Page 56 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

Henry walked up to his rooms, hoping to find Susan there. But she was not there.

He stripped off his gloves and the coat he wore for riding, but did not take off his boots, he was too eager to speak to Susan.

He jogged down the stairs, his palm running over the polished dark wooden bannister.

The door of the family drawing room was open. He could not hear Susan’s voice, and yet as she was so often quiet it did not mean she was not there.

She was not, though. His mother sat with his sisters and Percy.

‘Where have you been?’ Percy asked.

‘Nowhere, and everywhere. I am looking for Susan. Where is she?’ The desire to see her had become desperate.

His mother looked up. ‘She went to the library, Henry.’

He nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Then turned away without another word.

It took him a few minutes to walk to the library, and as he walked he thought about the spring, about walking to the library when he needed somewhere to sleep and discovered Susan leaning over her painting.

That day had been the beginning of a change in the direction of his life.

It was the first time he had really noticed Susan.

The door was shut – to protect her precious retreat and her privacy. He turned the handle, uncaring if he intruded.

She was sitting on the sofa where he had lain in the spring, reading a book.

He shut the door. She had not heard him open it. She had not looked up. He crossed the room.

Her hand lifted and her fingers slid her spectacles up the bridge of her nose.

He smiled as he neared her. When she looked up, his heart leapt only because he was near her, he had not even touched her.

‘Hello. Did you speak to your father?’

‘Yes.’ He sat down beside her.

‘What did he say?’

‘He cannot cope with the fact he was not there to hold William when he died.’ Henry swallowed. But the emotion welling up would not be swallowed down.

‘Did you tell him that was foolish?’

‘Yes.’ He swallowed three times. ‘He cried.’

‘Did that upset you?’

‘Yes.’ His answer was choked.

‘Oh, Henry.’ She clasped her arms about his shoulders, his arms lifted and clung about her as her hand stroked his hair and he cried the tears he had not wept since William’s death, the tears he had longed to weep at William’s bedside.

She did not say, it will become easier , or time heals the wounds of such losses , or that he should not cry for his brother but celebrate the short life William had lived.

All of those things he knew, but had not said to his father either, because in this moment what he needed was what his father had needed – just to cry out his loss, anger and guilt – and have someone care.

After a while, the tears ceased and he became aware of her slender fingers resting in his hair and his arms about her waist and his breathing slowed.

She did not speak.

Nor did he. He just held her for a few moments more.

When he drew away, straightening up, he asked, ‘Will you sit on my lap?’

She smiled and slipped off her shoes, then slid her spectacles a little further up the bridge of her nose. She sat sideways, as she had done last night with her knees bent up and her head resting against his chest. His arms surrounded her and held her in place.

‘Do you remember when you were painting in here and I came in to sleep?’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘The room seemed a dozen times more peaceful with you quietly painting near me. I think that was when I first began to know you meant something to me. Something I had overlooked for years.’

Her cheek rubbed against his black waistcoat as she snuggled in closer to him. ‘When I watched you, while you were sleeping. You seemed so different that day from the boy I had known?—’

‘And disliked.’ A rumble of amusement rang in his chest at the thought of her accusing words.

Reckless and self-centred . But she had been right about him.

He had behaved wrongly towards her, following Alethea’s equally selfish lead, the two spoilt eldest children who thought the world owed them everything.

Her head lifted. ‘Very well, the boy I disliked. I could see so many of your bruises, and you looked so… wounded and not arrogant at all.’

‘Arrogant. Was that a charge you threw at me too? I had forgotten if it was.’ His hand lifted and he would have stroked her hair but it was secured in a chignon. Instead he ran a curled finger down the bridge of her precious nose, below her spectacles. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, but you should sleep, Henry, I would guess you have hardly slept for nights. Take this moment of peacefulness. I shan’t leave you. I will sit here and read and make sure no one disturbs you.’

She would have risen but he held her down. ‘No. Stay here. Lie down beside me. If I am able to sleep it will be with you in my arms.’

She sighed, yet her head rested against his chest again. ‘Very well, shut your eyes.’

The sound of a gong woke Susan. Dinner. Henry’s hands were heavy on her head and her shoulder.

She sat upright. ‘Have you slept?’

He smiled. ‘Yes. I woke only a moment ago.’

His arms fell away from her. She stood as the gong sounded again.

‘We are not dressed for dinner.’

‘I think we will be forgiven. It is only our family.’

Our family. Yes. She would not worry if she had been at home, and Farnborough was home now.

‘Do I look dreadful? Is my hair tangled?’ Her fingers lifted to press against it, looking for strands that might have slipped free from the pins.

‘You look beautiful, and only as though you have not dressed for dinner, and no one will care.’ He stood up and tugged his black waistcoat down to straighten it. He was not wearing his coat, only his waistcoat and white shirt. It made him appear so slender, enhancing the look of his figure.

‘Come along and cease your fretting. I feel rested for the first time since William died and I am not going to allow you to feel ashamed for enabling it.’

No one looked at either of them oddly in the dining room, it was just a family meal, and Aunt Jane – Mama– smiled at Susan regularly throughout the meal as Henry’s father joined the conversation occasionally, even quietly laughing at things Gerard and Stephen said.

It changed the tone of their whole conversation.

Percy became more exuberant, speaking of horse races and Susan joined in because she knew about race horses as her father bred them.

When Uncle Robert – Papa – joined the conversation, Percy grasped at his responses and turned to him, asking for his view.

Susan glanced at Henry and caught his gaze. He smiled.

When she looked away, she saw Jane watching his father with a soft smile too, and moisture in her eyes.