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I only vaguely remember the other woman. But my impression of her was someone who was confident, take charge, and mildly irritated with…everything and everyone.
“I’m impressed.”
“Alfred loved Iris. He trusted her with everything.”
“And he was practically a prophet,” I say. “Everything is turning out the way he planned.”
Henry laughs at that. “Uh, no. Nothing is going according to plan. Everyone has gone rogue.”
“What?”
He nods. “It’s kind of a mess. Linnea and Torin were supposed to get married and produce the heir. Alfred had ideas for the work and causes everyone would be best at. Everyone is…adjacent to those ideas.” He grins.
“So Alfred thought the O’Gradys and Olsens needed to be bonded by blood? So there would be a next generation of amazing people doing good works in the world too?”
Henry pauses, then shakes his head. “That was purely emotional. Alfred and Diarmuid wanted their families to be one big, united family. They felt arranged marriages between their grandchildren was an obvious solution.”
I laugh. “If only arranged marriages weren’t so last century.”
Henry gives me a half smile. “For two men who were into making deals and networking, and even manipulating whennecessary, for the greater good, it still made sense regardless of the date on the calendar.”
I guess that makes a kind of sense. I’m more convinced after seeing that photo of Declan and Astrid. If they actually have a love match and true passion between them, that’s amazing.
“Anyway, I owe Alfred Olsen my life.”
Whoa. That makes me focus fully on the man in front of me again. I lean in. “Literally?” With this group, it wouldn’t surprise me if Alfred pulled Henry off the edge of a cliff or scooped him out of the ocean or something equally dramatic.
Henry nods. “Yes. And figuratively.”
“How did that happen? How did you meet Alfred?”
“My family was also very wealthy. Alfred and my father had several people in common. They were in a similar social and business circle. So when my family situation… got complicated, Alfred found out about it and intervened.”
“What happened?”
Henry takes a deep breath and turns his palm over. I slip my hand into it, and he intertwines our fingers. He stares down at the tabletop as he begins talking.
“When I was fourteen, I was at home alone with my mother. My father was at work, my brother was off with friends. It was our country home, so we had fewer servants, and, I don’t know, they just weren’t there that afternoon.” He takes another deep breath. “There were some branches that were brushing against a bedroom window on the upper level of our house. This house wasn’t as big as our regular house, but it was still enormous. Mom wanted to cut those branches back before we had guests come stay, believing that the branches scratching against the window would be a nuisance. She couldn’t find the gardener, so she hauled a ladder out herself and climbed up. I was in the house but didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t tell me or ask me to help. I went looking for her later and—” He stops andsqueezes his eyes shut. I dread what he’s about to say, but I put my other hand on top of his, sandwiching his between mine.
“She had fallen from the ladder and hit her head on the stone path.” His grip on my hand tightens. “She was dead. Lying there in the grass of our side yard.”
Oh, God.
I can’t breathe.
I stare at him.
He’d found his mother dead? As a child? When he was home alone?
That’s so horrible. I don’t want to think about it, but this is Henry. I can’t shy away from this. This is his past. His truth.
My eyes sting. My heart breaks for the little boy that he was, who had to find his mother that way. For the man who is still, clearly, so broken by it. For the sudden, awful loss that has been a part of his life for so long.
“My God, Henry,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry.”
He swallows hard and keeps going. “My father was beside himself. He was never an emotional man. That was the first time I ever saw him show any emotion other than anger, or boredom, honestly. But his grief was… indescribable. I’ll never forget the look on his face. Or the look when he turned toward me and said, “This is all your fault.””
I gasp. “Henry,no. How could he blame you for that?”