Page 46 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

‘You have shamed yourselves and I hope you know it.’ When her father was unhappy he was like an army officer; his pitch heightened, sharpened and became barked words. His hands clasped together behind his back and he glared at them.

‘You must marry within the month in case there are consequences.’

He meant in case there was a child. Susan’s fingers pushed her spectacles further up the bridge of her nose as heat flushed her skin. Why had Henry told him that?

‘I know, sir. I will not have Susan suffer that,’ Henry answered. ‘We will marry as soon as I can arrange it.’

‘You will require my consent,’ Susan complained.

Henry looked at her, his eyebrows lifting.

‘From what Henry has said, you have already given your consent.’ Her father turned his back on her and walked about his desk.

‘You better see the Archbishop and obtain a special licence, Henry. However, considering you are in mourning, everyone will guess what this hasty marriage is about.’ He sat down and looked at the papers on his desk.

‘Now get out, both of you, I am trying to keep my rage in check over your foolish, thoughtless, behaviour and I am not likely to succeed.’

Susan bit down on her lip as she turned away, tears pressing at the back of her eyes. Henry’s arm came about her and his hand settled at her waist.

‘And you must think of the kindest way to tell Alethea!’ her father called after them.

Susan looked back, and his gaze speared her with the accusation of her disloyalty.

Henry released her and picked up his hat from a side table. He opened the door and then stepped back, giving her a stiff smile. ‘Susan.’

She left the room ahead of him, whispering as she passed him. ‘Why did you tell him?’

‘Because there is only one reason why I would not wait until after we have finished mourning. It is the day after William’s funeral. There’s no other explanation.’

‘But to tell my father.’

‘He would have known anyway…’ He held out his hat towards the waiting footman, who stood to one side of the room trying not to listen to their whispering. ‘Please put this somewhere out of the way.’ The man took it. Then Henry’s hand embraced Susan’s elbow. ‘Where may we go to talk?’

‘Not the drawing room, Alethea is there.’

‘Where then, the garden?’

She nodded.

He lead her, through the pressure of his hold on her elbow, into the dining room and out through the French doors.

As soon as he closed the door she began speaking, while a cuckoo called repeatedly in the distance. ‘Why did you tell my father?’ Her fingers curled into fists.

‘Why did you think I would not?’

‘Because, I… Alethea… ’

‘Susan. I told you I love you, and I know you love me, please stop fighting happiness. You give everything of yourself to everyone else, but do you not think if Alethea truly loved you she would want to see you happy too?’

‘But she loves you, Henry, and she is my sister.’

His hands came to each side of her face, his palms pressing against her cheeks. ‘She does not love me. And I know she is your sister, but that does not mean you must lose everything for her. Your father said you had asked him to look for a position for you. Why?’

Her gaze lowered to his chest, unable to face this or him. ‘I did not want to see you anymore. You would have married…’

His thumb brushed beneath her chin, lifted her head and her gaze back up. ‘The only woman whom I wish to marry is standing before me. If she would not have accepted me, I would have taken no one. Do you hear me?’

‘I feel guilty, because I have taken you from her?—’

‘You have not taken me, I was probably always yours, we had just not discovered it yet. And if there is guilt to be faced, we share it equally.’

‘Henry…’ Her heart stretched out.

‘No, Susan.’ His hands fell to his sides. ‘You must not take me out of sympathy, you must not accept me for my sake as you did last evening. Accept me because this is what you want too, and for no other reason, put yourself first.’

She swallowed. Her throat was dry. She longed to.

Her whole body was connected to him, humming with feelings of love and…

‘Yes.’ She looked up at the sky rather than him, as she felt the fr eedom of the words, and the cuckoo began calling again.

‘Yes.’ She smiled, when she should not be smiling, and looked at him.

His arms wrapped about her and he lifted her right off her feet and twirled her about. When her feet were on the ground again, his lips pressed on hers.

He ended the kiss. ‘We have to act now, Susan. Shall I go into the drawing room, then you come in with an excuse to take your mother away so I may speak with Alethea? It is my responsibility to tell her.’

‘She will be furious with me.’

‘Then return while I am still there, and let her take her anger out in front of me so I may protect you from it. I shall steer her wrath in my direction.’

‘She will never forgive me.’

‘She will forgive you, if she loves you, and I think she loves you far more than any feelings she has for me.’

Susan swallowed against the fear in her throat.

‘Come along, let us get this over with.’ He held her hand, and lead her back indoors, only releasing her outside the drawing room door. Then he left her outside, leaving the door ajar as he entered.

Susan peered through the crack between the half-open door and the frame.

‘Henry!’ Alethea set aside her sewing and stood up. ‘I did not know you were coming.’

‘It was a moment’s decision,’ he said.

‘Henry.’ Susan’s mother stood and embraced him, as she always had. ‘My dearest boy.’ She released him, but did not move away. ‘How are you all faring today? I should imagine it feels very strange.’

He nodded and looked at Alethea .

‘Of course, you do not want me fussing over you, I shall not,’ her mother said. ‘Sit with Alethea and I will order tea.’

He did as he was bid.

Susan breathed in, mustering her courage, and walked into the room. ‘Mama, I need new curtains in my room, I think. Would you come and look? Oh, hello, Henry,’ she added as an afterthought.

Her mother frowned.

Susan clasped her hand and pulled a little.

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now. Please?’

She looked at Alethea and Henry, then Susan. Then smiled, making entirely the wrong assumption. Her expression said she thought Susan was trying to give Alethea and Henry privacy out of kindness.

Susan did not correct her even when they walked into the hall and her mother said, ‘There is nothing wrong with your curtains.’

‘I know, but please leave Alethea and Henry alone for a moment?’

Her mother sighed, smiled and shook her head. ‘Very well, I shall walk down to the kitchen and order tea and choose some cakes to accompany it, but Henry and Alethea shall only have as long as that.’

Susan nodded, then looked at the drawing room door that was still partially open.

Alethea’s voice carried, she was talking about shopping in York.

If Susan stayed here she would hear everything, but eavesdropping would be cruel.

Henry had been Alethea’s since birth, the conversation would embarrass Alethea.

But then he will be mine , a selfish voice whispered.

Susan turned away and followed her mother.

They returned less than ten minutes later. No sound came from the drawing room as they walked through the hall. Her heartbeat raced so fast she felt lightheaded. The only noise was the porcelain cups rocking on their saucers on the tea tray which the maid carried behind them.

Susan swallowed back her anxiety as her mother pushed the open door wider. ‘Alethea… Henry…’

Alethea stood in the middle of the room, Henry was sitting in the same place. He rose. His expression told her the conversation had not gone well.

Alethea stared at Susan with hatred in her eyes. ‘You are…’ she began but lost the words. Susan saw them in her expression – a traitor, a liar, betrayer, cruel, heartless, sour, thief…

‘I am sorry.’

‘I cannot believe you did not tell me!’ she screamed. ‘You said nothing!’

Susan’s skin flushed with warmth and probably flooded with colour. ‘I had no idea how to.’

‘How to what?’ her mother asked. ‘What are you sorry for, Susan?’ She gestured quickly for the maid to put down the tray and leave.

‘She has been making-up to Henry, Mama, and now Henry wishes to marry her!’

‘Alethea.’ Henry’s voice was a reprimand.

He crossed the room to join Susan and his arm settled about her waist as her mother looked at her wide eyed, her eyebrows lifting. ‘Susan?’ Her voice asked Susan to clarify what Alethea was talking about.

‘We are engaged to be married,’ Henry told her. ‘I have spoken with Uncle Casper.’

Her mother frowned. ‘But you are in mourning… Oh, good Lord. Susan.’ She came to her and held Susan’s hands. ‘Why you left London…’ Then she looked at Alethea. ‘Oh, my dear…’ She desert ed Susan and went to Alethea. ‘Oh, my dear.’ She embraced Alethea.

Alethea glared at Susan and Henry across their mother’s shoulder.

‘Do not worry,’ Henry said quietly to Susan’s ear.

She was not worried – she was embarrassed.

I hate you! Alethea’s eyes screamed.

Henry’s arm released Susan. ‘We must speak to my father and mother now. Come along, we will leave.’ His hand embraced hers.

‘I will return later,’ she said. But her mother was too busy comforting Alethea to notice Susan leaving.

‘I foolishly did not think to bring the carriage,’ Henry said as they walked into the hall. ‘What would you have us do? We might both travel in your father’s carriage, or I can wait while you change into your habit and we’ll ride home together?’

He had said home, because it was his home, but when they were married it would be hers too. The thought scared her. She did not want to leave her family.

‘We will travel together by carriage,’ he decided for her and looked at the footman. ‘Please have the carriage made ready, and ask them to tie my stallion to the rear.’

The footman hurried away.

‘Would you like to go upstairs and fetch your bonnet and a shawl?’

She nodded, her gaze saying, thank you . Her lips were no longer able to form words.

‘Go.’ He nodded at her.

She turned away and ran upstairs, her heart pumping hard, thumping in her chest. She sought out a bonnet to match her dress.

A straw one, with grey ribbons. At least she was in something dark that would be appropriate to his mourning; she would not feel as though she was insulting his parents.

She did not have a dark shawl so she took her paisley shawl.

When she returned, Henry was no longer in the hall. ‘Where is Lord Henry, James?’

‘He is waiting outside, miss.’ The footman walked across to open the door for her.

She passed him quickly.

‘Susan.’ Harry was standing to one side of the portico. He stepped forward. ‘Ready?’

No! She nodded regardless.

‘Come along then.’ He lifted his gloved hand, she placed hers within it, and together they walked to the carriage. He helped her then climbed in behind her, pulling the door shut behind him.

When the carriage rolled into motion, he held her hand again.

‘I am terrified,’ she said. ‘Do you think Alethea will ever speak to me again?’

‘She will, once she has calmed down.’

She nodded. They had made their choice, it could not be undone.

‘My father will be upset too, and he is not in the best state to hear this news,’ he told her. ‘I am sorry.’

‘No. I am sorry,’ she said.

‘You are sorry… I pressured you into making a choice when you were not ready. Forgive me, but I do not see what you have to be sorry for…’

His brown eyes still had the lost look of yesterday.

He was fighting with grief and she had added to his burdens not helped him.

She took her hand from his, turned and wrapped her arms about his neck, offering the comfort she longed to give him yesterday.

‘I am sorry, because now was not the right time for this. ’

His arms came about her, holding her securely in return as he rested his cheek against her bonnet. ‘I am not sorry.’

She clung to him as the carriage rolled on, and when they broke apart his arm rested about her shoulders and pulled her close.

She leaned against his side. He was hers. ‘I feel treacherous.’

‘For falling in love… I told you to think of yourself for once. I would not change that to make our fathers and Alethea happy, and ourselves miserable? I knew nothing of love before this summer, but now I know love cannot be ordered or told.’