Page 123 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
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Henry walked up to his rooms, hoping to find Susan there. But she was not there.
He stripped off his gloves and the coat he wore for riding, but did not take off his boots, he was too eager to speak to Susan.
He jogged down the stairs, his palm running over the polished dark wooden bannister.
The door of the family drawing room was open. He could not hear Susan’s voice, and yet as she was so often quiet it did not mean she was not there.
She was not, though. His mother sat with his sisters and Percy.
‘Where have you been?’ Percy asked.
‘Nowhere, and everywhere. I am looking for Susan. Where is she?’ The desire to see her had become desperate.
His mother looked up. ‘She went to the library, Henry.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Then turned away without another word.
It took him a few minutes to walk to the library, and as he walked he thought about the spring, about walking to the librarywhen he needed somewhere to sleep and discovered Susan leaning over her painting. That day had been the beginning of a change in the direction of his life. It was the first time he had really noticed Susan.
The door was shut – to protect her precious retreat and her privacy. He turned the handle, uncaring if he intruded.
She was sitting on the sofa where he had lain in the spring, reading a book.
He shut the door. She had not heard him open it. She had not looked up. He crossed the room.
Her hand lifted and her fingers slid her spectacles up the bridge of her nose.
He smiled as he neared her. When she looked up, his heart leapt only because he was near her, he had not even touched her.
‘Hello. Did you speak to your father?’
‘Yes.’ He sat down beside her.
‘What did he say?’
‘He cannot cope with the fact he was not there to hold William when he died.’ Henry swallowed. But the emotion welling up would not be swallowed down.
‘Did you tell him that was foolish?’
‘Yes.’ He swallowed three times. ‘He cried.’
‘Did that upset you?’
‘Yes.’ His answer was choked.
‘Oh, Henry.’ She clasped her arms about his shoulders, his arms lifted and clung about her as her hand stroked his hair and he cried the tears he had not wept since William’s death, the tears he had longed to weep at William’s bedside.
She did not say,it will become easier, ortime heals the wounds of such losses, or that he should not cry for his brother but celebrate the short life William had lived. All of those things he knew, but had not said to his father either, because in this moment what heneeded was what his father had needed – just to cry out his loss, anger and guilt – and have someone care.
After a while, the tears ceased and he became aware of her slender fingers resting in his hair and his arms about her waist and his breathing slowed.
She did not speak.
Nor did he. He just held her for a few moments more.
When he drew away, straightening up, he asked, ‘Will you sit on my lap?’
