Page 81 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
‘And so this nonsense you wrote to me about seeking employment, is it in the past?’
No. She could not turn back on that. ‘No, Papa, I still wish for that. Alethea will marry, and what then? I am not the marrying sort. Being in London taught me that?—’
‘Susan. No one will see you destitute even if you do not marry. I will provide for you, despite the entail, and Alethea will not wish to lose the companionship of her sister.’
She would if she knew the truth.
‘I know, but I would rather do something more worthwhile than spend my life as Alethea’s companion.’
‘You are a much-loved daughter and sister, not simply a companion. You know we believed we were unable to have children, and then there was the miracle of Alethea, and we had no expectation the Lord would be so kind as to bless us again, and then came you…’
Tears gathered in Susan’s eyes. It had been the wrong time to speak of worth. Her mother and father had probably spent hours imagining themselves in Uncle Robert’s and Aunt Jane’s shoes. She blinked away the tears.
Her father drew her into a firm hug. ‘Enough of that nonsense. I will not allow you to leave us.’
When Susan, her parents and Alethea walked into the drawing room at Farnborough, after an introduction from Davis, they were greeted by a scene which Susan had never imagined she would see.
Henry’s family were dressed in black, and for a family who always smiled, no one in the room smiled at them as they entered. Uncle Robert did not even stand up. He had been staring out of the window, and merely turned his head dazedly to look at them.
The only thing that appeared normal in the room was the presence of Uncle Robert’s dogs, three of which sat about his chair, but the fourth –Samson – was of course beside Henry.
His tail thumped on the rug as Henry stood, then Samson stood too. ‘Uncle Casper.’ Henry walked across the room to greet Susan’s father, Samson in tow. He held out his hand so her father might shake it. When her father accepted it he also pulled Henryforward and wrapped his free arm about Henry’s shoulders, giving him a brief masculine embrace.
When Henry pulled away he gave her father a stiff, closed-lip smile. He had not appreciated the embrace – nor drawn any comfort from it.
Samson came to Susan to be petted.
‘Samson, away, lie down,’ Henry ordered. Then he looked at her mother. ‘Aunt Julie.’ She immediately lost all composure and sobbed. So, Henry embraced her, offering comfort, when he ought to be the one receiving it.
His skin was sallow, his body a little thinner, and he looked so very serious – so unlike Henry.
Susan’s father walked over to Uncle Robert, who finally stood, but he rose slowly as though he lacked energy. He had probably not slept for days. Certainly, there were dark crescents beneath his eyes.
‘Casper,’ Uncle Robert said, but he avoided the embrace her father would have given, pulling back as her father’s arms rose.
‘Julie.’ Aunt Jane stood. Tears shone in her eyes and ran onto her cheeks as Susan’s mother turned to her. The two women embraced and let their grief show with no restraint.
‘Henry…’ Alethea stepped forward. Her arms lifted and wrapped about his neck, offering comfort, but Henry’s body remained stiff and the muscles in his face tight and resolute as his arms loosely held her in return. ‘I am so sorry,’ Susan heard Alethea whisper before she let him go.
It was then, Henry looked at Susan, his eyes holding their secret.
Alethea turned to Sarah and Christine, who were dabbing handkerchiefs to their eyes. She held them both and cried.
Henry stepped towards Susan. His eyes said so much, all the emotions in his letter hovered there, and she could see the depthof the grief running through him. He needed her to hold him but she could not.
‘I am sorry.’ Her hands clasped behind her back. She would cry if she so much as touched him, and her tears would not all be for William.
‘I wish you had not gone,’ he said in a low voice.
No one was watching them, no one would notice them talking more privately. ‘I had to.’
‘I know. But I may still wish it were otherwise.’
She bit her lip. Now he was here in front of her again the pull towards him was overwhelming – magnetism and empathy; it called her a fool for running away. Yet that had become insignificant in the shadow of William’s passing. ‘Where are your brothers?’
He flinched as his father had done. The question had lanced him. There was one less of his brothers. The tears Susan fought stung the back of her eyes.
‘Percy took Stephen and Gerard out riding. They are not coping well. Boys do not weep out their grief as women do,’ he said stiffly. He had not wept then either.
