Page 48 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

Henry had felt clear-headed today, and surprisingly not anxious. But that was because Susan had occupied his mind. ‘Susan.’ He looked up at the canopy of the bed. He had left the candle burning at the bedside. It had burned down to a stub.

He was marrying her tomorrow, so he had not drank any wine, or liquor, because he did not want to wake with a thick head. But consequently, doubts had crept in with the darkness. The thoughts that had been a blessed distraction all day, were tormenting him in the dark.

He had no idea if this was the right thing to have done.

Yesterday he had taken choice from them both.

Marriage… It was such a step, and life had almost seemed to decide it for him. Only months ago, he was adamantly against the idea. ‘Coward.’ He rolled to his back, then to his other side.

Samson stretched out his hind legs trying to claim more of Henry’s bed.

Married… Would he feel suffocated? Tied? He would be committed. There could be no change of heart. There would be no more curricle racing or raucous nights in brothels. Yet he had not slept with a whore since… When? ‘Before my curricle accident,’ he reminded himself.

He tumbled back onto his back again, with a sigh, wishing he was asleep and not thinking.

‘Susan,’ he sighed out her name. He had a sexual encounter with her…

How had that happened? Through liquor, grief and recklessness.

A moment’s error of judgement. But perhaps not an error?

Perhaps a very wise decision, albeit made while he was deep in the bottle.

Perhaps it was the best decision he would ever make.

Without him forcing their hands, maybe they would never have reneged on their agreement to remain apart, and both lived unhappily ever after.

Tomorrow she would be here, in the bed beside him… That was one part of marriage he had no trouble imagining.

The candle flickered, scattering shadows across the room, then it guttered and extinguished, sending the scent of burning into the air along with the more pungent smell of melted wax.

The relationship between him and Harry, and him and his other friends, would be entirely different. As a married man he would not be able to speak of the things they did, let alone do them.

But. ‘Love. This is a new feeling. A new beginning.’

With love came heartbreak – he thought of William.

Love… He sighed, as the emotion breathed through him, it was not only in his heart but in his blood.

A powerful desire to be in Susan’s company.

It was not just sexual, it was not lust. But he had enough responsibilities without the addition of a wife.

In a year… In six months… When he was not so emotionally bruised and broken. He was not ready.

‘It is too late not to be ready,’ he told the bed’s canopy. ‘Ahhhhh.’ The sound slipped from deep in his throat, as he remembered his father’s disappointed expression.

From tomorrow onwards, he must not be reckless or selfish. He must guide his brothers and sisters through their grief, and protect Susan from the consequences of his wanton haste.

She was here. Within yards. Three rooms away from his.

He would feel better if he went to her now. If she was in his arms, she would quieten these thoughts. The best hours of the day had been in her company, and the best of all when he had her hand to hold. Her hand had saved him from drowning in responsibility and grief.

Another sigh escaped into the darkness.

He would not go to her, because if they were caught it would make things more awkward for her and she had felt bad enough. If she could have run off to the library today to paint flowers she probably would have.

But tomorrow… From tomorrow she would be here with him, and he would have the comfort of her body and her hand to hold whenever he wished. It would not feel like suffocation, it would be heaven. This was just jitters. He decided he wanted to marry Susan when they were in London.

‘I am not afraid of marriage!’ He shouted his mind into silence. He needed to sleep.

Sunlight peeked through the cracks in the shutters.

Susan rolled onto her back.

She had been awake for ages, lying quietly in the Earl of Barrington’s guest bedchamber. The light crept about the room, revealing the pale greens of the furnishings and the gold braiding .

Her heart skipped through a country dance.

In her mind’s eye, there was the note her mother had written.

It would be best if you stayed with Robert and Jane. Alethea is very upset.

Susan turned onto her side and dampened the pillow with more tears.

Henry had replied on her behalf; she had not known what to say.

Her family had cast her aside, and she could not be angry, it was her fault.

In his reply, Henry told her parents about the wedding. They were to be married in York Minster at midday tomorrow. Fear twisting her stomach into a knot, she stared at the closed shutters, daylight seeped through the cracks as outside the sound of birdsong rose in a chorus. Today…

Would her parents ever forgive her? Would Alethea? Would they come today?

More tears flowed. She longed to hold Henry. No. To be held by him. He told her to be selfish and she was becoming selfish now she was discovering what it was like to be cared for with the same intensity that she cared for others. He had shown her that sometimes there were reasons to be selfish.

When he had gone to York she was lonely. Aunt Jane had been kind, wonderfully so, considering her grief, yet Uncle Robert had left them without speaking.

She had offended Henry’s family as well as hers, intruding on their mourning. She had not known what to say during dinner. Even Sarah and Christine had hardly spoken.

Today they had to attend a wedding – two days after burying William .

Yet, ‘Today,’ her new-found selfishness whispered, ‘I will be Henry’s wife. He will be mine, not Alethea’s.’

She would be married, and happy.

A letter arrived from Susan’s father during breakfast. She broke the seal with shaking fingers.

‘What does it say?’ Henry asked.

Her gaze raced across the words. ‘They are coming.’ She looked up and smiled at him.

‘Of course they are coming,’ his mother said.

‘Papa and Mama will collect me from here at ten and drive me into York.’

Henry smiled. ‘I am glad, Susan.’

‘Your parents are not people to miss your marriage,’ Aunt Jane said.

Susan smiled, acknowledging her reassurance, but yesterday… she had not been certain.

‘Alethea is not coming,’ she told Henry.

‘I think we may forgive her that,’ he answered. ‘But your mother will be there, and your father, to give you away.’

‘Yes.’

While they ate, Aunt Jane, Christine and Susan spoke quietly.

The boys spoke more raucously but mostly with each other, with odd glances at their father, who did not speak at all.

Henry joined in some of the boys’ conversation, but he mainly spoke to her.

His attention focused on her as it used to be focused on Alethea.

When she finished eating, she excused herself, only to be met in the hall by Davis.

‘Miss Susan, a package arrived for you. A maid took it to your room. ’

Her heartbeat raced as she walked up the stairs wondering what had been sent.

The linen-wrapped package lay on the bed, tied with ribbon. She tugged the ribbon loose and unfolded the linen. It was one of her dresses. There was a letter.

Susan, dear, I am sure you do not want to be married in the dress you left here in yesterday, so here is your pale grey evening dress and your evening gloves. It should not be too offensive with Henry in mourning, but at least it is pretty. I shall bring you a bonnet to match it.

Love, Mama.

The gown was a pale shimmering grey, with shots of silver thread through it, and fine white lace on the short sleeves, neckline and hem. It would feel much prettier than her dark blue day dress.

Tears blurred Susan’s view as she rang for a maid to help her change.

She also asked the maid to let Henry know she did not want to see him again before their wedding.

She did not wish him to see her in her wedding dress.

She did not care that he had seen her wearing it as an evening dress.

The success of their marriage now came down to being able to hold on to one single tradition.

When she heard her father’s carriage and came downstairs, only Davis stood in the hall. Henry and his family had left ten minutes before.

‘Miss, Susan.’ Davis opened the front door.

Outside, her father waited for her, he smiled, took her hand and helped her into the carriage.

‘Susan.’ Her mother hugged her when she sat down. ‘You look very pretty. ’

Her father joined them in the carriage, the door closed and the carriage pulled away.

Her mother reached for a bonnet that lay on the seat beside her father. It was not Susan’s, it was one of Alethea’s with a white ribbon and white roses.

She looked at her mother.

An understanding smile twisted her mother’s lips, and tears glittered in her eyes. ‘Alethea said you must have it. It is a perfect match for your dress. She wished you to feel beautiful on your wedding day even though she did not feel able to come and see you married.’

Susan hugged her mother again, tears falling from her eyes.

‘That’s enough nonsense,’ her father said, with a wry tone and a wryer smile. ‘It is your wedding day. I will not have any weeping unless they are happy tears.’

Susan’s heart swelled, to hear him speak of her happiness.

When Susan walked up to the minster, Aunt Jane was waiting at the door. ‘Here you are,’ Aunt Jane said, as though she had feared Susan would not arrive.

But here she was, standing before York Minster, about to marry Henry.

Her father had acquired a small posy of pale pink chrysanthemums to carry. Susan clutched the flowers with both hands. Aunt Jane and her mother disappeared into the minster to tell the minister and Henry that she had arrived.