by Jane Goodger
He laid a hand against one cheek, and Alice pressed against it, as if she could somehow absorb him into her. Then, letting out a long, heavy breath, he said, “That’s all I needed to know, Alice. I realize your parents will resist a match between us, but I will not give up until your father gives his consent.”
“We could elope,” Alice said with some reluctance and just as much hope, and was mostly glad when Henderson immediately rejected that idea.
“Your father would never forgive me. I think your parents will come around, love.”
Alice smiled. “I like that. Love. Oh, Henderson,” she said, throwing her arms around him. “Why can this not be as easy as telling my parents we are in love?”
She felt his arms wrap around her and for that moment had never felt more safe in her life. “Perhaps it will be as simple as that. Your parents don’t hate me, they’re just being good parents I suppose. Not wanting to taint the bloodline with God knows what. My father could be a criminal for all I know.”
“Or he could be a duke.”
Henderson chuckled. “Or a king.”
“Yes, I like that. A king. You do have rather a princely air about you this evening.”
“A good valet does wonders.” He let out a low sound. “God, it’s good to have you in my arms again. I feared it would never happen.”
Henderson pulled back just enough so that he could dip his head and kiss her, his lips warm and firm and wonderful against hers. On a sigh, Alice opened her mouth, welcoming his greedy tongue, feeling the desire that had been on the edge of her consciousness for days surge through her body. What was it about Henderson that spoke to her body this way, that made her wish they were naked and that they were joined? Such thoughts should embarrass or shame her, but all Alice could think about was how beautiful it would be when they finally consummated their love.
His manhood pressed against her center, and Alice let out a soft moan. It felt too good, too much. As if her body wanted to burst out of her skin, and she knew what the ending was to this feeling, that blissful completion. To feel that again, now, was so very, very tempting. “We should stop, Henderson. I feel… I feel too much.”
“I know. I know. But just another kiss and …” He brought one hand to skim the flesh above her gown before cupping one breast as he let out another guttural, primitive sound that made Alice’s blood grow even hotter. The night air was cool, but Alice had long ceased to feel anything but Henderson’s touch, hear anything but the low masculine sounds he made whenever they kissed. Her nipple grew erect beneath his palm and he moved his hand over her, teasing her, making the feeling between her legs intensify to the point that she began to move her hips in an effort to ease the ache.
“Please, Henderson. We have to stop,” she said, her voice tense with need.
He chuckled low. “One more kiss,” he said, and dipped his head so he could mouth her nipple over her gown.
Alice let out a small screech, the sensations too much. She was close to grabbing his hand and dragging him off the terrace and into the garden. Never in her life had she felt this way, as if she had no control over her body. It was very nearly frightening, the need that was coursing through her, making her contemplate such a thing.
“Henderson, stop. Oh, God, don’t…” I can’t take any more.
He did stop, abruptly so, and it took Alice a second to understand what had happened, that her father, with a feral sound she’d never heard in her life, had ripped Henderson from her arms.
“Get your filthy hands off my daughter, you low-born cur,” he said, his voice terrible and harsh in the quiet of the night.
“My lord, I—” But Henderson’s words were stopped when Richard backhanded Henderson across the face, the sound of the impact sharp and awful.
Henderson looked as stunned as Alice felt. Never had she seen her father act in violence. It was so far from his gentle nature, Alice could only stand frozen in shock at what was happening. What had they been thinking; they both knew how dangerous such a clandestine meeting could be.
“I assure you, sir, I mean no disrespect to—”
“Say another word and I shall murder you where you stand.”
“Father, no. You don’t understand.” He continued to stare at Henderson, his expression cold. “Father, please. Nothing untoward happened, we…Papa?”
Her father stumbled backward, one hand clutching at his chest, the other reaching out blindly behind him for the terrace rail, but missing. Before he could fall heavily to the hard marble beneath their feet, Henderson lunged forward and caught him and Alice let out a small scream.
Henderson, holding her father awkwardly in his arms, looked up at her. “Tell your mother to call a physician.”
Chapter 14
“Killing Lord Hubbard was not part of the plan.”
Henderson gave Lord Berkley a withering look, unamused by the man’s comment, and Berkley mumbled an apology.
“Thank God he did not die. At least not yet. I do not believe Lady Hubbard would ever forgive me if he does.” After the physician had been called, Berkley urged Henderson to leave once it became clear that Lord Hubbard’s death wasn’t imminent. He could not get the way Alice’s face looked out of his mind, grief etched with guilt and remorse. When it came to Alice, it seemed Henderson was unable to use common sense or even attempt decorum. Berkley very nearly had to drag him from the terrace, where a small crowd had gathered. The only saving grace was that no one knew what had precipitated the attack. At least he could be grateful that Alice had not been ruined.
Henderson took a sip of the very fine brandy Berkley always seemed to have on hand, no matter where they were. Proprietors didn’t seem to mind, especially when he gave them a generous tip. This evening, they sat morosely in a small tavern just outside of St. Ives. It was an ancient place with low ceilings and wide plank floors that had likely seen a century of spilt ale. The old gentleman behind the bar might have been there since the beginning, so bent and wrinkled was he. Even his clothes seemed to be from another century, as if he’d found something that fit him when he was a lad and continued to wear it to this day.
“The course of true love never did run smooth,” Berkley said.
“This is a rutted and muddy road, indeed,” Henderson said. “What of you? You looked rather taken with Clara Anderson.”
“She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, but I am not in the market for another wife. I still have a rotten taste in my mouth from the last beautiful wife.”
While Henderson thought it would have been far more convenient to meet in Berkley’s home, the earl truly did seem to loathe being there, using the large estate only as a place to work and sleep. Henderson had come to value the other man’s friendship for far more reasons than that he was attempting to help him gain Alice as his bride. He supposed it might be that Berkley seemed to take nothing seriously, and Henderson took everything seriously.
“I am running out of time,” Henderson said. “Parliament is back in session in just more than a month and we are not prepared. I have a feeling Northrup’s enthusiasm for famine relief will wane as soon as Miss Hubbard formally breaks it off with him and I shall have to rely on you alone. And this,” he said, pointing to an article in the Times about riots in India, “only makes matters more urgent. I cannot forget famine relief is the reason I returned to England, that there are people counting on my efforts to make change.”
Berkley drummed his fingers on the table and looked thoughtful. “I mean no insult, but why send you, a man with no influence and few connections, on such a daunting errand?”
Henderson gave Berkley a sheepish grin. “For one, I volunteered. I’d received a letter just that morning from my grandmother, who mentioned Miss Southwell had just announced her third engagement. She knew, of course, that I was friendly with the family and I supposed she thought I might be interested in hearing the news. And of course I was more than interested. For another, I am a passio
nate speaker and am not without influential friends. At least I thought so. Perhaps I overstated my influence or had grand ideas about just how far loyalty would go. It has been four years since I left, and it’s been an eye opening few weeks since I returned.”
“Oh?”
“It seems the influential friends I thought I had were actually influential friends of Joseph’s. I’ve written to nearly everyone I can recall from our days at Oxford but have received not a single response. I was a bit of tag-along. I had no idea, you see.”
“Ah. It can be difficult to see oneself as others do. I learned that lesson myself, which is why I headed to America, where no one knew me.” He laughed softly and took a deep drink. “Now, with my father’s death, there are certain people who expect me to step into his role and I’m afraid I have little interest and fewer skills.”
Henderson was slightly taken aback. “Are you withdrawing your support for the relief?”
“Absolutely not. But once I have exerted myself on that effort, I think I shall retire from politics. That was my father’s forte, not mine. Though I must admit my antipathy toward my father’s work has turned, of late, toward admiration. To keep all that information, stored away, to be used later takes an enormous amount of foresight and I can see how it could be amusing to wield such information against one’s enemies. I have a feeling, though, that he also wielded it against those who thought him an ally.”
Henderson had to admit he was curious about what Berkley had found out about Lord Hubbard. The knowledge that he held something that could be used to sway the man toward Henderson’s goal of marrying Alice lived in the corner of his mind, like some sort of small animal scurrying about begging for notice. “I know I said I would not use the information, and I will not, but what did you find out about Lord Hubbard?”
Berkley smiled as if pleased he’d come around, and Henderson couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed in himself for asking.
“I have a letter from him that indicates his interest in investing in a Portuguese slave ship.”
“My God.”
“Yes. My father has a letter in which Lord Hubbard expresses his unhappiness with the situation but in which he promises his funds at any rate despite his reservations and the fact the slave trade has been banned here since early in this century.” Berkley shrugged, then shook his head. “A second letter indicates he never did send the money, that his conscience would not allow him to support the transportation of Africans to Brazil, I believe it was. The fact my father kept the letters is astonishing. Both are very nearly forty years old, and there they were, carefully catalogued, just waiting for the day when such information could be useful. It was my understanding from Lady Hubbard that Alice’s parents were friends of my father. Yet he kept those letters. The first one could gain someone a powerful favor if one was inclined to use it.”
Henderson felt slightly sick about the idea of confronting Lord Hubbard now, as he lay recovering from a heart attack, with such information. Indeed, it was difficult to believe Lord Hubbard would have considered tying himself to such a scheme and Henderson found himself vastly relieved to know the young Hubbard had changed his mind. “I’ll never use it. Please destroy them both.”
Berkley smiled again. “I already have.”
* * *
Guilt felt like a live thing inside her, gnawing away at her stomach, making her physically ill. She had very nearly killed her father. It was impossible to contemplate that he could have died, that he still might die.
She would never forget the look on her mother’s face when she’d rushed out onto the terrace and had seen Richard in Henderson’s arms. It had taken perhaps one second before her expression changed subtly, her countenance filled with worry and then a terrible coldness when she looked at Alice. Later, Alice realized that her mother had been waiting just inside the French doors, that somehow Alice had been seen making her escape to the terrace, and that her father had gone to fetch her.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Alice stared at her toes peeking out beneath her nightgown and prayed with all her might that her father would live. It was four in the morning and her eyes burned from tears and lack of sleep. Yet even with the guilt, the fear, her thoughts often went to Henderson, his face pale but for the livid red mark on one cheek from her own father’s hand.
Her mother hadn’t said a word, not one word, to her all evening. Not, “Go to bed, you must be tired” not, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” The silence was awful because Alice felt in her heart that she deserved it. If she had simply accepted Northrup back when he’d come to beg forgiveness, none of this would have happened. Alice wouldn’t have fallen in love with Henderson, she would not have gone to his room on the pretense of saying good-bye, her father would not be lying pale and still on his bed. Her mother would still love her.
Tears fell once again down her cheeks. A small knock on her door gave Alice some hope that her mother was coming to talk to her. Perhaps when Alice told her how much she loved Henderson, how it had all been a terrible mistake, she would understand. But when she called the visitor to enter, it was Christina who came silently into her room, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She ran to Alice and threw herself against her, letting out body-racking sobs that Alice tried to pull into herself.
When Christina’s tears subsided, she pulled back and wiped her cheeks with her sleeves. “What happened tonight? Mama isn’t saying anything and they’re speaking so quietly in Papa’s room I cannot hear a word.”
Alice gave her sister a fond smile. “Even with a glass?”
“Even with a glass,” her sister said without an ounce of shame at having been found out eavesdropping.
Alice wasn’t certain she should tell Christina what had happened, but after some thought decided it would be a good way to teach Christina the dangers of veering from propriety. One should always be proper, even when one was tempted not to be. She had not been herself, not since Henderson had come back to St. Ives, and had been acting in ways she never would have dreamed.
“It’s my fault,” Alice said, and shook her head when Christina made to protest. “It is. I was out on the terrace with Mr. Southwell. Alone. And we were kissing. Papa found us together and was so angry. I’ve never seen him that angry. He actually struck Henderson, Mr. Southwell, in the face. It was terrible.”
To Alice’s surprise, Christina smiled. “I knew you loved him. And it was obvious he loved you. I’m so sorry, Alice.”
“I shouldn’t have been out there with him. I knew it was wrong and I knew he would kiss me but I went anyway. I…” She swallowed past a throat gone suddenly thick. “I tricked Mama and Papa into dancing so that I could go out and meet him. What a horrible daughter I am and now I’ve nearly killed our papa.”
Alice sat beside Christina, twisting the material of her gown between her hands until it resembled a cloth dust devil. “Mama is so angry with me, Christina. I think that’s the worst of it. She couldn’t even look at me, she was so ashamed.” She let out a small laugh. “And to think I believed I’d be able to convince them that Mr. Southwell would be a good match for me. Do you know what Papa said, Christina? He told Mr. Southwell to get his dirty hands off me and called him a low-born cur. Papa! He was so very angry.”
Christina’s brows furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like something Papa would say,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s possible that Papa misinterpreted what he saw? That he thought perhaps Mr. Southwell was making unwanted advances? I know Papa can be a bit of a snob, but I find it difficult to believe he would say such a thing to Mr. Southwell. We all like him.”
Pressing the heels of her hands against her tear-swollen eyes, Alice said, “It doesn’t matter. Either way, Papa will never contemplate a match between us. A true gentleman would never have kissed me that way.”
To her surprise, Christina burst out laughing. “Really, Alice, for someone who’s been engaged three times, you can be so naïve.”
&nbs
p; “What are you saying?”
“You know Aunt Agatha adores genealogy.”
Alice gave Christina a confused look at her abrupt change in topic. “Of course. She’s the keeper of the family tree.”
Christina got an impish look on her face. “It just so happens that I was helping Aunt Agatha two summers ago. You remember when I went to visit her? It was dreadfully boring, but I discovered the most shocking and interesting information.” She paused. “About Mama and Papa.”
“What?” Alice asked, not truly believing her sister would say anything of interest.
“Perhaps the next time you visit Aunt Agatha’s library, you should pay close attention to Mama and Papa’s wedding date. And Joseph’s birth date.”
Alice’s mouth opened in disbelief at what her sister was implying. “No. Really?”
“Unless Joseph was born a full three months early.”
Nothing could have surprised Alice more. Her mother and father, who had always schooled her to be proper at all times, had done that before they were even married? It was unthinkable.
“Are you absolutely certain?”
Christina gave a sharp nod. “Aunt Agatha swore me to secrecy, but I do believe this is a special circumstance. Aunt Agatha felt as the keeper of family information, she could not lie. Three months, Alice. Three.”
Alice gave her sister a scowl. “You’re too young to be thinking about such things.”
“Aunt had no such qualms and that was two years ago. I think she was rather relieved that she wasn’t the only one holding on to such a secret. I do believe Mama would be livid if she knew the true dates were listed in that book. Can you imagine? I think Mama would have a heart attack too.”
Shaking her head, Alice said, “I cannot imagine why Aunt Agatha felt it was so important not to fib a little, but I have to say I am glad. Not that I could bring that up to Mama and Papa. Not now. Nothing has truly changed.”