Page 66 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
‘Keep your voice down. If I was in Alethea’s shoes I would not be able to bear it. To watch us together. To know my sister cared so little for me she would do such a disloyal thing. It will hurt her, Henry. I cannot hurt her like that.’
‘She would not sacrifice herself for you.’
He was wrong, she knew. ‘She would.’ But how could Henry understand their bond?
‘And this little tête-à-tête?’ His fingers tightened on her waist.
‘It must be our secret. But I shall remember it and rejoice in it forever.’
He frowned and shook her body, as though the gesture might sway her judgement.
She shook her head, pushed his hands away and walked away.
‘Susan,’ he said as she walked. ‘Susan!’ he called.
She did not look back.
When she reached the open lawn there were couples on the far side, but from what she could see of their movement through her blurred gaze, without her spectacles and with the cloud of tears, none of them seemed to notice her.
She hurried up the steps to the terrace, wiping away the tears that had slipped free. One of the French doors had been left open. She passed through it and looked about the room, squinting, to try and see her parents. It was Alethea’s tall hairstyle that identified them, and then the colour of their clothes. She walked about the floor, unmindful of those she passed.
As she neared her parents, Alethea walked away on the arm of a gentleman.
Susan was glad, she could not face her sister. Now she had left Henry there was a bitter taste of disgust in her mouth. She did not like herself any more.
When she reached her mother, she said, quietly, ‘May I go home, Mama?’ She did not want to see Henry come back into the ballroom. She could not speak to him or Alethea.
‘Why?’ Her father stepped closer. ‘What has happened?’
‘Nothing. I… have a headache. I went outside to try and relieve it but it is worse. Please may I go home?’
‘I will take you,’ her father answered, then looked at her mother. ‘Will you remain with Alethea?’
‘Of course.’ She embraced Susan. ‘Go straight to bed and have a maid bring you some herb tea.’
Her father held her arm as he guided her from the room.
Tears ached at the back of her eyes and dammed her throat as they stood in the hall, waiting for a footman to bring her shawland her father’s hat. She had made a mess of everything. She was just as reckless as Henry.
During the carriage ride home she was silent and so her father was too, yet when they reached the house he asked, ‘You are not too ill?’
‘No. It is only a headache.’
‘And nothing has happened to upset you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Susan?’ He did not believe her.
‘You may rejoin Mama and Alethea at the ball. I am fine, Papa. It is probably only that I am tired. I will do very well here on my own.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Yes.’ She held his arms, rose to her toes and kissed his cheek, remembering another kiss that had not been so innocent. ‘Goodnight.’
He did not turn away, but watched her walk upstairs.
When she reached her room, the tears within her broke through the dam and flooded over, running down her cheeks in silent misery.
