Page 91 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
She walked on. If he had run, then she could run too.
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‘Henry! Where are you?’
‘Susan?’
‘Yes, it is me. Where are you?’
He looked over his shoulder. He could not see her. He had come out here to lose himself, but he would happily let Susan find him. He did not have the energy to run anyway; his legs were heavy with the four glasses of port he had drunk at the table, and grief. ‘Here, Susan! In the rose garden!’
After a minute or so he heard her footsteps on the gravel path. Then her voice as she entered the far side of the garden. ‘Henry…’
‘Here!’ he called again.
It was a round garden, with a central circle of roses surrounded by grass, and all about the edges were rose borders and arches. He was sitting on the grass, letting life push him to the floor.
‘Henry…?’ Susan said again as she approached him, only now his name was a question that asked,is anything wrong?
God, yes, Susan, everything is wrong.
‘Can I sit beside you?’
‘If you wish.’ His voice said he did not care, but he did. His heart had found some warmth just because she was near.
She swept the skirt of her dove grey dress and her petticoats beneath her, then joined him on the grass. The ground was becoming damp as the sky had flooded with the orange, reds and pinks of sunset. The descending cooler evening air also intensified the perfume from the roses. He loved this pretty area of the gardens, it was where he had always come to be alone.
Susan suddenly leaned over and wrapped her arms about his shoulders. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Thank you.’ His response was terse and in a low pitch. He had heard those words too much today. He did not hold her in return, but sat as he had been, just within her arms. He was sitting out here beating himself about the head, wishing he had done so many things differently.
When she released him he lifted the bottle of wine he had acquired on the way out here, and drank from it. He was sitting with his legs bent and his feet wide. He put the decanter back down on the grass between his legs and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘I suppose you think I am being self-centred?’
‘You have been working hard all day doing everything you can to make your parents’ guests feel comfortable. That was not self-centred. And now I think you deserve time to yourself.’
‘I have been trying hard to do everything my parents would wish of me since the hour I heard William was not well. No, that is a lie. I began doing what they wanted me to do in the spring, when I agreed to court Alethea. I only did that in response to your terse assessment of my self-absorbed nature. That is comical now, is it not?’ He did not look at her.
‘I know, Henry, I am not arguing the point with you. I have seen what you are doing, and it is commendable.’
Commendable. A sickening word. He preferred the word ‘reckless’, at least that had been true.
She bent up her knees and wrapped her arms about them.
He glanced at her. ‘My family should be supporting each other, but William’s death is dividing us.’
‘I am sorry.’
God, those words were not good enough. No amount of ‘sorry’ would change anything. ‘I am sorry,’ he apologised for his temper. ‘I am not myself.’
She twisted sideways, facing him, and touched his arm. ‘I know. You should let yourself cry.’
Cry… A bark of bitter laughter left his throat then he took another long swig from the bottle, willing the wine to seep deeper into his veins. ‘Crying will not bring him back, will it? I wish to scream. I wish to damn well punch the living daylights out of God for taking my brother if He would come down from the clouds and face me. Why William? Why not me when I turned over my curricle?’
‘Your family would be just as distressed if it had been you.’
‘But William would be here, and I would have deserved it. Remember?’
She ignored his spiteful challenge. ‘But then William would be grieving you. He idolised you.’
