Page 9 of On a Midsummer Night
“Because I didn’t welcome you like a long-lost friend?” Her snort was soft. “You didn’t say goodbye before you left Bristol all those years ago, so it seemed presumptuous to imagine us as friends.”
It took a moment to swallow down the knot in his throat. “I departed quite abruptly, which made it impossible to issue proper goodbyes.” Henry shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
The two words seemed so painfully inadequate.
“Yes, well”—Beth lifted a shoulder as she advanced toward the wall that overlooked the garden—“as I said, that was many years ago. I confess I’m surprised you remembered me at all.”
As if he could ever forget that magnetic girl who had streaked through his life like a shooting star before everything went dark.
Henry cleared his throat, angling to face the garden as she did. “It was a memorable trip.”
“But not memorable enough to remain friends with Oliver.” He could sense her looking up at him, but Henry did not have the nerve to meet her gaze. “He said things were much different after your visit to Bristol. That you changed.”
“A father’s death will do that to you.”
He bit down on his tongue so forcefully he tasted copper. Confessing such a thing so baldly—brushing aside the carefully constructed facade he’d worked for years to fortify as if it was so much rubbish—robbed him of breath.
Henry stared down at her then, anger pulsing hot in his blood. What was it about this woman, whom he had tried to banish from his thoughts when he re-crafted himself, that drew him still? That made uncomfortable truths slip from his tongue as easily as sighs?
“I’m sorry, Henry,” she whispered. “Oliver told me the news, and I remember you being quite close with your father. I can only imagine how difficult it was to lose him.”
Her earnest words, spoken in that soft voice of hers that had once whispered affection in his ear, sparked a fire in the back of his eyes, and Henry ripped his gaze away from her. “Many things changed after he died. My mother and sister moved to the continent, and I was left to pick up the pieces of his legacy. I no longer had time for friendships or acquaintances. My life became my work, and that has sustained me.”
Henry sensed rather than heard her huff. “That is . . . unfortunate.”
“Is it?” He narrowed his eyes. “I have acquired a fortune designing locomotives for the railway. Several American companies are courting me to help plan their great trek across the continent to the Pacific Ocean. None of those successes are unfortunate.”
“It would seem not.” Beth pressed her lips together for a moment. “But then, how many times have you seen your sister and mother since they left? How often do you go for a walk in the park, visit a new exhibition at the museum, or even attend the opera? Work is important and necessary, and for some people, their survival depends upon how hard and how often they break their backs and work their fingers to the bone. But if you have attained a fortune, surely you have the privilege to enjoy some of life’s little pleasures?”
“And what if I consider work one of life’s pleasures?” he pushed.
“Then I feel sorry for you.”
There was no pity in her voice. No sympathy in her steady gaze. Beth uttered the words with a simple ring of truth, setting his teeth on edge.
“I suppose that’s why you’re hunting for a bride, is it not?” Tilting her head to the side, she smirked as she stared up at him. “You’ve earned success in all these other areas of life, and now it’s time to find a wife and fill your nursery. Because that’s what society tells us a man of good name and fortune should do.”
Henry inclined his head. “Something like that.”
A sigh deflated her chest, and Beth’s gaze skipped over her face. “Well then, I suppose Lucy would be an ideal bride for you.”
“I barely know her.” His nostrils flared at his easy confession. Clearing his throat, he attempted to explain. “How can you claim she would be an ideal partner for me when you don’t even know me anymore?”
“I don’t?” A merry chuckle slipped from her. “An ambitious, formidable businessman in want of a wife seeks a woman who will look pretty on his arm as he attends social events, will greet him at the end of the day with a smile and will gift him with beautiful children, all while never raising her voice or challenging him in any way.” Beth flourished a hand. “Lucy is still learning how to stand up for herself. Trying to figure out who she is versus who her mother tells her to be. And her parents insist she marryyou, and you’ll catch her young enough to mold and shape her into precisely the kind of wife you demand. That is what I mean by ideal.”
Ire crept under his skin. “That is wholly unfair. You act as if I desire nothing more than a doll for my display case, which is untrue—”
“Forgive me, Henry, if I doubt that.” Beth stalked a few paces away and then spun about again in a whirl of red skirts. “You expect me to believe that a man who just claimed to have severed friendships and emotional ties to advance his career is interested in taking on the responsibility of a young bride? Lucy is a thoughtful, sensitive, deeply empathetic person. She desires love and affection, and by God, she deserves it.” She glared at him. “But will you give her that? For if you think for one moment that Lucy will bear you children and make your home a happy one while holding her at a distance and doing nothing to nurtureherhappiness, you, sir, are completely deluded.”
Although the terrace was dimly lit, the exasperation, the anger, wafted off her in waves.
“If we marry, Miss Lucy and I will find a way for our relationship to be beneficial to both of us,” Henry bit out.
“Beneficial?” Beth enunciated the word as if it were a curse. “We should be past the days of coldly arranged marriages. You should feel more emotion for a future with your wife than merely striving for it to be mutually beneficial.”
Henry opened his mouth to make a retort, but Beth slashed her hand through the air. “The Henry I knew was passionate and romantic. He told me he wanted a fulfilling marriage like his parents had. What happened?”
The air whooshed from his lungs on a startled breath. Good God, hehadprofessed such a thing once. How could he want for less when he’d witnessed his parents’ love and devotion for each other every day?
