Page 84 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
Henry had never felt so tired.
He threw the neckcloth onto the back of the chair, then began unbuttoning his waistcoat.
Scarce weeks ago, Susan had given him a new lens to observe his life through, with her accusations. It would be a life-long regret that his self-discovery had come too late to know his youngest brother well.
Yet he was not the only one who was suffering and he would not be self-centred in his grief. His father had barely said a word since Henry had brought William home, and his mother could do little without crying. His sisters were as silent as his father and as tearful as his mother.
He took off his waistcoat and threw it onto the chair.
The boys’ method of coping with their grief, and the silence and tears of the others, was to avoid the others and therefore the house. They rode, walked outside, played chess and cards in their rooms and kept away from the drawing room.
Henry pulled his shirt off over his head and threw it onto the chair beside the mirror.
The strength within him crumbled. He sat in the chair containing his discarded clothing and gripped his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.
He sighed out then breathed in. ‘Damn.’
He was the linchpin holding the family together. He had taken on all his father’s responsibilities and duties because his father ignored them, and his brothers looked to him because their father was withdrawn and their mother too upset.
He was even the one to travel into York and arrange the funeral, and he had asked his sisters to write to all those who needed to know and might wish to come.
There was not time for him to give into his grief. He stood again, refusing the feelings gnawing at his innards. But heartache screamed in his head. Samson rose to follow him. ‘No, stay,’ he ordered the dog. ‘There is no point in both of us losing sleep.’
He left the room without bothering to put his shirt back on and headed downstairs to the family drawing room. He could not sit in his room and listen to any more of the screaming inside him. Brandy was what he needed to drown out his thoughts and deaden the pain – then perhaps he would sleep.
When he pushed the door open the room was lit, not just by the moonlight stretching through the windows, but by a single candle too. ‘Hello, Percy.’
His brother stood in his dressing gown, doing exactly what Henry wished to do, pouring himself a brandy.
‘Would you fill a glass for me?’ Henry asked.
‘You cannot sleep either…’ Percy looked back with a bitter half-smile.
‘No,’ Henry agreed as he crossed the room to join Percy.
His brother handed him a glass. Henry lifted it, tapped the base against the rim of Percy’s, then drank its contents in one swallow and held his glass out for a refill. Percy drank his too then filled the glasses again.
‘I am exhausted, I should be able to sleep,’ Percy stated. ‘Stephen and Gerard never rest, they keep me busy all day, and yet my mind has no inclination to allow me to shut my eyes.’
‘I feel the same.’ Henry drained his second glass of brandy, then picked up the decanter by its neck. ‘Shall we sit?’ The heat of the liquor burned the back of his throat, in a satisfying way.
Henry sat at one end of a sofa. Percy occupied a chair. Henry refilled his glass then set the decanter down on the floor between them and leaned back.
‘Papa is falling to pieces,’ Percy said quietly as he stretched to pick up the decanter and fill his glass.
The muscles in Henry’s stomach tightened. ‘I know.’
‘He ignores Stephen and Gerard.’
‘I know.’ Henry sipped from his glass. It was why he had begun fulfilling his father’s duties, because someone had to stop William’s death destroying their family. The family Henry had previously taken for granted. ‘When Uncle Edward arrives tomorrow, I will ask him to speak with Papa.’
‘He is going to Rob’s.’
‘He will immediately come here to see Papa, you know he will.’
Percy filled his glass again and slung one leg over the arm of the chair, so he faced Henry. They had not been confidants in the past, and yet this was just how Henry had imagined it might be inthe future when all his brothers were grown. It would have been the five of them talking. Now they were only four.
He sighed out a breath.
