The Reckless Love of an Heir

by Jane Lark

  Yet she could not love him. He belonged to Alethea.

  The sense of empathy, that had always pulled her one way and then another, for any wounded thing, tugged at her, pulling hard. She was sorry for her sister. It was guilt and empathy that stood as a wall between her and Henry.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Susan leaned aside slightly as a footman poured her a third cup of coffee, then took away her barely touched breakfast plate.

  “Darling you have hardly eaten a thing, are you still feeling unwell?” Her mother asked from the end of the table to her right.

  Susan had endured half an hour of Alethea stating her hopes that Henry would call today, and that he would resume his attentions.

  If he did come Susan could not be within the house. She would be called downstairs and she could not claim a headache every day.

  Her stomach coiled and twisted with nausea, fear and guilt. She could not eat. She had no sense of hunger only distress.

  “Are you unwell, Susan? You’re very pale,” her father stated.

  Alethea had left the table and gone upstairs, to prepare herself to ride out in Hyde Park with the Earl of Stourton, no matter that she hoped Henry would call.

  Susan had remained at the table to enable this conversation.

  “Did you not sleep?” her mother progressed.

  Susan breathed in. She did not like to lie, but she had to. “I could not sleep,” She looked at her mother. “I do not feel well. The air here disagrees with me …” That was the only excuse she had been able to think of in the dark in her room as Alethea had slept. “I wish to go home.” She looked at her father, he would be the one to arrange it if she was allowed to leave. “Papa…”

  “Where has this come from?” His fingers touched the end of his pale moustache and twisted the tip. “You have seemed merry enough, until last night.”

  “I have been trying to enjoy myself for Alethea’s sake, but I shall only ruin things for her if I stay. I can no longer pretend. I have a headache daily, and… I hate it here.” She looked at her mother. Her mother would react from emotion; she would be the one to persuade her father. “I feel sick, constantly, Mama. Please may I go home?”

  “We are only to be here four more weeks. Can you not bear it for that long?”

  “It will look odd, Susan.” Her father added.

  They sounded annoyed.

  If they did not agree she would run away, she would not remain in this house if Henry called. She looked at her mother, then her father. “No one will notice I am not here.” Six months ago that would have been true. It was not true now. Henry would notice. But he could not care. What had grown between them, had to die. “I want to leave today. My trunks may follow.” She looked at her mother her voice shifting from a plea to desperation. “I want to be at home, Mama. I do not like it here anymore. London has made me unwell.”

  Her mother stood up and came about the table, then wrapped her arms about Susan, holding her firmly. “What has happened?”

  Susan did not reply but nor did she pull away, she had craved comfort last night when she’d lain in bed. Her arms wrapped about her mother’s waist as her mother pressed Susan’s head against her midriff, and her fingers stroked over Susan’s hair. I love Henry, Mama, I love him, and I cannot even speak of it.

  “Susan.” Her father stood and came about the table too. His hand rested on her shoulder.

  She could no longer hold back her tears.

  “What has happened?” Her mother asked again more quietly.

  Her father pulled out the chair beside Susan and set it down so it faced her, then sat with his legs wide as he leant forward. His fingers embraced her chin and turned her head so she would look at him. Her arms fell from her mother, but she caught hold of Susan’s hands.

  “You worried me last night, Susan, and now you have worried me more. This is not like you. What is wrong?” Her father’s face was a shimmering blur through the cloak of her tears.

  “Susan, please tell us.”

  She glanced up at her mother, and her father’s hand fell to rest on her shoulder. “It is nothing, Mama, I promise—”

  “Something must have occurred. We are not fools, Susan. Something has made you decide to leave in such a hurry,” her father said.

  “Nothing.” She met his gaze which looked all of his fear.

  “Last evening, Susan—”

  “No.” She knew what he thought. “I promise no harm came to me. I am simply not a town person, it has made me melancholy and miserable and I want to go home.”

  “But you enjoy dancing…” her mother said.

  “Not at the expense of fresh air and fields and flowers. Please let me go?” She looked at her father. “Papa?”

  He sighed.

  She looked at her mother, who squeezed her hands. They did not want to let her go and yet she could see their argument was weakening. “Please?”

  Her father sighed once more.

  No, her parents were not fools, they knew there was something behind this, but she would never say, and they could not force her to speak.

  “I will take you home,” her father said in a low pitch. “But I wish you would tell me what this is about. What has really made you choose to leave?”

  “Nothing,” she said again.

  He rose, his hand slipping from her shoulder. “I will tell them to prepare the carriage.”

  When Susan would have stood, her mother pressed her shoulder to stop her. Her father left the room, and her mother asked, “Will you not tell me?”

  “There is nothing to say.”

  Her mother cupped her chin and lifted her face. “Then if it is nothing you may wait a couple of days—”

  Horror shot through her heart. “No.” She had won; her father was taking her. She could not stay even until luncheon in case Henry came. She stood, slipping free from her mother’s hold. “May I go upstairs and pack my things.” She wished to be ready before Alethea heard of this. Alethea would try to make her stay too.

  Her mother sighed, as her father had done, a note of doubt, concern and acceptance. “We know something has happened, it is the only reason your father has agreed to your leaving. But now I must fret over you from a distance because it would be unfair of me to come with you and take Alethea away.”

  “There is no need for you to fret. You may stay with Alethea without worry.”

  Her mother shook her head, but she held out her hand. “Come along, let us go to your room and pack your trunk together, and if you have a change of heart and wish to tell me what has caused this sudden need to leave then I will be very glad to hear it.”

  As they walked up to her room Alethea came hurrying down past them. “Lord Stourton is here.” Her bonnet was gripped in her hand.

  Susan stepped back against the wall out of her sister’s way.

  “I waved from the window, Mama, and told him to wait in the street, you do not mind if I go straight out?”

  “Of course not.”

  Alethea hurried on past them. She put her bonnet on in the hall, as the footman opened the door. Then she rushed out without looking back.

  Her mother’s arm settled about Susan’s shoulders as they walked on, offering the comfort Susan appreciated but did not deserve.

  She had stolen Henry from her sister. She was a horrible person.

  Tears leaked from her eyes, and ran from beneath her spectacles. She pulled away from her mother took off her spectacles and wiped them away.

  ~

  Susan’s parents refused to let her leave before Alethea returned from her outing with Lord Stourton. Then they made her wait until after they had eaten luncheon, as though they hoped she would change her mind. She did not.

  As the clock ticked away each minute, anxiety danced through her nerves. What if Henry called? He would come today, she knew it.

  Of course Alethea had urged Susan to stay, and then become distressed because Susan would not. Then angry because Susan would not tell her why. They h
ad eaten luncheon in silence.

  Then the moment finally came, when no more excuses to make her stay were possible. The carriage waited before the house. Her father settled her shawl over her shoulders.

  Alethea’s eyes glittered, full of tears, and some tracked on to her cheeks.

  Their mother wiped away tears too.

  Susan embraced her mother. She wiped Susan’s tears away with her handkerchief, while Susan’s father watched with a bitter stare.

  He wrapped her mother up in his arms and kissed her cheek as Susan looked at Alethea.

  Alethea had forgotten her anger now. She hugged Susan, then let her go and gripped her hands. “Do not go.”

  “I must.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wish to.” The whole shabby story hovered behind Susan’s lips. But confessing would destroy everything—she would lose Henry and Alethea.

  “Susan…” her father stated gruffly to ask if she was ready to leave.

  She was more than ready.

  She turned away from Alethea, biting her lip to hold back more tears. Her father lifted his hand to encourage her to walk ahead of him, then he looked back and nodded a final goodbye.

  “Goodbye!” Alethea called, when Susan neared the door.

  Susan looked back. “Goodbye.”

  Her father offered his hand and Susan held it as he led her out to the carriage. He helped her climb up as her heart beat rapidly, out of fear that Henry might arrive before the carriage drew away.

  She sat back in the seat. The tears that had trickled before, flowed. She took off her spectacles so she might wipe her eyes.

  Her father sat opposite her. As the carriage rocked into motion he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and passed it to her. He sighed when he sat back, as he had sighed this morning. “I do not know how to make you speak of what has upset you, but if it is to do with a man… If anyone has harmed you…”

  A flush warmed her skin. “No one—”

  “I am just saying, Susan. If it were so, then I will do whatever must be done to see this put right.”

  Susan did not answer. Nothing would put it right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Henry stood before the door of the Forths’ town house and breathed in, his hands clasping into fists. His fingers flexed as he breathed out.

  His heart beat out an erratic pattern.

  He had come to resolve the mess he’d created.

  He was here to speak, to tell Alethea that he did not wish to marry her. Then tell Susan that he would not take no for an answer. Admittedly he and Susan would need to be mindful of Alethea, there could be no hasty proposal, but he needed time to adjust to this storm of emotions anyway.

  He was tired. He’d barely slept through the night, thinking constantly of Susan, of kissing her and the words that might persuade her to accept him. He’d fallen asleep at sunrise, finally, and then remained in bed until after luncheon.

  He raised the large circular door knocker and dropped it down once, heavily.

  His stomach was a tightening knot.

  As the door opened, nausea twisted through him. He’d come here to escape the heavy chains of one obligation and yet to potentially snap another manacle about his leg.

  He was still not certain he was ready for marriage, and yet he wanted Susan, and the only way he would ever wholly have Susan would be to marry her…

  Dodds, the butler, smiled at Henry. “My Lord.” Dodds bowed then stepped back, pulling the door wider. “Come in, sir. Shall I announce you in the drawing room?”

  “Yes please, Dodds.”

  Dodds lifted a hand to take Henry’s hat and bowed again before he passed it on to a bowing footman. Henry handed his cane over too.

  “My Lord.” Dodds encouraged Henry to follow him.

  Henry walked across the hall at Dodds’s heels, with the eagerness of Samson, his heart thudding in his chest. Susan had made him thus.

  Dodds pushed the drawing room door open a little wider and knocked it gently. Henry heard the women’s voices.

  “Yes!” Aunt Julie called.

  Dodds stepped in. “Lord Henry, my Lady.”

  “Come in, Henry! You have no need to hover outside the door!” Aunt Julie called.

  He walked in to see Alethea turning to face him, she was sitting on a sofa with her mother, from the movement it looked as though they’d been holding hands. Something was wrong. Their eyes were red rimmed and watery. They’d been crying.

  Heat flushed his cheeks, they watched him walk across the room.

  Henry’s hand lifted as Aunt Julie stood, although he had no idea what to say. “Aunt…”

  “Do not mind me, I am being foolish, Henry.” She kissed his cheek, then wrapped her arms about his neck, giving him a brief embrace. When she let him go she looked at Dodds. “Have a maid bring some tea.” She looked back at Henry then. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Alethea will appreciate your company.”

  He did sit, only because he did not know what else to do as Aunt Julie gave Dodds more directions.

  Henry leant towards Alethea. “What has upset you?”

  “Susan has gone.”

  “What? Where?”

  “She went home. She insisted on going today but she would not say why.”

  She had run. “Was she upset?”

  “Yes, but she would not even tell, Mama, why.”

  He took a deep breath. Damn. She had been upset because of him.

  “You were the last person to speak with her at the ball, was she distressed then? Mama thinks something happened.”

  The air caught in his lungs. No. Yes. Something had happened and then she had run, and kept running. “No she was happy…” The lie left his throat with no strength. “You said she left the ball with a headache…” I cannot… She is my sister, Henry. Do you not see? If I was in Alethea’s shoes I would not be able to bear it. Henry. I cannot hurt her like that.

  “That is what she said. But this morning she said London has made her unwell.”

  The nausea spun in his stomach. “And she gave no reason beyond that?”

  “None,” Aunt Julie answered him. He looked at her. She had sat down in a chair near them.

  Heat burned beneath Henry’s skin. He’d chased Susan away from her home, and her family. No. That was not true. She might have stayed, if she had been stronger. If she had been more self-centered. The word mocked him.

  If she had been more like him in that regard they would be sitting here telling her sister together. But then Susan would not be Susan.

  She was care full, mindful of others—as he now cared for her. But damn it… The thought of her in tears here… Of her leaving in distress… Leaving the sister she loved… Last night she had talked of standing in her sister’s shoes, now he imaged standing in hers. The pain, guilt and regret cut deep inside him. He was no longer a careless man, he could not hurt her any more than she would hurt her sister. She had been the first to accuse him of self absorption, it had been true, but she had also been the one to break him free of it.

  And last night…

  Last night was going to be all that he had then. His heart broke, cracking as though it was china, pressed under the heel of her shoe.

  Remember it, rejoice in it and regret forever… He would not regret his carelessness in that, only that it was all that he would have—forever. The cracks in his heart ran into his veins reaching deeper. He’d thought his emotions love, now he knew it was love, this pain was what his father had spoken of when he’d talked of losing his mother.

  “Henry.” Alethea’s fingers gripped his hand. “Did you see last night…” The conversation was swept off Susan and became focused on Alethea and the occurrences of the ball last evening, and the balls that were still to come this season and how they would be impacted upon from Alethea’s perspective by the loss of Susan.

  He had been as careless and selfish before.

  After the tea had been served and drunk, Aunt Julie looked a
t him. “Why do you not take Alethea out in your carriage? That will brighten your mood, Alethea.”

  He looked at his aunt. “I cannot.” Then he looked at Alethea. “I’m sorry. I did not bring my curricle, I walked.”

  He’d needed the activity of walking to fight the noise in his mind, a slow crawl through the streets would have driven him mad.

  But he should have brought his curricle, then they might have talked. Yet he was no longer in the mood to speak. His insides had become a vacuum and his heart… It was shattered.

  Susan had run. The truth of it settled over him, and if he loved her as much as he claimed, then he should allow it, and not follow.

  He stood up, half in a dream. “I ought to leave anyway. I agreed to meet someone at my club.”

  Aunt Julie and Alethea looked at him in surprise, he’d not been here long.

  “Are you going to the Tomlinson’s musical evening?” Alethea asked.

  “I am not sure, perhaps. Good day.” He bowed towards his aunt.

  Alethea stood.

  He would have bowed to Alethea to take his leave, but she gripped his arm. “I will walk into the hall with you.”

  She held his arm firmly in a way that reminded him of how Susan held his arm. The memory was agony pinching in his chest. This was the wrong sister.

  She talked in a whisper as they left the room. “Mama believes something dreadful has happened to Susan, but Susan denied it.”

  “Nothing dreadful would have happened to her,” he said in a dry tone. “She was at a ball surrounded by people.”

  “You think it happened at the ball then…”

  “I think nothing happened. She is probably just bored of such entertainments.” Yet, she had loved them, she had come to life every evening. He’d selfishly taken that from her too. “But you know her better than I do.” He knew nothing of her really, he had only begun to discover Susan and now he would know no more.

  Alethea looked at him. “It was not boredom. I heard her crying last night.”

  Henry swallowed against a dry throat.

  That was what his love had done to her. He’d hurt her and he had to withdraw if he was going to stop her from hurting any more.