The Reckless Love of an Heir: An epic historical romance perfect for fans of period drama Victoria. Jane Lark
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the things which benefit you. You were spoiled as a child, Uncle Robert freely admits it, and you have grown up idle and irresponsible.”
Oh Lord. Idle and irresponsible.
He laughed internally. “And there was I thinking we had shaken hands upon a truce.” He could not defend himself, her accusations were true. He drew an income from his father’s estate and lived in town amusing himself with his friends, and women.
It was doubly amusing, though, that considering all the years he’d known Susan, he did not really know her. That also served to prove her point—he was self-centered. He smiled more broadly. “You are probably right, I was and am. But regardless that does not make it right for me to rush into marriage with Alethea, no matter my motives or lack of them.”
She huffed out a sigh. “And you are probably right.” It sounded as though she was cross that she was forced to agree with him and she looked at the others across his shoulder as though she had had enough of the conversation.
“What is the level of Alethea’s attachment to me?”
Her eyes turned back to stare into his. “You should ask Alethea.”
“I know, but I believe it might set the vipers upon me. At the current time, it is better to ask you.”
“What is the level of your attachment?”
Touché again. “I think I ought to only tell Alethea that.”
“Well there you are then.”
“Dinner is ready, my Lord!” Davis stated to the room in general.
As Susan stood beside Henry, he offered his arm to her. As she’d done the other day, when he’d only worn his shirt, she did not merely lay her fingers on his arm but held it with a gentle grip that did things to his body he ought not to feel stir when this was potentially his future sister-in-law.
He sat between Aunt Julie and Alethea at the table. The latter turned her head away from him throughout the meal, avoiding conversation, and also left a footman to cut up his food.
Instead of speaking to him Alethea talked animatedly to Susan and Sarah, the conversation flowing across the table. They spoke of the assembly Susan had mentioned earlier. It was to be held in a couple of weeks’ time. He would probably be well enough to return to town before the assembly occurred, and yet it was to be Sarah’s first, apparently, so he really ought to stay and show his support and dance with her, as her eldest brother.
Self-centered… The accusation pricked.
He would stay. He did not wish Susan to have further grounds for that charge against him. He could act out some part of the story of the prodigal son: returned to become the responsible heir.
When they had finished eating his mother rose and led the other women from the room. It left him in the company of his father and Uncle Casper. When the doors closed Henry’s muscles stiffened instinctively. It jarred his damned shoulder. But he sensed a need to defend himself.
Davis poured each of them a glass of port while Henry awaited the onslaught.
It did not come, neither man mentioned Alethea, or their hopes that he would propose to her, instead they asked about his life in town.
Once they had finished their port and conversation, they joined the women in the formal drawing room. When Henry walked in, it was Susan who caught his eye first. She was not sitting with the others but was on the far side of the room searching through the music in the chest there, presumably because she intended to play the pianoforte.
She was being different from the others again. But she very rarely sat and joined in conversation.
As she leant over searching through the sheets of music her bottom was beautifully outlined within the thin muslin material of her dress and layered petticoats. He’d never thought about her figure before, Susan was the sort of woman whose personality absorbed attention too much for any thought beyond it… but now he looked… and thought… She had a very handsome figure.
He looked away. Alethea was sitting with Christine who would be excluded from the assembly in York as she was the youngest and not yet out, as it were. But she was gathering information about it as though that information were precious jewels to be held up to the candlelight and admired with reverence.
He smiled at the thought, it was charming to see Sarah and Christine growing up. There, see, he was not entirely self-centered.
He sat beside Aunt Julie, as Susan took a seat at the pianoforte and raised the lid.
She played the instrument extremely well. He could not ever remember hearing her play before. She also sang beautifully, her voice had an enchanting lilt that was very individual, and as she played she shut her eyes and let the music take her somewhere out of the room. She was rebelling again, in her own quiet way, no longer hiding in a corner, or the library, but hiding herself within the music.
If she felt confident enough to simply be whoever she was when she hid away, he wondered how she would act.
Alethea rose and crossed the room, to collect a cup of tea from Sarah. Henry stood.
Now was his moment. He ought to rectify the situation between them.
He crossed the room as Sarah poured out Alethea’s tea.
As Alethea accepted the cup he leant to her ear and said quietly, “Will you walk outside with me? The night is reasonably warm.” Hopefully she would not misconstrue the invitation after their earlier talk.
She looked at him with eyes that judged him with condemnation.
His lips twisted in a half-smile, probably in a mocking expression—he’d always been thick skinned—he’d never really been touched by others’ ill-opinion. He came from a large family and had attended a boys boarding school, such things made a person less vulnerable. “I think we need to continue our earlier conversation and I would rather not do so in here.”
“Oh, very well.” Her answer was impatient but forbearing. “Lead on.”
He’d always known Alethea had a rigid strength of character, it would be a valuable quality for a countess. In London life, there was a need to be stalwart and to cling to one’s morals. Although where people set their bar on morals varied, and he knew his bar was far beneath Alethea’s—but that too was a positive. He preferred it that way about.
He lifted a hand, encouraging her to walk before him, towards the French doors which led out on to the terrace. If they stood within sight of the windows there would be no issue with propriety.
A footman opened the door for them to pass through.
Alethea crossed the stone paving, the china cup wobbling on the saucer she held. When she reached the balustrade she set the saucer and cup down on the stone top and looked out over the formal gardens which were etched in bright moonlight. All this would be his one day, and therefore hers too, between them they would care for it and cherish it as his parents did now.
“Sulking does not become you…” he said quietly.
She turned and glared at him. “I am not sulking. I am angry.”
“Why?”
“Because I cannot keep waiting! My life revolves about your whims, whether or not you care to come home, and then when you do come I am left to hover waiting to see if you will ask… It is like this is a game to you!”
Self-centered! The accusation shouted in his head in Susan’s tone. “I do not treat you as part of a game. This is about my feelings that is all.” But damn it, he wanted to know what hers were. “What do you feel for me? Am I breaking your heart by asking you to wait, then?”
She glared at him, her emotion striking him through her eyes. “Is that what you wish for, for me to be here pining for you while you lead a jolly life in town? Susan constantly complains that I see too much good in you. I always thought you better. You are proving her