by Jane Goodger
Gerald paused, giving Henderson a tortured look, and Henderson wanted to bash his head against the table so he would just finish the story.
“He stood there for the longest time, and then he said…God, Henderson, I’m so sorry. He said ‘Tell Southie I’m sorry.’ And then he fell back, just like that, the way you would if you were falling back onto a feather mattress. Not a sound, nothing, until he hit.”
That night had been the worst of his life, for his dearest friend had died.
Now, he had to live not only with the knowledge that Joseph had taken his own life, but also the memory that Henderson had promised never to touch Alice. Well, it was too bloody late for that, and now he’d have to live with the guilt of happily breaking that promise. As they walked toward Tregrennar, memories assailed him; it was almost cruel how he felt as if he were coming home.
* * *
The first time he’d gone to Tregrennar, he and Joseph were just nineteen, freshly graduated from Eton and looking forward to Oxford.
“My parents won’t mind, really. I’ve written them and it’s all set. And you don’t want to spend a dreary summer dodging your mother, do you?” Joseph gave Henderson’s shoulder a nudge. “We have the best trout stream in Cornwall running right through our property.”
Henderson stared at his suitcase, stuffed full of what he’d need for his summer holiday, and felt a longing in his stomach so strong he nearly felt ill from it. No, he did not want to go home to Chelmsford and spend his entire summer with his grandparents and mother. He’d written dutifully to his mother and she’d responded with the same apathy he’d been subject to his entire life. Indeed, he was surprised she’d responded at all, for he’d written many letters over the years that had been ignored.
Eton had been his haven, a place he could be with chaps his own age, who liked an adventure as much as he did, who somehow overlooked the fact he was illegitimate—overlooked because Joseph had insisted they all do so.
And it was so blasted, bloody boring in Chelmsford.
Cornwall was the warm sea, trout fishing, and living in a home with a family, a lively, boisterous family, if the stories Joseph told him were true. Joseph had been begging him to spend the summer with his family for years. Now that they had graduated from Eton and were heading to university next year, it might be the very last time he’d get a chance.
“I’ll go,” he said, suddenly feeling a weight lifted from him. His mother would not even notice his absence. She hardly acknowledged him when he was home. The last few summers, he’d thought he might go out of his head from boredom.
“Excellent. I only hope you don’t mind my little sisters, Alice and Christina. They’re both tolerable, I supposed, but Alice can be a bit of a rascal. She’s not too bad once you get to know her.”
“She’s twelve?”
Joseph paused. “Good God, she’s fifteen. Cripes, didn’t realize. She’ll be coming out in just three years, two if she has her way. I keep thinking about her as if she was a little girl. You’ll like my sisters, though. Everyone does.”
Truth be told, Henderson was a bit nervous about spending any time with a girl. He’d grown up quite alone and spent most of his time at school. He could hardly even recall having a conversation with a female his own age. To him, they were a foreign and beautiful mystery. All that hair and lace and creamy skin.
“Come on, then, the carriage is waiting,” Joseph said, hauling up his overstuffed bag. He stopped, his brown eyes shining with excitement. “This is going to be the best summer.”
* * *
Henderson had been given the room next to Joseph and one that overlooked the garden. Through the trees at the edge of the property, he could see the brilliant blue-green of the sea. It had touched him that they had put him in the family wing rather than where guests might normally stay. The Hubbards puzzled him, to be honest, welcoming a complete stranger into their home. Richard was the son of a duke, thus the reason he was called “Lord” Hubbard instead of “Mr.” Hubbard, and they were part of a world Henderson had never even hoped to have a glimpse of, never mind be welcomed into as if part of the family. His own mother detested him, though his grandparents did try to make up for that with their love. Both Hubbard boys insisted he stay in the family wing, saying he was more a brother to them than anything else. Indeed, the Hubbards and their easy ways had immediately made him feel comfortable.
The first morning he took his cup of strong, black coffee and stepped out onto the balcony to greet the day. Sunlight streamed into his room, and when he swung open the French doors, a strong scent of the sea rushed in, carrying with it the sounds of summer—birds, a gardener clipping shrubbery, a squirrel chattering angrily at a massive tabby cat that sat beneath a tree. God, he loved it here.
He’d taken his first sip when he spied a woman in the gardens below him, and he paused, the cup held suspended, as he watched her. Though he hadn’t been exposed to many women in his nineteen years, he realized he was staring at pure female perfection. Had anyone been standing next to him, it would have been painfully obvious that he’d become almost instantly smitten. She was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. She was strolling in the garden, wearing a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with sky-blue ribbon and a dress that matched the ribbon perfectly. His eyes drifted down her form, stopping briefly at the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist. As he watched, she bent to take a closer look at a rose and the smile that came to her face made him feel a rush of lust so strong, he found himself gripping the railing, his knuckles white from the strain, and he let out a small sound.
Straightening suddenly, she whirled about and looked up directly at him, one hand shielding her eyes from the bright sun. “Hello. You must be Henderson.”
Odd, how would she know—Oh, God. No.
Walking toward the house, a breeze causing a few stray strands of her light hair to escape her hat, she looked up and smiled. “I’m Alice, Joseph’s sister.” He stood there, mute, horrified. “Don’t tell me Joseph didn’t tell you he had a sister. Two, actually, though Christina is off with Aunt Gladys this summer. It would be something he would do just to vex me.” She laughed, as if the idea of her brother pulling such a trick was great fun.
“No. I, that is to say, Joseph told me he had a sister. Two sisters.” Alice was supposed to be a fifteen-year-old child. Not this…this woman who stood before him, all luscious curves and sparkling eyes.
Henderson shook his head and let out a near-silent chuckle, frankly horrified that his body had such a violent reaction to Joseph’s little sister. God, he was depraved. Then again, he hadn’t known he was looking at Alice. In his mind, she was a child.
She seemed disappointed to learn he had known of her existence and a bit uncertain what to say.
“I’ll see you at breakfast, then,” she said cheerfully.
“Oh, yes. Breakfast.”
“It’s a meal in the morning where one breaks one’s fast.” She smiled and tilted her head, then turned around, her skirts flying about, and headed back to the garden.
“Yes, I’ll see you there,” Henderson called out, feeling foolish.
She didn’t turn around again, merely waved her hand in acknowledgment, which made him feel as if he were a gauche boy, not a man about to enter university.
Giving himself a mental shake, he returned to his room, wishing with all his being that he had known whom he was looking at before seeing her in the garden. Joseph’s sister might look like a woman, have a woman’s curves, but she was still just fifteen. Swallowing heavily, he made a promise to himself to stay away from Alice, to never let her know where his thoughts had gone.
A quiet knock on the door pulled him away from his thoughts. “Enter.” Joseph’s valet came into the room and wished him a brisk good morning.
“Lord Hubbard has asked that you meet him for breakfast after your shave, sir.”
Henderson laughed, bringing his hand up to touch his jaw, which was covered with t
hree days’ growth. Shaving was one of his least favorite activities, even under the care of an excellent valet. If it were up to him, he would let his beard grow, but neither his mother nor Joseph would allow it. “You look like an American mountain man,” Joseph had said more than once. Henderson didn’t much care how he looked, so he forced himself to shave if only to shut Joseph up.
“If you insist, Mr. Boxter.”
“I do, sir.”
Once he was freshly shaved and his cravat straightened rather forcefully by Boxter, Henderson headed down the stairs, already feeling quite at home in the grand old place. Joseph’s parents and younger brother had met Henderson enthusiastically, claiming they had heard so much about him from Joseph they felt they knew him already. With them, he hadn’t experienced the awkwardness he usually did when dining with strangers. Now, though, ready to face the third Hubbard sibling, Henderson felt his stomach twist with nervousness. He hadn’t thought much about her absence thus far, assuming she was off visiting a relative or some such thing.
When he entered the breakfast room, a warm place with sun streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, every member of the Hubbard family but for Christina was already there—including the elder daughter. Alice looked up and gave him a little smile, as if the two of them shared some sort of grand secret.
“Good morning,” he said, before going to the sideboard and filling his plate until it was heavy in his hand. Henderson had always had a healthy appetite, and since he was naturally lean, he never bothered to limit his meals. He sat next to Joseph, who was nearly done with his meal, and looked across to Alice, who eyed his plate with unreserved amusement.
Joseph reached over and stole a scone.
“Joseph, that’s rude,” his mother, Elda, said, but Henderson could tell she wasn’t truly angry.
Joseph immediately put the scone, minus one large bite, back on his plate and apologized exuberantly to his mother, who looked as if she was on the verge of laughter. It was this sort of simple exchange that Henderson so loved about this family and had been missing for his entire life. Family dinners were subdued and, looking back, rather miserable affairs, with his mother pointedly not engaging with him. There had been no laughter or joy in his house and he realized now that a soul needed laughter and joy.
“What are you two up to today?” Lord Hubbard asked.
“Thaddeus’s bitch just had a litter and I thought we could take a look.” Before his father could object, he added, “I’m not getting one, Father, just looking.”
Lord Hubbard sighed and looked at his wife. “Do we have room for another dog, Ellie?”
“Only if he’s got a lovely pup, Father,” Joseph had said. “Fritz is getting a bit old and—”
“Fritz is only three, Joseph,” Alice said. “And I don’t think he’d care for another dog running about.”
“It’d be a friend to him,” Joseph said. “And to me. Fritz is your dog. And Scat is yours too.” He turned to Henderson. “That’s the big tom you’ve seen about the house. Menace to all our song birds.”
“He can’t help it if he’s a good hunter,” Alice said. “He’s merely doing what cats do.”
“Tell that to Cook. She found a half-eaten sparrow on the back step yesterday.”
Alice grinned. “A present.”
“At any rate, I’ll be home this summer and I’ll have time to make him mine.”
“I thought you just told your father you weren’t getting a puppy,” Elda said. “And you know you wouldn’t be able to bring him to university. It’ll be left to us to care for him.”
Henderson thought the banter was all in good fun until he noticed how fiercely Joseph was digging his hands into his leg. “I just want something of my own,” he said.
“He’ll be home on holidays and summer.” When all eyes turned toward Henderson, he could feel his face heat.
His lordship threw down his napkin, symbolically throwing in the towel. “Very well, Joseph, you may have your pup.”
“Oh, Richard, really?” Elda’s expression was a mixture of love and disbelief.
“Really. That’s settled, then.” With those words, Lord Hubbard rose from the table and left the room, but not before putting a hand on his older son’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.
“You always were his favorite. Oldest and heir and all that,” Alice said, with just the smallest bit of resentment in her tone.
Joseph grinned at his younger sister. “It’s only that I know how to get my way.”
“Not all the time,” Elda said sternly, but Joseph just laughed.
“I’ve an idea. We’ll let Henderson name the pup,” Joseph said. “That way it’ll have a respectable name.” He winked at his sister and she made a face at her big brother before looking over to Henderson.
“Do you realize the import of this?” she asked, her blue eyes steady on him. “It means you’re officially one of us.”
Henderson smiled and tried not to show how ridiculously happy those words made him.
* * *
“It is out of the question that you stay in the village, Henderson. I won’t hear of it.”
Alice suppressed a smile. She’d known her mother would be adamant and would not take no for an answer. The minute she’d seen Henderson walk through the door, Elda had called to two footmen to fetch Henderson’s things from the inn. Alice recognized the moment he realized that continuing to argue would only hurt her mother’s feelings and so he relented, giving her a look of resigned bemusement. Inside, her stomach was a tight swirl of happiness followed quickly by almost nauseating trepidation.
“How is your mother?” Elda asked once they had all settled in the main parlor for tea. Henderson had just popped a cherry tart into his mouth and grimaced—not from the tart, as they were his favorite, but from the question. Though Henderson had never spoken at length about his family, Alice knew he didn’t like to discuss his home life. She sensed he loved his grandparents but his relationship with his mother was particularly strained. She had gleaned this information during one of their long talks, and it had seemed like a gift to Alice at the time, a tiny piece of Henderson that he so rarely gave away.
“I have no idea,” he said after swallowing the confection. “As far as I know, she’s still wallowing in bitter disappointment,” he said with irony. Henderson had been an only—and very lonely—child, Alice guessed, with a mother who could hardly look at him without letting her feelings of disgust show. It had been Henderson’s grandmother who had insisted they keep him rather than send him to one of the foundling homes where so many bastard children ended up. He’d often said his grandmother’s heart was too soft, but he’d been glad of it.
“And your grandparents?”
Alice gave her mother a telling look, which her mother ignored. “Well. I write to them regularly. It was my grandmother who wrote to say Miss Hubbard’s wedding was imminent. That’s when I immediately found a ship and headed home to stop the wedding.” Henderson grinned and Elda laughed.
“I thought it must be something like that,” Elda said, a twinkle in her eye that told Henderson she knew he was jesting.
“If it puts your mind at ease, I have been dutifully writing my grandparents since the day I left England, and they have dutifully responded.”
Alice had often wondered what it had been like for Henderson to grow up in such a home. Yes, he had been sent away to school since he was seven (still another thought that drew sympathy from her), but when he was younger he had been home for summers and holidays. Whom had he talked to? Played with? In the Hubbard home, there had always been someone to talk to, play a game with. Joseph had been a wonderfully indulgent brother and Alice had taken advantage of his kind heart and giving nature. He had set the tone for the Hubbard children, who loved each other and were uncommonly close. The remaining Hubbard children were still close, of course, but there was always a feeling that a large part was missing and would never be replaced, no matter how mu
ch time passed. At least she had wonderful memories of Joseph and their happy childhood. What did Henderson have?
“His mother blames Henderson for the fact she never married and—”
Her mother gave her a sharp look and nodded subtly in Christina’s direction, and Alice stopped abruptly.
“It’s all right, Mama, I know all about Mr. Southwell’s birth,” Christina said, giving Henderson an apologetic look.
“Alice, really.” Elda always seemed surprised that her daughters shared so much information. “Christina is only eighteen.”
“I knew when I was eighteen,” Alice said logically, and Elda let out a small puff of exasperation.
Henderson let out a low chuckle. “Yes, she knows about my mother and her fall from grace.”
“Do you ever wonder where your father is? If I were your grandmother, I would have hunted him down,” Christina said, grabbing up the last tart, “and made things right. Your mother must have been so hurt.”
“I doubt my mother could garner the energy to feel such strong emotion,” Henderson said, laughing lightly.
“I’m sure she feels emotion—she simply does not put it on display,” Christina argued.
“Perhaps,” he said, a hollow note in his tone.
“We love you,” Elda said.
Henderson’s eyes flickered briefly to Alice before he smiled at her mother. “That is very kind, Lady Hubbard.”
“I was not being kind, young man. I was stating a fact.”
* * *
Alice and her sister and mother gathered each evening before a fire even in the summertime, for the nights in St. Ives could be quite chilly. Unless they were attending an entertainment, the family kept early hours, dining at seven and turning in for the evening by ten. Elda was perpetually knitting socks and sending them off to a veterans’ home in London and this evening was no different. After an early supper of ham, potatoes, and beet salad, Henderson had gone back to the village to meet up with some friends he hadn’t seen in four years, promising to return before midnight.