Page 72 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
Alethea stood. ‘I will walk into the hall with you.’
She held his arm firmly in a way that reminded him of how Susan held his arm. The memory was agony.This was the wrong sister.
She talked in a whisper as they left the room. ‘Mama believes something dreadful has happened to Susan, but Susan denied it.’
‘Nothing dreadful would have happened to her,’ he said in a dry tone. ‘She was at a ball surrounded by people.’
‘You think it happened at the ball then…’
‘I think nothing happened. She is probably just bored of such entertainments.’ Yet, she had loved them, she had come to life every evening. He had taken that from her too. ‘But you know her better than I do.’ He knew nothing of her really, he had only begun to discover Susan and now he would know no more.
Alethea looked at him. ‘It was not boredom. I heard her crying last night.’
Henry swallowed against a dry throat.
That was what his love had done to her. He had hurt her. He must stay away. Yet his desire, the feeling of love inside him, wanted to go to her – to comfort her. To just bloody hold her.
He moved so his arm slipped loose from Alethea’s clutch. ‘When you write to her, tell her I passed on my regards.’I will be thinking of her. Constantly. I will let her go, but I will not forget her.
The door into her father’s small library opened wider. Susan looked up. She was painting a picture of a rose which lay on the table, trying to recreate it on the paper as the artist had recreated the orchids in Uncle Robert’s book.
When she painted, she did not think of Henry for minutes at a time.
‘There is a letter for you, miss.’ The footman held it out as he came in.
‘Thank you.’
‘Do you require anything, Miss Susan?’
‘No, thank you.’ She glanced down at the address. She knew the sender from the structure of the letters. She had seen several dozen letters written to Alethea in the same hand. Henry’s.
She broke the seal. There was no need to hide anywhere to read it. There was no one here other than the servants. Her father stayed with her for two days, until she convinced him she was truly not injured in any way, then he returned to London.
She walked to the window. Her heartbeat fluttered in a stuttering rhythm. She should not be pleased to hear from him. Yet as her fingers held the paper he had written upon, longing filled every artery.
And Alethea? She refused to hear the whisper of guilt. To read his letter was not acting upon her desires. They were only words on a page. Yet they were his words.
The paper trembled from the unsteadiness of her hand.
My dearest Susan,
I am trusting this will reach you unopened, and you will have the privacy to read it, so I shall write honestly. I wish you had not run. I miss you.
I miss you too.The words breathed through her soul. But how could she have stayed?
But I understand your reasons. I did not mean to upset you any more than you meant to upset Alethea. Forgive me. And I know I should not write, but I could not help it.
I called the day you left, to invite you to view the Egyptian Exhibition Hall, only so we could speak. I wanted to persuade you to accept me. But Alethea told me how upset you were, and then I saw what you had asked me to try and see, a viewthrough your eyes. Yes, I see, this is too hard for you, and I expected too much of you to lose your family.
I would rather you were not a martyr, and yet I love you because you are. It is who you are. And so I must be a martyr too and sacrifice my happiness with yours. But I wish you to know my choice for a wife is you. If I had a choice.
As I do not, I will rejoice in the hours we were together and not chase you. Because I love you, I have let you go, I cannot see you hurt.
She took off her spectacles as the tears fell.
Your most sincere admirer,
H
