The Reckless Love of an Heir: An epic historical romance perfect for fans of period drama Victoria. Jane Lark
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intent then; but to my room, Susan? Even Alethea would not have come to my room.”
“I would not have walked into your bedroom. I only came to your sitting room!”
There was the low sound of an eruption of amusement in his throat that was not quite a laugh, perhaps more like a growl of frustration, or pain. Even as she was angry with him that sense of empathy had its claws in her.
“Believe me, no other well-bred woman I know would have done this! No matter that it is only my sitting room!”
She let a soft sound of amusement escape her throat as she turned away again. The sound deliberately defied her sympathy, she wanted to annoy him for his skill in disturbing her. “Good day, Henry! I hope you feel a little better in the morning!”
“Good day, Susan! Thank you! You may take Samson with you, I am sure he shall appreciate the opportunity of a run in the meadow with the others, and in the meantime, I shall run around downstairs shirtless and terrify all the maids.”
She laughed involuntarily. Then she lifted a hand to Samson. “Come along, Samson, would you like a walk?” The dog’s tail wagged, in answer, but he looked to Henry for permission.
Henry had many faults, and yet the dog adored him. “Go you foolish, hound,” Henry dismissed him with an affectionate pitch.
Susan’s smile broadened.
“Samson,” she called again. When he came to her side she petted his ear exactly as she knew Henry did, and walked from the room. She closed the door behind her.
The empathy in her stomach had become a different sort of feeling.
In the last three days she had probably shared as many words with Henry as she would have normally shared with him in a month during his stays at home, and she’d found him funny, as well as annoying, and frustrating.
Susan caught her reflection in a mirror on the landing, she was deep pink and Henry would have seen her embarrassment, and yet he had not teased her for that.
She hurried back downstairs to find Aunt Jane, Christine and Sarah, her heart thumping.
The sight of Henry’s bruises and the outlines of the muscle beneath his stained skin hovered in her mind. She had never seen a man shirtless before. But she refused to let herself be unsettled. Christine was right, she was a part of their family, it was not odd for her to see Henry half clothed. He was like a brother or a cousin.
When she walked downstairs, Samson trailing in a disciplined, graceful manner behind her, Christine and Sarah awaited her in the hall.
“Where have you been?” Christine asked, holding out Susan’s bonnet.
Susan accepted it. “Collecting Samson from Henry’s rooms, so he might join us.”
Neither Sarah nor Christine queried her statement, or asked how Samson had been acquired. Yet at the very idea, Susan’s fingers trembled as she tied the bow of her bonnet beneath her chin, and the footman had to take over and secure the buttons on her cloak, because her hands shook too much.
I am embarrassed. She had seen Henry in nothing but a dressing gown, with half his torso exposed. She had held her wits together in his room but she’d known the moment he stood up she should not have been there.
“Are you sure you will not stay for dinner? I do not see why you should go home, only because you have come alone,” Sarah said as they turned to leave the house, the dogs padding about them.
“No, I need to return home. I told Mama I would be back.”
Sarah offered her arm, and Susan wrapped her arm about it, grateful of the gesture as her legs felt wobbly too.
~
When Susan retired for the night, Alethea came to her room in her nightdress. Her bare feet brushed across the floorboards as she walked towards the bed, dispelling the darkness with a single candle that made her shadow dance behind her.
Susan lifted the covers. Alethea set down the candle on a bedside chest and laid down next to Susan. Susan threw the covers back over them both as Alethea turned and blew out the candle. The smell of wax and the burnt wick caught in the air, and the mattress moved as Alethea lay back down in the darkness. The pillow dipped and Alethea’s breath touched Susan’s cheek.
“Did you see Henry?”
“Yes.” She had seen too much of Henry. “I said goodbye to him. He looked in a lot of pain. I actually felt sorry for him, and you know how rare that is.”
“He told me he was very badly injured. He said he’d thought in one moment he might die.”
“He said that to be dramatic, Alethea, you know he did. You know what he is like. He loves being the centre of attention.” Yet Susan had seen the bruising on his body—if he had struck his head as hard? He had not been exaggerating on this occasion. She had said the words, though, because she did not want to think of Henry any differently than she normally would.
Alethea sighed. “I do not think he has any intent to propose when he is here. He still speaks to me as though I am his friend. Do you think he will ever propose?”
“Of course he will.”
“He has not been home for nearly a year. He cannot think of me when he is away, and he’s said nothing about our engagement. Why do you think he is taking so long to propose? I thought this time…”
“I suppose he loves his curricle racing too much,” and he is selfish, arrogant and mean—and funny—and in pain.
Instead of Alethea’s usual bright tone, a bitter sigh rang out in the darkness. “I will be an old maid… And then what if he never asks? Perhaps I should consider others.”
Alethea had never spoken of others before. “But you love Henry…”
“I do love Henry. Yet I am nearly three and twenty. I cannot wait forever.”
“That is not old.”
“It is almost upon the shelf, and I wish to leave home and begin my own family.”
“I am not going to go tomorrow. I said I would wait until he is well and writes to ask for your company.”
“I am not sure he really wishes for my company.”
“Of course he does. Every time I look up you two are speaking exclusively and earnestly. Of course he wishes you there.”
Alethea sighed again. She really was not sure. “May I sleep here?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” The mattress dented near Susan’s shoulder and then Alethea’s breath and her hair brushed Susan’s cheek a moment before Alethea’s lips pressed there, bestowing a kiss. The pillow dipped again as Alethea lay back down. “What did you think of the dress which Maud Bentley wore to church last week?”
The conversation slipped into whispered gossip. They talked about fashions, material they wished for, the assembly which would take place this month in York, until their words were claimed by tiredness.
“Good night,” Susan whispered last.
“Sleep well,” Alethea whispered back.
While they were eating breakfast, each time a footman walked in, Alethea looked towards the door, but none of the footmen entered carrying a letter.
Once the pot of chocolate had been emptied for the second time, Alethea looked at their mother and proposed a trip into York to look for the ribbons, material and bonnet dressings she and Susan had spoken of the night before.
Susan’s mother agreed and joined them,