel, Judith, and I promise I will think heavily upon what you’ve said before making my final decision.”

  But thinking was all she would do. For any action beyond leaving London for parts unknown would result in Margaret’s future being wrenched away through no fault of her own. Something Hen simply could not do.

  * * *

  “You are not a sad bear,” Margaret said, standing in front of him with her hands planted on her hips and a militant expression on her face softened only by the fact a furry little feline was tracing an unending path around one leg and then the other. “You are an angry bear.”

  “I am not angry,” Alex said, though even to his own ears he sounded rather ornery. What was it James had called him? Surly. Yes. That was it. He sounded downright surly.

  “Then why do you keep frowning and stomping about?”

  “I do not stomp.” He was quite certain he did not stomp. As to the frowning part, well that much he could not deny. In truth, he did not recall the last time he smiled or laughed. Likely just shortly before James had arrived on his doorstep to check on the duke’s health and bring Alex’s world crashing down around him.

  He should never have listened to his friend. He should never have taken back his proposal to Hen. He should never have allowed his fear of losing her form his decisions. With each passing day, his heart clawed at his reasoning and shredded it to bits. Had he forgotten what a fighter she was? She should have never survived her injuries from the fire, but she had. She had fought tooth and nail despite the pain, despite the odds and she had survived. No, not just survived. Thrived.

  She had overcome the loss of her parents. She had withstood the stares and whispers and even his sister’s callous cruelty and Pengrin’s false claims of love.

  Likely she would overcome his breaking her tender heart with the same amount of aplomb and dignity as she did everything else, relegating him to the back of her mind as nothing more than an unpleasant memory she rarely thought of. And he would return to Breckenridge to lick his self-inflicted wounds and rue the day he became such a prize-winning fool.

  “Why must we leave London? I want to stay with Grandfather and Grandmother. And I want to see Lady Henrietta. Merlin said he would miss her. It’s not fair!”

  Margaret stamped her foot, sending Merlin scuttling away only to return a few seconds later to continue to circle her ankles. Despite the improvement in his daughter’s behavior since he began spending more time with her, she still did not hesitate to speak her mind or voice her opinions. Likely, he should curb such outbursts, but, in truth, he wished her to speak her mind. It would serve her well later in her life. People would know where they stood with her and therefore would be less likely to try to hurt her, knowing if they did, she would not take such quietly and with little fuss.

  “We will return to London for visits, Maggie.”

  “How often?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  “Every month?”

  Alex gritted his teeth. He was beginning to regret swearing off the brandy. Margaret could try the patience of a saint. And he was no saint, a fact not in dispute. He crouched down to her level. Me
rlin stopped and mewed then attacked his boot.

  “Margaret, I do not wish to be in London just now. I did a foolish thing and I hurt someone. As such, I do not believe they wish to see me.”

  “Did you say you were sorry? When you do something wrong you should say you are sorry.”

  “And who told you that?”

  “Lady Henrietta.”

  His heart pulsed with a painful throb. “Did she?”

  Margaret nodded. “Did you say you were sorry?”

  “Yes, I did.” Sort of. Although his apology may have been lost in the rest of what he’d had to say.

  “Did it make them feel better?”

  The image of Hen sitting there, the pain of his rejection soaking into her features as if his injurious words planned on taking up permanent residence, stabbed him through the heart much as it had the first time he witnessed it.

  “No, I do not believe it made them feel better.”

  “Then you need to say it again. Lady Henrietta says you cannot allow someone to walk around with a hurt heart, Papa. It isn’t the kind thing to do. You need to heal their heart where you put the hurt. Like if you cut their arm and you bandage it up so it heals.”

  If only it was that easy. He reached out and took his daughter’s small hand in his. “I don’t think you can put a bandage on a heart, Maggie.”

  “You can kiss it better then. Lady Henrietta kissed my finger when I hurt it and it felt better.” She held up her opposite hand, though whatever injury she’d incurred was now long gone. Unlike Hen’s.

  Alex couldn’t deny the veracity of Margaret’s claim, however. When Henrietta had kissed him, he too had felt immeasurably better. Her affection was a balm that covered his wounded soul and her love healed his ravaged heart.

  And in return for her unwavering kindness and love, he turned around and caused her grievous injury then walked away without healing the wounds he’d caused.

  He was a hundred times a cad and a thousand times a fool.

  “So you think I should make my apologies?”

  Margaret gave her head a vigorous nod then bent to scoop up Merlin. “And kiss it better.”

  One side of Alex’s mouth lifted in an involuntarily smile that hurt a little and helped a little. “I will give it some thought. Now why don’t you run off, hm? I believe Cook has some freshly baked biscuits in the kitchen. If you are very quiet, you may be able to sneak one of them without her notice.”

  Margaret rushed off, yelling for Cook at the top of her lungs. Alex shook his head. A genteel Lady Margaret would likely never be, but he loved her regardless. He smiled at the thought. He may have ruined any and all chances at a happy life with Henrietta, but he would remain forever grateful to her for opening his heart wide enough to let him see the wrong he had perpetrated upon his daughter and showing him how to rectify this. It almost was as easy as kissing the wound and making it better.

  But unfortunately for him, the wound inflicted upon Henrietta, the betrayal of promising one thing and then yanking it away was far too deep to be healed by a simple kiss. He had broken her trust beyond repair and a kiss would never be enough to fix such a breach.

  No, it was better he remove himself from her sight and leave her in peace.

  * * *

  “I am leaving London,” Alex announced, staring down into his drink as the hum of several conversations drifted around him. He had come to White’s in the hopes of finding James at their usual table and though his friend did not offer him a seat, he did not send him away either. Alex took this as the closest thing to an invitation as he was likely to receive and sat down.

  He took a sip of the expensive brandy. It was his first drink of the day and the brandy soured on his tongue, most likely a result of the weeks he’d spent wallowing in its potency and pushing away anyone who tried to help. Though granted, it had been a rather small group who’d made the attempt. Laura and Father to be exact. Susan could have cared less and James had kept his distance. Not that Alex blamed him. He had, after all, rejected the man’s sister, even if he did so with James’s understanding, more or less.

  It was Margaret who had pulled Alex out of his stupor where the others had failed.

  Oddly, listening to a seven-year old’s counsel had a way of resurrecting one’s priorities. And seeing Margaret’s need of him, forced him to push past his own mulish self-pity.

  “Leaving?” James tilted his head and lifted one eyebrow. “Given up on finding yourself a wife, have you?”

  Alex did not miss the hardness in James’s tone. Guilt crowded around him. This was not a topic he cared to discuss with James. His friend may have understood the situation but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. He still blamed Alex for taking it as far as he had without speaking to him about it first. And Alex did not kid himself that if James knew the truth of exactly how far it had gone, the anger would be exponentially greater, with far less understanding and much more bloodshed.

  Alex avoided James’s gaze. “For now, yes.”

  It had been a month since he’d made love to Henrietta. Through the brandied haze he’d lived in for most of that time, he kept wishing news would arrive from her that a miracle had occurred and she carried his babe in her belly. Then the fear of losing Hen and the babe to childbirth cut through him until the air rushed from his lungs and left him breathless.

  But the fear didn’t stop him from wanting her. Which he did and in the worst kind of way. No amount of brandy had been able to dull this need. The more liquor he poured into his body, the harder his heart beat for her, pounding against his ribs with such painful purpose he feared he might expire well before his father.

  “You love her.”

  Alex stopped staring at his brandy and looked up at James’s unexpected claim. What did he say? The truth, he supposed. What else was there? “Yes.”

  “Then know I am sorry,” James said, his voice gentling and the anger it had held only a moment ago tempered. “I would have liked nothing more than to call you brother for real. And do not leave London on Hen’s account. She is already making plans for a grand trip.”

  “Trip?”

  James nodded. “She is done with London and the Season and has it in her head that she is going to Italy.”

  “Italy?” The idea of Hen being so far away jolted through him as if his body kept moving forward but everything inside of him had come to an abrupt stop.

  “I have tried to talk her out of it but with little success. I suggested perhaps she go to Ridgemont Park instead, but she is determined and I have discovered when my sister decides upon a course, she is not to be put off it. My aunt has indicated she will accompany her and I can only hope she makes the trip so miserable for Hen that she turns around and comes back before ever reaching her destination.”

  “Do you think your plan will work?”

  James shook his head and dropped his gaze to his drink, much as Alex had done a moment before. He should tell him there were no answers to be found there. He would know, given his extensive month-long search.

  “No. Hen has inherited the Harrow stubbornness, I’m afraid.” James let out a disheartened breath. “I brought her back to London to see her wed. I only wanted to see her happy. To break her out of the strange limbo her life had settled into. A plan that failed miserably and on an epic scale. I should have just let her be. She was safe at Ridgemont Park, at least.”

  “Exiled in the country? Dammit, James, she is a beautiful and intelligent woman, not some defective girl who deserves to be hidden away!”

  Heads turned in their direction as Alex’s voice rose with vehemence. He took a calming breath. It served no one any good for him to get worked up. Henrietta was leaving London and despite his fears, the mess he’d made of things, the sudden thought of such a lengthy separation left him rattled. What if she should need him? How would he know if she was well or happy? He could not countenance such a future.

  But where did that leave him? He had already cast her aside; hurt her in a
most grievous manner by revoking his proposal. It was he who had made her feel defective with his reasoning in breaking off their relationship, not James. Did he think now she would allow him to waltz back into her life and linger on its periphery because being without her completely was too much for his heart to bear?

  “I know she is not defective,” James hissed. “But I cannot ignore the fact of her situation. She may not be able to bear children. How do you think she would feel if month after month, year over year this fact slapped her in the face? She would be devastated. And likely, it would turn the man she married, the man expecting an heir, against her. I convinced myself it would not matter so long as the man had a brother or cousin to carry on the line, but it was just a lie I told to assuage my conscience. God, I am such a blind idiot to not have considered all of this before I brought her here!”

  “You did it out of love,” Alex reminded him. James had had his sister’s best interests at heart. He’d hoped for her future and while it may have blinded him to the reality of the situation, his motives were pure.

  Unlike Alex’s motives that had been ruled by fear. Fear of loss. Fear of being immersed into that dark place once more, should he hand his heart over to another only to lose them forever. Because if he lost Henrietta, that would be the end. He would not find his way back from the depth of despair such a loss would cause, of this he was certain. So he’d back peddled, retreated like a first rate coward. He’d grasped James’s information that she would likely be unable to produce an heir like a lifeline then threw it in her face. Rejected her.

  Yet when she walked from the room, dismissing him with an air of regality that left him feeling small and worthless, he wanted nothing more than to call back the words. But by then it was too late. The damage had been done.

  There was no going back.

  “When does she leave?”

  “The day after next. Lord and Lady Glenmor are throwing a dinner party in her honor to wish her a safe journey and speedy return.”

  Alex gave a wry smile. “I assume I should not hold my breath waiting on an invitation.”

  “No,” James said. “You should not.”