Page 3 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

Alethea clasped the footman’s hand and descended from the carriage into the courtyard at Farnborough.

When Alethea had let go, Susan held his hand and climbed down.

The air was filled with the sound of the water pouring from the fountain.

The front door opened. Davis, the Barringtons’ elderly butler, stood there, ready to welcome them.

Alethea immediately said, ‘I wish to see Lord Henry.’

‘He is in the family drawing room, Miss Forth, do come in. Shall I introduce you?’

Alethea was already stepping in without awaiting his invitation. Davis was used to her ways, though. ‘There is no need, Davis. Sarah sent for me. They are expecting us, and we know where it is of course.’

As Susan entered the hall, Davis bowed.

They had spent many hours here as girls, because their parents were such close friends.

The Barringtons were like an extension of Susan’s family.

She thought of Lord and Lady Barrington as an aunt and uncle, and called them so, and Christine and Sarah were as good as cousins to her.

She did not know the boys as well, though, because they had spent so many years away from home, at school.

Alethea led the way again, full of energy, excitement and concern for Henry.

The door to the smaller family drawing room, in one of the older parts of the house, stood open. Alethea did not knock but walked straight in. Then exclaimed, ‘Henry!’ and rushed on. ‘Sarah sent me word you were home…’ she said as Susan followed her into the room.

The walls were covered in wooden panelling, making the room dark, but it had a sense of being frequently used. The panelling was adorned with portraits and paintings, past and present.

‘Oh dear, you poor thing,’ Alethea declared, pulling out a cushion from behind Henry. He obligingly sat forward and looked up at her with a smile of welcome and humour as she plumped the cushion.

He had one arm in a sling, and his feet up on a footstool where Samson rested his head, and his sisters and his mother were seated about him, their postures expressing concern, while Henry had been lying back against his bed of cushions looking perfectly content.

There was nothing poor about him, he was busy enjoying every moment of the attention.

A frown pulled at Susan’s forehead. She had a natural empathy, she could never abide seeing anything or anyone ill or in pain.

This was to the upset of her mother, who was concerned about her visiting the sick in case she contracted some dangerous illness, and could not abide her forever rescuing and nursing injured creatures.

Yet she learned how to care for animals from her father; as a child she had twice spent the night in the stables with him watching over a foal, encouraging it to take a bottle when it had lost its mother.

Henry’s pretence annoyed her. He did not deserve pity for his foolishness.

When Alethea set the cushion back down behind him and moved aside, Henry lifted his feet off the stool and stood to welcome her properly.

Samson stirred and rose too. ‘Alethea.’ He nodded his head in greeting, not attempting a bow with his arm in the sling.

He did, however, clasp Alethea’s hand with his free one and lift it to kiss the back of her fingers.

‘It is my extreme pleasure to see you again and perhaps the good in the bad of my accident.’

Alethea gave him her flirtatious smile – the smile that made her look her prettiest. A smile Susan had watched practised before a mirror to achieve its perfection.

Henry’s smile lifted in return, becoming something more personal and his eyes filled with the twinkle they only sparkled with when he looked at Alethea.

She had no need to worry. Henry might stray but something would always bring him back, and when it did his eyes said he remembered why he was so fond of Alethea.

For as long as Susan could recall, whenever the two of them had come together, within half an hour they were whispering conspiratorially and laughing at something shared between them and no one else.

Henry passed his smile onto Susan. His eyes lost their glimmer and his expression twisted slightly, giving it an edge of sarcasm.

None of his looks were practised. Henry did not deploy guile or artifice.

He was naturally full of rakish charm. Only for Alethea did that charm shine. For Susan it mocked.

She gave him a closed smile and bobbed a scant curtsy. ‘Good day, Henry.’ Samson slipped his head beneath her hand, encouraging her to greet him.

Henry nodded.

While he and Alethea had always had an exclusive friendship, he and Susan had shared an undercurrent of hostility – or perhaps on his part it was indifference.

‘Good day, Susan.’ He still held Alethea’s hand. He looked back at her. ‘Sit with me.’ Then he looked at Susan. ‘Before you sit would you call for a maid? We’ll have another cup of tea now you are both here.’

She wished to make a face at him for his arrogance but she did not.

‘Do not worry, I shall do it.’ His mother rose. ‘I presume you will both stay to dine with us, so I will need to speak with Cook anyway.’ She approached Susan and squeezed her hand gently. ‘Hello, dear,’ she said before walking past.

Alethea sat beside Henry, regaling him with some tale about local society as she undid the ribbons of her bonnet, then took it off and set it down beside her. She stripped off her gloves too, before looking at Susan. ‘Would you take them for me?’

Without even acknowledging the request, Susan picked them up, then turned and took them into the hall to find a footman to take care of them. When she did find a man, she took off her own bonnet, cloak and gloves.

Alethea had not worn her cloak for fear Henry would be awaiting them in the courtyard and not then be able to observe her figure at its best advantage as she descended from the carriage.

When Susan returned to the room, Henry and Alethea were laughing. Susan sat beside Christine, who was also avidly listening to Henry’s conversation. But Henry was her brother, and he had been away for a long time .

The other dogs, Goliath, Hercules and Zeus, rose from the hearth rug and came over to her for a pet, tails wagging their welcome. Samson had returned to his position at Henry’s feet. He had always had a penchant for Henry over anyone else. Strange dog.

When they drank their tea Susan spoke with Aunt Jane.

But afterwards she decided it was time to remove herself.

She was not a member of the Henry Marlow Appreciation Society and as the conversation orientated entirely around him, she was neither involved nor interested.

‘May I look at the books in the library, Aunt Jane?’

‘Of course, dear.’

Susan rose without taking her leave of anyone else. Alethea was so absorbed in some droll story Henry was telling about his friends in town, Susan wondered whether she or Henry would even notice her leave.

It was always like this when Alethea and Henry were together. When they’d been young, when the boys were home from school, she and Alethea often played with Henry, and Percy and Susan had always trailed behind, forgotten.

In the library, she looked along the spines of the books. She loved Uncle Robert’s library. It had been her sanctuary at Farnborough for years. When she was forgotten, she had always come here, and when she was finally remembered, everyone knew where to find her.

All four walls were lined with books, floor to the high ceiling.

Her fingers ran over the bound leather and gilded titles, reverence sweeping through her soul.

At the end of the row, on the middle shelf, she came across one of her favourite books, The Native Orchids of the British Isles .

She smiled and lifted it out. The light-brown leather-bound book was more than a dozen inches tall and wide.

She held it close, smelling the old leather.

It smelled wonderful. The smell made her feel secure and comfortable.

The quiet and stillness of this room had always welcomed her and inspired a deep happiness.

She smiled more broadly as she carried the book over to Uncle Robert’s desk and set it down, then opened it on a random page.

Her fingers touched the image. Platanthera bifolia; the Lesser Butterfly-orchid .

It looked so dainty, and the illustrator had brought it to life beautifully with lighter colours and deeper shading.

Susan had longed, ever since she was a little girl, to make her own book of painted flowers. A desire for such skill as this illustrator’s ached in her chest. This book was her inspiration. She had spent hours sitting in the window seat here, devouring every page.

She sat down in the chair at the desk and turned the pages, the longing to paint like this flourishing in her chest as she considered every stroke of the brush.

To be able to create something this beautiful…

It was damned awkward trying to eat one-handed, especially with Alethea sitting on one side of him. Christine sat in the chair on his other side, Susan and Sarah across the dinner table and his mother and father at either end.

The soup had been the only simple course. For everything else he’d needed to use a bloody knife and fork, and trying to cut something then spear it was not proving successful.

‘Here, let me.’ Alethea pulled his plate over to cut up his food for the third time. ‘I do not mind…’

He damn well minded! It was uncomfortable. He did not like the need to be reliant on her in such a way. He hated the need to be reliant on anyone. Yet he bore it gallantly – even though the pain in his shoulder and the rest of his body cast him into a very ill mood.

Alethea’s lips pouted delicately as she focused on the task.