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CHAPTER SIX

Percy

“He is a good man.” Mrs. Fernsby gazed at Henry.

The warning of not falling in love with him was on the tip of my tongue until I realized she meant only our master was a good man because of the time he spent with Isabella.

Henry sat on the floor with his niece beside him, lying on her back. This position was safest for them, since Henry had only the one arm and worried forever about hurting her. With them on a blanket, and surrounded by pillows, they were safe.

Isabella was not yet of an age when she might be able to crawl. Instead, she appeared content to merely stare at her uncle as he made strange faces.

I worried he might be in some discomfort, but soon realized these expressions were an attempt to make Isabella laugh.

Caroline had been a stunning woman, and now her daughter promised to be just as handsome. Well, perhaps difficult to tell at mere six months old. But if her enthrallment of her uncle was any indication, she would do well.

She grasped his hand. She cared not for missing limbs, lameness, or scars. She wanted only the undiluted affection and attention she received from Mrs. Fernsby, most of the staff, and now, her uncle.

Please let her only know kindness and happiness. Please let him be here for many years to come, to protect her. No reason to think he might not be—except she was an orphan at a young age. Two healthy parents felled by unexpected illnesses mere months apart.

Yet Henry had survived more than twelve years of war, grievous injuries, and the despair that accompanied those things. He was proof of the existence of resiliency.

“Percy?”

“My lord?” I stepped forward.

“Do you believe she looks like William?”

I moved closer. I had little experience with children. Isabella being the first in the house since Henry was born thirty-five years ago.

And I had been born within a fortnight of him.

I examined her. “Perhaps…” I scratched my nose. “The shape of her lips. The Hartridge visage is quite distinct.” I crouched. “She has Caroline’s eyes, though.” I met his gaze. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. Then he glanced around.

Mrs. Fernsby, apparently having decided she could entrust her charge with two men, had stepped from the room.

“Old hurts, Percy. I long forgave her for choosing my brother. He did not have… Well, you know.”

William was not half Black. Yes, I know.

My resentment of Caroline had spanned my entire acquaintance of her.

She would have never known, though. First, because she paid me no mind.

Second, because I would never let her see the enmity.

If my father had caught wind, he would have banished me.

My proximity to Henry—even if he never returned to Crosswood—was through the estate.

I held to the hope he might one day return.

And he had.

“She does have Caroline’s eyes. I am glad we have several portraits of her. As well as a couple of William. She shall always know of her parentage. They loved her very much.”

He said the words with more surety than he had the right to put in them. William died before Isabella was born, and her mother a mere two months later. Regardless of how her parents felt about her, she had been wanted. The entire household knew of the miscarriages and of the need for an heir.

Now the estate had one.

Or possibly more if Henry marries.

“She is all I need, Percy.”

Henry met my gaze.

“She is the legacy.”

“You might?—”

“No, my friend, I will not.”

Friend?

Must be the sentimentality getting to him.

“You are too personal, my lord.”

He shrugged. “You are my valet. My confidante. If I choose familiarity?—”

“And how is my charge doing?” Mrs. Fernsby bustled into the room.

I nearly tipped over, steadying myself against Henry at the last moment.

He never released his grip of Isabella’s hand. “She is well, Mrs. Fernsby. You are very good for her.”

The wet nurse blinked. “I am the lucky one, Lord Hartridge.”

He cleared his throat. “I understand you were a governess before you married Mr. Fernsby.”

At the mention of her late husband, Mrs. Fernsby crossed herself. “You understand correctly, my lord. I had three of Miss Marston’s nieces under my charge.” She straightened her spine. “I would have remained, except…I fell in love.”

And then had lost both her husband and the child they had so desperately wanted.

“Miss Marston mentioned that to me last night.” He offered a crooked smile. “Except I believe she meant it…cruelly.”

Oh, really? Maybe that was another reason why his mood was so foul last night .

“Miss Marston…does not hold governesses in high regard.” Mrs. Fernsby was taking a risk, speaking ill of someone above her station—the richest family for miles around no less—but that fit with the straightforward woman I knew her to be.

If she thought Henry were contemplating marrying Blanche, she would likely feel it her duty to warn him—even if that cost her the job she clearly loved.

“Well, Miss Marton’s opinion is worth less than nothing.” Henry tilted his head. “Would you be willing to stay on once Isabella is weaned and to become her governess? I am looking for someone who will be here for many years to come. Unless…”

Unless you fall in love again.

Mrs. Fernsby was almost thirty years old. Well past prime marrying age. Hers had been a love match. Would she ever find that again? I did not know.

“I would be honored, Lord Hartridge. I—” Her breath caught. “That would be my dearest wish.”

“Perfect.” Finally, he released the baby’s hand. “You may take her now.”

“I will do that. She enjoys her time with you.” Mrs. Fernsby scooped up Isabella and headed from the room.

Henry let out a weary sigh.

“Was that so difficult?”

“I had not known she was a governess. Blanche had been…vicious. Completely inappropriate. If I had any inkling of marrying her, that would have decided it for me. Mrs. Fernsby is completely dedicated to Isabella. She is the reason Isabella thrives. The woman’s future is my concern. I owe her.”

“And now she will be cared for. I daresay for the next eighteen years.” I grinned.

Henry rolled his eyes. Then sobered. “Will you assist me to rise? My leg is stiff.”

He should not have been on the floor, but I would never have said that to him. The joy of watching him with Isabella overrode my common sense. And had likely overridden his logic as well.

I braced him against the couch and then slowly helped him rise. I handed him the cane, on which he leaned heavily.

“That is…perhaps as much as I can do today.” Lines of pain etched his face. “Much sitting last night as well.”

Sitting properly for hours at a dinner during which he was miserable.

“We shall take a turn around the house before you take to your bed.”

He scowled.

“You will be unable to move tomorrow if you do not loosen up before you rest. You know this.” I could give back as good as I got. We had discovered this—if he did a bit of walking after exertion then he was better able to cope with the pain.

Of course, I did not want to see him in pain at all. Given he had almost died, was that not enough to endure? Unfortunately, he had to persevere. Had to keep putting one foot before the other. For Isabella’s sake—as well as his own.

He groused, but allowed me to walk him around the exterior of the massive home. Well, partway. I allowed him to head inside once we’d gone from the front to the back.

“Quite a legacy.” I stood by him as he slowly climbed the stairs.

“The earl did an admirable job of growing the holdings under his watch. I am uncertain I will be so…aggressive.”

“Your father could be ruthless.”

“And yet he married my mother.”

We were at the top of the stairs. Slowly, aided heavily by his cane, Henry headed to his bedchamber.

“That he did.”

“She was a lady.”

“I am aware.” Henry never spoke of her.

To my memory, no one did. There were no pictures of the second Countess Hartridge. The Earl had gone to London for an extended visit not long after his first wife—William’s mother—died. He returned eight months later, accompanied by a wife, and several years later, she was with child.

Henry was born and, within a few years, his mother passed.

“I have no memory of her.” He met my gaze. “Like Isabella will have no memory of her parents.”

“They will live through you, though.”

“My mother lived through no one.”

“For which I am sorry.” I offered a smile. “My father said she was a kind woman who kept to herself.”

“Oh?” He continued his journey. “I suppose she would have been shunned in society.”

“Perhaps not as the countess.” I understood what he said, though.

“No. As you say, I am the earl. The disgust might have been thinly veiled last night, but it had been veiled.”

Whether because of the color of his skin or the extent of his injuries, I had no way of knowing. Depending on how gossip traveled—Lady Amaryllis had been one of the party—I might get a better understanding.

Perhaps the Marstons and the Thortons would be respectful. They had no way of knowing Henry would never strike back. Even when hurt, he did not lash out. He had never done anything to injure Caroline, despite the fact she had very much injured him. Although perhaps more his pride than much else.

Now, if disrespect of him affected Isabella, no doubt Henry would very much seek retribution. He would not let anyone hurt his niece.

He let out a long exhalation when we were inside his room with the door shut.

“A bath?”

“I do not think I could get in and out of the bathtub.” He blinked repeatedly.

“Then let me wash you properly, put you in a nightshirt, and get you into bed. The hour is yet early, but gentlemen are allowed to retire whenever they wish.”

“I thought that only ladies could beg off engagements by being ill.”

“Gentlemen should be able to claim sickness as well.” I undid his cravat.

“What would I do without you?” He let out a weary sigh.

“Well, you need never know. I shall serve you until I die.” I said the proclamation with little fanfare. Just a statement of fact.

Life rarely worked like that, though. He might die. I might grow infirm. He might decide he did not wish me around anymore.

Yet I chose not to obsess over any of those things. I would choose the sunnier disposition.

“I shall likely die first.” He said the words as I pulled his jacket from his shoulders.

“Why do you say that? You are a man of leisure.” I undid his buttons.

“I have hardly been that. Why must there be so many infernal buttons?”

“So I may get close and personal with you.” I grinned.

He rolled his eyes. Then he met my gaze. “You left.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Ah. I heard voices and decided that even though you had left orders not to be disturbed, that I was better off not lounging in your bed where I might be discovered.”

“Will you come to my bed tonight?” His dark-brown eyes flashed.

I swallowed. “If you wish.”

“I wish, Percy. I wish very much.”