Page 13 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
Aunt Jane looked apologetically at Susan.
‘Susan is like family,’ Christine declared, disregarding the subtle reprimand.
Guilt pierced Susan’s side. She had not come here to prevent Henry enjoying the freedom of his home. ‘I am sorry. I did not realise. I should not have come?—’
‘Nonsense,’ Aunt Jane chided. ‘It will do Henry no harm to remain upstairs. He has been sick most of the morning so I do not think he will attempt luncheon regardless of his state of dress.’
Susan’s guilt cut deeper. ‘Has he a fever? Uncle Robert said he was only in too much pain to dress.’ She had thought Henry in a lazy, sullen mood. Her instinctive sense of empathy pulled within her.
‘It is not a fever; he took too much laudanum without eating and is suffering for it. I think he also took a bottle of his father’s brandy to his room last night to help further numb the pain, and of course laudanum and brandy do not mix.’
Christine and Sarah laughed.
Laughter gathered in Susan’s throat too, but for the first time in her life she felt wholly in charity with Henry. She could no longer deny her instinct to feel sorry for him, and wish to help. He had been in a lot of pain when he’d come to the library yesterday, she did not think less of him for seeking to free himself from it.
She would not stay long after luncheon, then if he wished to come down and take tea with his family, shirtless, he might. An image formed unbeckoned in her mind of him lying asleep in the library, shirtless, an artwork of bruises.
Once Susan had eaten she returned to the library. She wouldfinish the detail on the flower she was working on then ask Aunt Jane if she might travel home in their carriage.
A maid came into the room at three. ‘Miss Susan, Lady Barrington sent me to ask if you wished for tea?’
She had forgotten the time. ‘No, thank you, but is my aunt in the drawing room?’
‘She is, Miss Susan.’
‘And has Lord Henry come down?’
‘No, miss, he is taking tea in his room.’
He must have risen from his bed at least then.
‘Susan.’ Christine walked about the maid, entering the room with a quick stride. ‘Sarah and I are going to take the dogs out as far as the meadow. Would you like to come? It is one of those lovely fresh days, with a breeze to sweep away the fidgets and a pleasant sky without the sun pounding down upon you.’
Susan looked out of the window. It would be refreshing to go for a walk before she returned home. ‘Thank you, I would love to join you.’
Susan tidied up her things and thought of Samson upstairs with Henry, the guilt she felt at luncheon skipping around her, taunting her with a pointed finger of accusation.
She shut her paints away in their box, and closed the book. She would not come back until Henry sent for Alethea.
She had maligned Henry in her thoughts too much. He did deserve some sympathy. Perhaps she could offer to walk Samson, as Henry could not take the dog out. Henry would most likely appreciate the gesture, and there was little else her sense of empathy might do to be quietened.
She decided to go up to his sitting room before meeting Sarah and Christine in the hall. She knew where his suite of rooms were. They had still been playmates at the point he’d moved into his current rooms.
She left the library and instead of making her way to the family room, walked past it and on to the main hall, where the dark, square, wooden stairs climbed upward about the walls. No one was there. The footman had probably gone to fetch her outdoor things.
Her hand slipped over the waxed wood of the bannister as she hurried up the stairs to Henry’s rooms on the second floor.
She remembered his huge bedchamber, and beside that a dressing room and a large sitting room, with a desk and about half a dozen chairs in it. He had been allocated the rooms because he was the eldest, the heir – and the most spoilt.
When she reached the second floor she turned to the right, walked to the end of the hall and tapped on the door she knew was his sitting room. If he was out of bed and taking tea, he would be in there. If he did not answer she would presume him undressed and still in bed and go away.
‘Come!’
Her heart pounded foolishly as she opened the door. She could not see him. But one of the high-backed chairs had been turned to face the window and she could see the footstool before it and a tray containing tea things and a small plate of cakes on a low table beside it.
‘Henry?’ she said as she walked across the room. ‘I?—’
‘Susan…’ His pitch carried incredulity as he stood up and turned to face her.
