Page 32 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

Susan leaned aside slightly to allow a footman to pour her third cup of coffee. Afterwards, he took away her barely touched breakfast plate.

Alethea had left the table and gone upstairs, to prepare herself to ride in Hyde Park with the Earl of Stourton, no matter that she hoped Henry would call. Susan remained at the table because she needed to talk to her parents.

‘Darling, you have hardly eaten, are you still feeling unwell?’ her mother asked.

Susan had endured half an hour of Alethea stating her hopes Henry would call today, and that he would resume his attentions.

If he did come Susan could not be within the house. She would be called downstairs and she could not claim a headache every day.

Her stomach coiled with nausea, fear and guilt. She could not eat.

‘Are you unwell, Susan? You’re very pale,’ her father stated.

‘Did you not sleep?’ her mother progressed.

Susan did not like to lie, but she had to.

She looked at her mother. ‘I do not feel well. The air here disagrees with me.’ That was the only excuse she had been able to think of as Alethea had slept.

‘I wish to go home.’ She looked at her father.

He would be the one to arrange it if she was allowed to leave. ‘Papa…’

‘Where has this come from? You seemed merry enough, until last night.’

‘I have been trying to enjoy myself for Alethea’s sake, but I shall only ruin things for her if I stay. I have a headache daily, and… I hate it here.’ She looked at her mother; she would be the one to persuade her father. ‘I feel sick constantly, Mama. Please may I go home?’

‘We are only to be here four more weeks. Can you not bear it for that long?’

‘It will look odd,’ her father added.

They sounded annoyed.

If they did not agree she would run away, she would not remain in this house if Henry called.

‘No one will notice I am not here.’ Six months ago that would have been true.

It was not true now. Henry would notice.

But he could not care. What had grown between them had to die.

‘I want to leave today. My trunks may follow.’ She looked at her mother, her voice shifting from a plea to desperation.

‘I want to be at home, Mama. London has made me unwell.’

Her mother stood and came about the table, wrapping her arms about Susan, holding her firmly. ‘What has happened?’

Susan’s arms wrapped about her mother’s waist as her mother pressed Susan’s head against her midriff, and her fingers stroked over Susan’s hair. I love Henry, Mama, I love him, and I cannot even speak of it.

‘Susan.’ Her father stood and came about the table too. His hand rested on her shoulder.

She could no longer hold back her tears .

‘What has happened?’ her mother asked again, more quietly.

Her father pulled out the chair beside Susan and sat leaning towards her. His fingers turned her chin so she would look at him. Her arms fell from her mother, but she caught hold of Susan’s hands.

‘You worried me last night, Susan, and now you have worried me more. This is not like you. What is wrong?’ Her father’s face was a shimmering blur through the cloak of her tears.

‘Please tell us.’

‘It is nothing, I promise?—’

‘Something must have occurred. We are not fools. Something has made you decide to leave in such a hurry,’ her father said.

‘Nothing.’

‘Last evening, Susan?—’

‘No.’ She knew what he thought. ‘I promise no harm came to me. I am simply not a town person. It has made me melancholy and miserable and I want to go home.’

‘But you enjoy dancing…’ her mother said.

‘Not at the expense of fresh air and fields and flowers. Please let me go?’ She looked at her father.

He sighed.

‘I will take you home,’ her father said quietly. ‘But I wish you would tell me what has really made you choose to leave.’

‘Nothing,’ she said again.

He rose, his hand slipping from her shoulder. ‘I will tell them to prepare the carriage.’

When Susan would have stood, her mother pressed her shoulder to stop her. Her father left the room, and her mother said, ‘Will you not tell me?’

‘There is nothing to say.’

Her mother cupped her chin and lifted her face. ‘Then if it is nothing, can you not wait a couple of days?— ’

‘No.’ Horror shot through her heart. She had won; her father was taking her.

She could not stay even until luncheon in case Henry came.

She stood, slipping free from her mother’s hold.

‘I will go upstairs and pack my things?’ She wished to be ready before Alethea heard of this. Alethea would try to make her stay too.

Her mother sighed, as her father had done. ‘Now I must fret over you from a distance because it would be unfair of me to come with you and take Alethea away.’

‘There is no need for you to fret. You may stay with Alethea without worry.’

Her mother shook her head but held out her hand. ‘Come along, let us pack your trunk together, and if you have a change of heart and wish to tell me what has caused this sudden need to leave then I will be very glad to hear it.’

As they walked up to her room Alethea came hurrying down past them. ‘Lord Stourton is here.’

Susan stepped back against the wall out of her sister’s way.

‘I waved from the window, Mama, and told him to wait in the street. You do not mind if I go straight out?’

‘Of course not.’

Alethea put her bonnet on in the hall, as the footman opened the door, then rushed out without looking back.

Her mother’s arm settled about Susan’s shoulders as they walked on, offering the comfort Susan appreciated but did not deserve.

She was a horrible person. She had stolen Henry from her sister.

Tears leaked from her eyes. She pulled away from her mother, took off her spectacles and wiped them away.

Susan’s parents refused to let her leave before Alethea returned from her outing with Lord Stourton. Then they made her wait until after they had eaten luncheon, as though they hoped she would change her mind. She did not.

As the clock ticked away each minute, anxiety danced through her nerves. What if Henry called? He would come today, she knew.

Of course, Alethea had urged Susan to stay and then become distressed because she refused. Then angry because Susan would not tell her why. So their luncheon was eaten in silence.

Then the moment finally arrived. The carriage waited before the house. Her father settled her shawl over her shoulders.

Alethea’s eyes glittered, full of tears, and some tracked onto her cheeks.

Their mother wiped away tears too.

Susan embraced her mother.

Alethea had forgotten her anger now. She hugged Susan, then held her hands. ‘Do not go.’

‘I must.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I wish to.’ The whole shabby story hovered behind Susan’s lips. But confessing would destroy everything – she would lose Henry and Alethea.

‘Susan…?’ her father stated gruffly, asking if she was ready to leave.

She turned away from Alethea, biting her lip to hold back more tears. Her father lifted his hand to encourage her to walk ahead of him.

‘Goodbye!’ Alethea called, when Susan neared the door.

Susan looked back. ‘Goodbye.’

Her father offered his hand and Susan held it as he led her out to the carriage. He helped her climb up as her heart beat rapidly, fearing Henry might arrive before the carriage drew away.

She sat back in the seat and her father sat opposite.

The tears that had trickled before, flowed.

As the carriage rocked into motion he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and passed it to her.

He sighed when he sat back, as he had sighed this morning.

‘I do not know how to make you speak of what has upset you, but if it is to do with a man… If anyone has harmed you…’

A flush warmed her skin. ‘No one?—’

‘I am just saying, Susan. If it were so, then I will do whatever must be done to see this put right.’

Susan did not answer. Nothing could put it right.