Page 57 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

‘Susan!’

‘I am in here!’

Henry’s father had been working in the library and so she had brought her paints up to their sitting room to work, and was currently trying to capture the light as it fell on what was probably one of the last yellow rose buds of the season. It was already autumn.

He walked into the room from their bedchamber. He probably thought she had come up to rest. Samson, who had been sitting beside her, rose, tail wagging, and crossed the room to welcome Henry.

‘You are painting.’ He stated the obvious, but he liked watching her paint as much as Samson did. ‘I have a letter for you, from London.’ He lifted it and held it out to her as he walked across the room.

She wiped off her brush then set it down and straightened up, picking up another rag to wipe her hands. ‘From Mama?’

‘No. It is Alethea’s writing.’

Emotions spun through Susan in a whorl. She had not heard from Alethea since the day she married Henry.

She put the rag down and held out her hand to take the envelope, then looked at the address.

She had missed her sister so much. Her fingers shook, making the letter tremble as she broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

Susan had written once, on the afternoon of the day Henry had wept for William.

She had written and told Alethea how much she loved her.

But she had told her how much she loved Henry too, and explained she could no more have set Henry aside than she could Alethea.

She had said she tried, but she loved him too much to live without him, even if it made her selfish and cruel.

Henry reached out and took the envelope from her, then set it down by her painting as she began to read.

‘She is to be married. The Earl of Stourton proposed and she has accepted.’ She looked at him.

‘I am glad, she will be happy too.’

Susan read some more. ‘She is forgiving us, and says I may happily have you with her blessing because she is more in love with Stourton than she ever was you.’

A chuckle rumbled from Henry’s throat.

‘She says she is glad now that she let me have you and did not fight.’ Tears filled Susan’s eyes, blurring her vision.

‘Susan.’ His hand lifted and curved about her cheek. ‘Sweetheart, do not take a single word of that to heart. I was never Alethea’s to give, you do not have me because she allowed it. You have me because you are the right woman for me, and my heart knew it.’

Henry’s fingers lifted her spectacles off the bridge of her nose, then he kissed away one of her tears, before wrapping his arms about her .

‘I am sorry. I am far too emotional these days. I weep over the slightest thing.’

‘That emotion is good.’ His chin rested against her hair as she leaned into his chest.

‘Will we go to London for the wedding? It is to be in St George’s.’

‘Of course. When?’

‘At the end of July.’

‘Then you will be very plump and our secret will be out in the open.’

She smiled against his chest. ‘I think it will be visible before then.’

‘I suppose. But I have enjoyed keeping it ours. Shall we go down to the drawing room? Mama just called for tea.’

‘Yes.’

As she turned away to tidy up her paints, his hand fell and caressed her stomach, the place where their child grew.

They walked downstairs together, with her holding Henry’s arm as he held the bannister.

He had become ridiculously protective since they learned about the child.

She was to walk downstairs either holding his arm or the bannister and banned from riding.

He had told her bluntly he would not allow any reckless behaviour when this was their child.

She had laughed, because it was ironic that his recklessness had brought him home last year, and that had brought about this child. But she understood, he was afraid, and probably always would be, because reckless behaviour had killed William.

She had not fought against his riding ban as yet, for that reason, and because her stomach felt so constantly queasy. But at some point she would have to insist that some risks were small and must be taken.

They sat with his mother and sisters, drank tea and shared Alethea’s news. When the tea was cleared away, Henry joined his father in the library. He had continued to help with the estate management, only now he worked with his father.

Susan returned to their room to rest, in the company of Samson, who always acted as her protector in Henry’s absence.

Henry woke her when it was time for dinner, and they changed together, with him lacing her corset because he feared a maid might secure it too tightly and hurt the child. She smiled at his image in the mirror as he stood behind her and lay both hands over her stomach.

He smiled too.

She turned and took his hand. ‘Come along, Monsieur Cat.’

‘Monsieur Cat…’ He frowned at her.

‘You smile at me all the time as though I am the freshest cream.’

He laughed. ‘There is nothing wrong with happiness, and your eyes glitter with pleasure whenever I touch you, as though we are about to begin a waltz?’

After dinner the family, as it was, without the boys who were at school, or Percy who was at university, gathered about the pianoforte.

Henry’s mother played, with his father sitting beside her, turning the pages, while the rest of them sang.

Henry stood behind Susan as he had done upstairs before they’d come down, with his hands gently resting on her stomach.

It was still early when Christine claimed she was tired and said she would retire, and Sarah then said she would walk upstairs with her and retire too.

‘We shall go to bed also,’ Henry stated, letting Susan go.

‘Not for a moment.’ His father reached out and caught a hold of Henry’s sleeve to stop him. ‘We wish to speak with you.’ He looked at Sarah who was walking across the room to leave. ‘Will you close the door behind you? ’

Henry turned to Susan. ‘We are in for some sort of scold, I think…’

She smiled.

Henry’s father stood. ‘It is not a scold.’

His mother stood. ‘It is a scold.’

His father smiled. ‘Are we expecting a grandchild and our son has neglectfully forgotten to inform us?’

‘Is it true?’ His mother’s voice slipped into pure excitement, as she looked at Susan for the answer. ‘There have been all the signs. You miss breakfast more days than not, and you yawn and retire in the afternoons, and Henry,’ she looked at him, ‘you are forever touching Susan’s stomach.’

Henry grinned, which widened Susan’s smile.

‘It was supposed to be our secret,’ he said, though he sounded thrilled to have been caught out.

‘Oh, Susan! That is so wonderful!’ His mother rushed about the piano and grasped Susan in a firm embrace.

‘Congratulations.’ His father embraced Henry.

‘I am so happy for you.’ His mother let Susan go and embraced Henry. ‘But now I shall be itching to tell all my friends, and Ellen and Edward.’

‘If anyone is to tell anyone, Mama, it will be us, and Susan’s parents should know before your friends or Edward,’ Henry said.

‘Then hurry, because my tongue will be bursting to say it.’

Henry’s father settled a hand about his mother’s waist. ‘Let the boy have his moment of wonder and pride, my love. Do not be cruel and steal it from him. The announcement is part of the excitement and we have stolen the moment once already.’

She looked at Henry, then Susan. ‘Were we cruel? I could not continue pretending I had not guessed.’

Susan clasped his mother’s hands. ‘You were not cruel at all. It is wonderful you know, Mama. It is only that we wished to be certain?—’

‘But you are certain…’

‘Yes, absolutely certain and I will write to my mother tomorrow, then within a week you may tell whoever you wish.’

‘And I shall write to Edward,’ Henry stated.

Susan looked at Henry. Then Harry would know, and all of Henry’s friends.

He had not seen them much in their months of mourning.

They would see them when they travelled to London for Alethea’s wedding, though.

He had changed so much since their marriage, or rather since William’s death, she wondered if his friends would even recognise Henry as he was now.

When they retired, after they’d made love, and she lay on her back with her head resting on his arm and he lay on his side beside her, drawing idle circles on her stomach with his fingertips, she asked him, ‘Do you ever wish you were not married, and you were free to live as you used to?’

‘You mean to race my carriage hell for leather to Brighton and topple it over on the road? No, I do not, darling. I am more than happy with our life. I need nothing to inspire me other than your company. This is a very pleasant, if perhaps a tamer source of adventure, and I am very happy.’

‘I am happy too.’

‘Good.’ He pressed a kiss on her lips.