Page 28 of On a Midsummer Night
Beth sat up a bit straighter. “A bit silly of you, really.”
He dropped his head to stare at the ceiling and exhaled a breath. “I was hoping to marry and be promoted before my brothers reveal my father’s great sin.”
Surprise and confusion warred in her mind, and a fluttering began in her gut. “I—I don’t understand. I didn’t even know you had brothers.”
“Neither did I.” Grasping the bottle of brandy, he sloshed more liquor into his glass. Henry lifted it to the light, inspecting it as if it were an odd curiosity, and then drinking another mouthful. “I’m sure you can imagine how shocked I was when my father revealed such a thing on his deathbed.”
Her heart thudded against her rib cage, and Beth paused a moment to draw in a breath. Red stained the crests of Henry’s cheeks, his eyes glassy with either alcohol or tears—
Beth knew not which.
“My parents first encountered each other when they worked at a factory south of the river. My mother had arrived in England from Argentina the year prior and was still learning English, and my father was one of the managers at the plant. Although he was almost fifteen years older than her, they instantly connected.” Henry propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands, his gaze fixed on the floor. “And he was already married.”
The gasp that slipped between her teeth seemed to echo around the room. “Your father was . . . married when he . . . met your mother?”
Henry nodded, not looking up. “He said his first marriage had been one of convenience. When he was tasked to open a new factory in London, he left his wife and two young sons behind and never returned. Oh, he sent money, so they weren’t destitute, but he still abandoned them. His first”—his jaw worked for a moment—“familyonly learned of his death by happenstance. If my father had not confessed to me on his fucking deathbed about them, we would have been cruelly shocked when they showed up at the funeral.”
“Oh, love,” Beth whispered around a choked sob.
“My mother was horrified.” He clenched his eyes closed. “She was supposed to be mourning the man she had pledged her life to, the father of her two children, and he was still pledged to another woman. My father made a mockery of her honor and wasn’t even there to pick up the pieces.”
Tears were streaming down her face, and Beth tried desperately not to call attention to herself. The last thing she wanted to do was cause Henry to feel he had to comfort her when he was the one ripping off scabs to her judgmental eyes. Quietly dabbing her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress, she paused a moment to gather her composure.
“What happened at the funeral, Henry? What did you say to each other?”
With a sigh, Henry sat up, his chest heaving with labored breaths. “I didn’t speak to them.”
Beth frowned. “You didn’t?”
“I had my secretary pull them aside for a private meeting, and instructed him to give them everything. After I set up an account for my mother and Ariana, they received the house, the remaining funds, the mills, all of it. I didn’t want anything that had beenhis. If I hadn’t already found success with the railway, I would have sacrificed my name too.”
Folding her hands over her face, Beth reeled at his disclosure. He’d given up—no, he’dlost—everything when his father had died. Not only his position as his father’s only son, but his legitimacy, his inheritance. So many pieces slid into place like puzzle pieces.
“That’s why you transferred to the new team at Great Western.”
“It allowed me to invest in the projects we designed, and I needed to rebuild my fortune,” he murmured. “And then they suspended me.”
“Hence your courtship of Lucy,” she choked out.
“I could go elsewhere. America. The continent.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “But I don’t want to have to give up this too.”
Of course, he didn’t. “Have you heard from your . . . brothers since the funeral?”
“They’ve written. I’ve read one letter, but none of the others.”
“Why not?” She asked.
“Because, Beth,” he said, his tone weary, “what could they possibly want of me? I’m terrified they’re finally going to ask for that one thing I dared to keep for myself.”
The truth was on her tongue before she consciously thought it. “Your name.”
Henry’s gaze speared hers. “No matter how I resent it, the name Henry Ramsgate is tied to my achievements. I had hoped that by proving my loyalty to Great Western, they would be loyal to me if scandal did come calling. But now . . .”
She blinked rapidly to disperse the tears pooling in her eyes. “Do you think your brothers will threaten to expose you?”
“I don’t know.” His throat bobbed on a swallow. “Perhaps they mean to blackmail me. Word of my locomotive design has spread in the papers, and this is another way they can punish me.”
“But you’ve done nothing wrong,” she declared vehemently.
