Page 16 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
‘I am not going there tomorrow. I said I would wait until he is well and writes to ask for your company.’
‘I am not sure he really wants my company.’
‘Of course he does. Every time I look up, you two are speaking exclusively and earnestly.’
Alethea sighed again. ‘May I sleep here?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Thank you.’ Alethea’s breath and her hair brushed Susan’s cheek a moment before Alethea’s lips pressed there, bestowing a kiss. The pillow dipped again as Alethea lay back down. ‘What did you think of the dress which Maud Bentley wore to church last week?’
The conversation slipped into whispered gossip. They discussed fashions, material they wished for and the assembly which would take place this month in York, until their words were claimed by tiredness.
‘Goodnight,’ Susan whispered.
‘Sleep well,’ Alethea whispered back.
5
While they were eating breakfast, each time a footman walked in, Alethea looked towards the door, but none of the footmen entered carrying a letter.
Once the pot of chocolate had been emptied for the second time, Alethea looked at their mother and proposed a trip into York to look for the ribbons, material and bonnet dressings she and Susan had discussed the night before.
Susan’s mother agreed and joined them, indulging herself too. It was a pleasant day, but all the time at the back of Susan’s mind there was an image of Henry standing beside the chair in his dressing gown, with half his upper body bare and covered in dark bruising. She was worried about him. She had never felt sorry for him before, but she did feel sorry for him now, and the feeling was her constant companion no matter how she sought to distract herself from it. If he was no longer taking laudanum, as Aunt Jane had said, then he would be in considerable pain.
When they ate breakfast the following morning the awaited letter from Farnborough arrived, addressed to Alethea. She read it, then looked at Susan. ‘Henry says he is feeling a little better,and we might visit tomorrow if we wish.’ Alethea looked at their father. ‘Aunt Jane and Uncle Robert have also extended an invitation for us to join them as a family for dinner in four days.’
‘I shall write back, accepting the invitation,’ their mother said. ‘Will you go tomorrow?’
‘Of course,’ Alethea answered.
She had not given up on Henry yet, then, and perhaps the invitation for them to dine as a family might be to celebrate a happy occasion and Alethea would not need to give up on Henry.
When the carriage turned into Farnborough’s courtyard the next day, Henry walked out from the doorway to greet them, with Samson beside him. He must have been watching for the carriage.
If he had been awaiting the carriage it implied the sentiment Alethea feared lacking was there.
His arm was once more in its sling but he was still not wearing his morning coat, nor his waistcoat, yet a short black, stock neckcloth held his shirt closed. His good hand idly played with Samson’s ear as the carriage drew to a halt.
He stepped forward and opened the carriage door. ‘Hello, ladies.’
Alethea took his offered hand and climbed down. ‘Hello. How are you, truly?’
‘Well enough. I promise. I think the journey here just took it out of me, and I did not give my shoulder time to recover. All it needs is rest and time.’
‘And he was consuming too much laudanum and drinking brandy to kill the pain. Aunt Jane said it made a sickly cocktail,’ Susan added as she held the carriage’s handle and climbed down, not allowing Henry time to release Alethea and help her.
His gaze caught hold of hers and the hard directness in his brown eyes said –rebellious, anomaly.
She turned towards the house, turning away from the memories in her mind’s eye, of Henry lying on the sofa in the library and standing in only his dressing gown covered in mottled, awful bruising. Hateful empathy. ‘I will leave you two to gossip and recover from your days of separation. I am going to paint.’ She did not look back nor await an answer but walked briskly into the house, seeking the sanctuary of the library. If he intended to propose he would not wish for an audience.
The clock chimed twelve times, and almost immediately afterwards there was a hard knock on the library door.
‘Come in!’
Henry opened it and walked into the room, his shadow, Samson, behind him. On this occasion the door remained ajar.
She rested her brush in the bowl of water and straightened. Her hand lifted so her fingers could push her spectacles further up the bridge of her nose.
