Chapter 9
Shock could not come close to describing what Alice felt, staring at Lord Northrup, who stood there looking uncertain with a small, hopeful smile on his face.
“Richard, how could you?” Elda said, finally breaking the silence.
Richard held his hands out in supplication. “Now, now, Elda, there is an explanation. One that I found quite satisfactory, though I do not believe this man handled the situation as well as he could have.” Her father gave Northrup a quelling look.
“No, sir, I did not.” Lord Northrup turned to Alice. “I cannot express to you how very sorry I am that you were put through the disgrace of my having missed our wedding. But I want you to know that circumstances prevented me from appearing.”
“You don’t look dead,” Alice said, her eyes narrowed. “Father, is this a ghost you have brought with you?”
Richard pressed his lips together in an obvious attempt not to laugh aloud at Alice’s question, then gave his daughter a chastising look.
“You should know there are very few things that could have kept me from the church that day.”
“You were tied up? Gagged? Unable to write? I daresay those are the only reasons I can think of for not only missing our wedding but also not contacting me and begging my forgiveness immediately. If you don’t mind, I’ve developed a terrible headache.” Alice looked around the room to gauge the others’ reactions to Northrup’s appearance, but her mother and Christina looked just as confused as she felt. “I believe I shall retire.”
“Alice,” her father said sharply. “You will hear this young man out.”
Alice straightened, her eyes flashing. “Will I.”
“Yes,” Richard said with a snap of his head.
“Mama, this is outrageous.”
Elda glanced from Alice to her husband to Lord Northrup, who still stood in the doorway, looking hopeful and uncertain. “Very well. Alice, hear Lord Northrup out. And then he can remove himself from this house.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Northrup said.
Everyone filed out of the room, and as Christina passed, she gave Alice’s hand a squeeze.
She simply could not believe that Lord Northrup had the audacity to show his face to her and that her father had allowed it. Alice sat and stared stonily in front of her, her face set, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
“You have every reason to be angry with me.”
“Yes, I do,” Alice said, finally looking at the man she’d thought would be her husband. She’d thought he was handsome and charming, but looking at him now, he appeared pale and small and not nearly as good looking as she remembered. His eyes were a dull brown, his chin was weak, his shoulders drooping and not even his outrageously expensive clothes helped him. He sat across from her, and Alice noted his knees were bony. In fact, nothing about him appealed to her, that’s how angry she was, for Lord Northrup was actually a fair looking fellow—at least that’s what she’d once thought.
“Mine is a terrible story and one that I hope will sway you to forgive me. And perhaps lead us toward a happier ending.” He had that hopeful smile on this face again, and Alice had the terrible urge to slap him. She had her own terrible story to tell, one that began the moment the vicar made his way slowly to the back of the church to tell her there would be no wedding that day.
Alice simply glared at him, and he shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. This was an Alice he had never seen before, one who was unsmiling and rigid. Perhaps he had thought she would be so grateful to see him she would forgive him instantly. He could not be more wrong, Alice thought to herself, looking at him with no small amount of distaste. Had he no idea what he had done to her? How he had ruined her life and taken away all hope of having a family and home of her own?
“You are familiar with Lester Flemings, Lord Porter.”
“I am. He is Patricia Flemings’s brother.” The very same Patricia Flemings Lord Northrup was purported to be in love with. For a brief moment, Alice drew her brows together. She’d thought Northrup had run away and married Patricia. Obviously, she was wrong on that account.
“Porter approached me with some information about Suzy.” He closed his eyes as if speaking of this information was painful to discuss. Northrup adored his younger sister and Alice knew he would move mountains in an effort to please her. Suzy was a spoiled little thing whose every whim Northrup indulged. “Our families have been close, so I had no reason to doubt him and later found what he told me was the truth. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that the information Porter had would have ruined Suzy’s life.” He pressed his lips together, clearly distressed. “He threatened to expose Suzy unless I agreed to marry his sister, Patricia, who had troubles of her own.”
“What sort of troubles?”
“The sort that require a husband,” Northrup said darkly. “At any rate, I agreed. Stupidly, I know. Porter made me swear not to say a word. He wanted everyone to believe I was in love with Patricia and forbade me to warn you about our elopement.”
Even though Alice was livid, hearing those words caused the blood to drain from her head. “So you did marry her,” she said softly.
“No, I did not.”
“I don’t understand.”
Lord Northrup moved over to where she sat and knelt beside her, taking one cold hand in his. “You know I would do anything to protect Suzy. She’s my sister. I was half mad knowing what you were going through and unable to do anything to stop it. You must understand, Suzy’s life would have been ruined, any hope she had of marrying would have been completely eliminated. I could not let that happen. I had to choose, darling. I had to and it was the most difficult decision of my entire life.”
Alice hated that she understood, for she would have done the same if Christina’s life had hung in the balance. Still, it had been weeks since their planned wedding and she hadn’t had a single word from him.
“Why are you here now? What happened?”
Tears filled Northrup’s eyes, and despite herself, Alice felt pity for him. She had been fond of him, after all, and it wasn’t easy to see him so distraught.
“It was all for nothing. You see, Porter was going to expose Suzy’s affair with the piano master. I don’t know how he found out, but Suzy didn’t deny it.” He closed his eyes briefly, forcing the tears down his cheek. “She ran off and married him. Suzy eloped with the bloody piano master.”
“Oh my goodness, my lord, no.” It was terrible news indeed, and despite everything, Alice knew how tragic such an event would be to his family. “When?”
“The day you and I were to be married. I found out that night, thankfully before I hied off to Scotland with Miss Flemings. You cannot know what I’ve gone through since the day Lord Porter came to see me. It was torture.”
No wonder Northrup had acted so strangely the night before their planned wedding. “And it’s taken you all this time to come forward?”
Northrup dipped his head. “I was horrified by it all. My parents wanted to keep what Suzy had done a secret for as long as possible. All her friends believe she is visiting our aunt in Brighton. My father forbade me to tell anyone until we were certain the wedding had taken place. He went after them, but it was too late. It’s destroyed him, our entire family. I still cannot believe Suzy would be so foolish. I know you must hate me and I know I have no right to ask your forgiveness.”
“But you are here to ask it anyway, aren’t you?” Alice said, her tone softer.
He lifted his head and looked at her beseechingly. “I have only the smallest of hopes that you will forgive me. Dear Alice, I have missed you.”
“I don’t hate you,” Alice said, gazing at their still-entwined hands.
“Then dare I hope that you can forgive me? That perhaps we can start anew?”
Alice looked at the man she’d planned to marry and felt nothing. Not even that small admiration and affection she’d once held for him. But her father was correct. Lord Northrup’s story was terrible and believable and she sincerely trusted that he regretted what had happened. It had only been three weeks since she’d stood at the church in her wedding gown, her stomach all aflutter, looking forward to a life with this man. Could she throw away the only future she had?
Unbidden, thoughts of Henderson, his kiss, made Alice even more uncertain. But Henderson hadn’t pledged his love or devotion. He really hadn’t done anything other than kiss her and make her feel things she’d never felt before in her life. Certainly, he hadn’t asked to marry her or requested an audience with her father. And he’d said more than once that kissing her was a mistake. A very stupid and silly mistake, Alice thought, hating that even now, even at this moment when Harvey was kneeling before her with tears falling down his cheeks, all she could think about was Henderson.
Alice forced a small smile. “Perhaps we can.”
“Perhaps you can what?” Henderson stood at the entrance to the library, looking very much like a man on the verge of violence.
* * *
Henderson had been on his way back to Tregrennar when he’d seen a carriage drive past him, a liver-spotted springer spaniel, tongue lolling happily, hanging out the small window. It could only be Cleo, Richard Hubbard’s constant companion, which meant Lord Hubbard was on his way home.
Henderson stopped dead, watching until the carriage was out of sight. This was his chance to speak with Lord Hubbard about marrying Alice, but he hadn’t had time to formulate his thoughts. While he knew Lord Hubbard liked him well enough, that didn’t mean he wanted a bastard for a son-in-law. What father would? The Hubbards’ pedigree was immaculate. Richard was the son of a duke, Elda was the daughter of a marquess. From his experience, sons of dukes and daughters of marquesses did not want their children marrying low-born bastards.
Henderson’s sire could be anyone, but was almost certainly not a member of the peerage. His grandparents and mother refused to discuss the matter, and the only thing he did know, from an overheard conversation when he was ten years old, was that the man was a laborer. Henderson still remembered the distaste in his grandmother’s voice when she mentioned his father. No one loved him more than his grandmother, so to hear her speak ill of whomever had sired him had made Henderson slightly sick to his stomach. Tainted.
His mother, Sylvia, wanted to get rid of him after she pushed him out into the world. She’d made arrangements with a woman who promised to find a good home for the baby. Like a puppy, he was to be given away and never thought of again. To Sylvia, he represented nothing more than a foolish decision that she wished would go away. It was his grandmother, with her soft heart, who had taken one look at his wrinkled little face and vowed to keep him in their home. His grandmamma simply could not bring herself to take him to the woman or to a foundling home, which was where most bastard children ended up. Henderson had learned much about his early years from loyal servants who adored his grandmother and had a less than favorable view of his mother.
Sylvia had refused to look at him, hold him, touch him. If she ever had, Henderson had no memory of it. When he was a boy, he was not allowed to eat with the family and was instead fed in either the kitchens or his small room on the third floor, as far away from his mother as possible. If she did refer to him, which was infrequent, she called him “that thing.”
“That thing trampled on my flowers this morning.” He’d been ten, old enough to realize who he was, who she was. Other mothers were kind. They laid their hands atop their children’s heads and ruffled their hair. They embraced them when they were hurt. They did not call their children things.
“I’m not a thing,” he’d said, his cheeks burning hotly. “I’m your son.”
She’d wheeled around, her face filled with rage, and slapped him. “You are not my son.”
After she’d stormed off, his grandmother had drawn him into a warm hug and held him, reassuring him that he was not a thing, that he was a fine little boy whom she loved with all her heart. Henderson had been comforted by her words, but the terrible hurt that his mother didn’t love him, and indeed loathed him, never truly went away.
* * *
As he walked slowly toward Tregrennar, rehearsing in his head what he would say to Lord Hubbard, the circumstances of his birth loomed large. The Hubbards did not put on airs, but how would they feel about a son-in-law who didn’t have an ounce of blue blood running through his veins? Not only that, but a man who was born from sin? Giving his head a hard shake, Henderson tried to put such doubts from his mind. The Hubbards thought of him as a son. Hadn’t Mrs. Hubbard said just yesterday that everyone in the family loved him? Surely they would welcome him as a true member of their family.
The house was silent when he entered, and a light shining in the parlor told him the ladies of the house and perhaps Lord Hubbard were likely there spending a quiet evening. The door to the parlor was ajar, and he walked in without a thought. Certainly without a thought of what he might find on the other side: A man on bended knee, Alice looking at the gentleman, her eyes soft. And the words she spoke that felt like a shot to his heart: Perhaps we can.
“Perhaps we can what?” The two separated guiltily, and that’s when Henderson recognized the chap who’d been holding his future wife’s hand in his. Lord Northrup. “What the bloody hell is he doing here?”
“Henderson, please.”
Lord Northrup stood, stepping slightly in front of Alice as if he were protecting her, which only caused Henderson’s blood to run hotter. “Who is this man?” Northrup asked, looking him over as if he were in laborer’s garb and not wearing a finely cut suit.
“This is Henderson Southwell,” Alice said. “I believe I’ve mentioned him. Joseph’s friend.”
“Ah, yes. The charity case,” Northrup drawled.
“I never implied such a thing and you know it,” Alice said, glaring at the viscount.
“Very well,” Northrup said easily. “My apologies. I thought I was being kind in my description, given he stands before us looking as if he would like to commit murder.” Northrup raised one eyebrow, all charm, as if he hadn’t a care that Henderson itched to pummel the man within an inch of his life. Something dark and primitive had uncoiled inside Henderson when he saw the other man touching Alice.
Henderson looked from one to the other, hating that he suddenly felt like an outsider. It seemed obvious that Alice had told Northrup more about him than he cared for the man to know; it put him at a severe disadvantage. “I asked a question,” he said, directing his attention to Alice, his voice softening only slightly. “What is he doing here?”
Alice opened her mouth to answer, but Northrup spoke. “Not that it’s any of your business, Mr. Southwell, but I am here making amends with my fiancée.”
“She’s not your bloody fiancée.”
Northrup breathed in sharply through his nose. “You should address your betters in a more civilized manner, Southwell. If it’s possible,” Northrup said, and Henderson had to use all his self-control not to launch himself at the pompous ass.
“For goodness sake, will you two stop?” Alice said, though she directed her question to Northrup, which felt like a minor victory to Henderson.
“Alice, what is the meaning of this?” Henderson asked, choosing to ignore the foppish fool standing in front of Alice. “This man left you standing in the church. He has no right to touch you, to even be in the same room as you. Is your father aware of this?”
“Lord Hubbard brought me here, fully knowing my intent,” Northrup said with annoying smugness.
Henderson felt the blood drain away from his head, and for a terrible moment, he thought he might sway on his feet. “Is this true, Alice?” he asked, knowing his voice sounded odd and raspy.
“Yes, Mr. Southwell, it is.” Of course, calling him Mr. Southwell was only proper, but hearing her say it, her tone so damned cold, made Henderson’s chest ache.
“But surely you have not forgiven what he did.” Alice stood, and Henderson watched in disbelief as she slowly brought her hand up to rest on Lord Northrup’s arm. He swallowed heavily. “I don’t believe it. You cannot be serious. You cannot be so foolish as to forgive this man—”
“There were circumstances,” Alice said.
“Circumstances?” he shouted. “Circumstances?”
“My dear, I fail to understand why you are even engaging in conversation with his man. In fact, what is he even doing in your home?” Northrup looked at him as if he were a mangy dog that had somehow found its way into Tregrennar.
“What is all this ruckus?” Lord Hubbard came through the door looking more than annoyed.
“This man insulted me,” Lord Northrup said. “And is upsetting your daughter.”
Richard looked at Henderson, his brows furrowed. “What are you doing here, Mr. Southwell? I understood you had no plans to come to St. Ives.” His tone was biting, all aristocrat, and even though Henderson had known Richard Hubbard for years, he had never heard that tone directed at him.
For the first time in his life, Henderson felt like an outsider in the one of the few places in England where he had always felt welcome.
“Mama insisted that he stay here while he was in St. Ives, Papa. Lord Northrup was unaware of this and has been quite unkind,” Alice said, giving Northrup a pointed look. Her defense of him somehow made things worse. He felt as if he were exactly what Northrup had called him—a charity case. To think he had walked to Tregrennar thinking he would ask Lord Hubbard for his daughter’s hand. My God, what a bloody idiot he was.
“I see. Well. Perhaps now that I am home, his presence is no longer needed.”
“Here here,” Northrup said, and Henderson didn’t miss the glare of anger Alice gave her former fiancé.
“I shall depart in the morning, sir,” Henderson said stiffly.
“Oh, Papa, is that really necessary?” Alice asked. “It’s Henderson.”
“It’s for the best,” Henderson said, looking briefly from Lord Northrup to Alice. “Please do tell your mother thank you for the hospitality. I will leave at first light.”
* * *
Alice watched in disbelief as Henderson left the room, fighting the urge to follow him. She whirled on Lord Northrup, angrier than she could ever recall being.
“You were insufferable,” she said, and was made angrier still when her father chastised her with a click of his tongue. “Papa, Mr. Southwell is a particular friend of this family and should not be made, ever, to feel unwelcome. He was upset that Lord Northrup was here because he cares for my feelings. Perhaps more than any of you do.” Alice could feel hot tears threaten. “You owe him an apology, my lord. And if you cannot bring yourself to do so, I believe any suggestion of reconciliation shall not be considered.”
To her surprise, Lord Northrup bowed and said, “Of course, you are correct. I’m afraid I allowed my temper to get the best of me. I say, I didn’t like the proprietary way he was looking at you and I fear I let my dander up.”
Alice was slightly mollified, but still angry.
“Alice,” her father said, using his lesson-teaching tone. “You must realize that most families would not welcome Mr. Southwell into their homes as we have. If it wasn’t for Joseph, no one in this house would associate with someone of his class.”
Despite the truth of her father’s words, Alice was shocked that her father had said them.
“Your family was generous, indeed, to do so,” Northrup said.
“It wasn’t charity.” She looked to her father. “Was it?”
Richard shifted uncomfortably. “Northrup, would you mind allowing me to speak to my daughter in private?”
“Of course. Good evening, sir.” He turned to Alice, his brown eyes soft and beseeching. “Please do consider what we discussed, Alice. I will do anything in my power to make you forgive me.”
Alice nodded. “I will think about it, my lord, but I cannot make you any promises.”
He smiled brilliantly, then gave her father a look that Alice couldn’t interpret. “That is all I can ask for. Good evening.”
After Northrup left, Alice made her way back to her original seat and lowered herself into it, feeling drained and exhausted. “I’m so confused, Papa.”
“Understandable, my dear. It isn’t every day an errant fiancé turns up at one’s door begging forgiveness.”
After a brief and probably unconvincing smile, Alice said, “Yes, but that’s not what I meant. I was referring to what you said about Henderson. How you acted. As if he wasn’t welcome in our home anymore. I’m certain he was terribly hurt.”
Richard let out a heavy sigh before dragging another chair closer to her. “You know I like Henderson, and you are correct, he has always been welcome in our home. But you must understand that if it wasn’t for Joseph, someone like Henderson would never have rubbed elbows with our ilk. Think, Alice. We have no idea who his father is. Yes, his grandparents are fine people with a large estate, but they are commoners. Without Joseph’s insistence, Mr. Southwell is certainly not the type of man I would associate with. Nor would I want my children to.”
“Then why did you allow it?”
“Joseph begged your mother and she finally relented. You know she could never say no to him. We have never regretted the decision. Henderson proved to be a fine young man with impeccable manners.”
“But not impeccable bloodlines,” Alice said softly.
“It does matter. Blood will tell, you know,” Richard said, his tone gentle. “It always did and it always will.”
Alice closed her eyes briefly, seeing again the look on Henderson’s face when he’d left the room. “I don’t believe that,” she said finally. “Henderson is one of the finest men I know. I don’t give a fig who his father is, and, frankly, Father, I cannot believe you do.”
Richard winked at her. “You always call me ‘Father’ when you are particularly angry.”
“Do not patronize me.” The tears burned even hotter in her eyes.
“Oh, Alice, you are so young. Someday you’ll realize, as Lord Northrup and I do, that nothing good ever comes from mingling with the lower classes. Joseph found out the hard way.”
Alice could not stop the horrified gasp that erupted from her. “You cannot possibly believe that Henderson had anything to do with Joseph’s death. He wasn’t even there that night.”
“No, he wasn’t. But Henderson was the risk-taker. The clown. The one who would egg Joseph to do things your brother never would have done. He may have acted the gentleman when he was with all of us, but when Joseph and he were alone, they were always up to mischief.”
“You’re wrong,” Alice said, no longer able to stop the tears from falling.
“His first summer here, I caught Mr. Southwell trying to teach Joseph to stand upon a horse and ride it. Apparently, he’d read something about American cowboys doing such a thing and wanted Joseph to try it. My son could have broken his neck. Do you really think Joseph would have taken it in his head to do such a thing if Henderson hadn’t come up with the idea?”
Alice had no answer. Her father was probably right—Henderson and Joseph had gotten into all kinds of mischief when they were together. But one could hardly blame Henderson for Joseph’s death. It was absurd.
“You seemed so glad to see him in London.”
“And I was. Truly. But now…perhaps he’s overstayed his welcome.”
* * *
That night, Alice lay in bed staring at her canopy and feeling horrid about the evening’s events. Frowning, she recalled with a certain amount of dismay how her mother had agreed with her father, that Henderson should go now that Lord Northrup was here, as if Henny might taint his lordship with his presence. Would her father have sent him away if Lord Northrup hadn’t accompanied him home? She thought not. It was obvious to Alice that her parents still hoped she would marry Lord Northrup, and she wasn’t certain how she felt about that.
“Your father explained things to me, Alice,” her mother had said earlier that evening, “and I think it’s a blessing, really. He’s a very good match, I always thought so. You couldn’t hope to do better.”
“I suppose not,” Alice had said. Lord Northrup, despite his flaws, was a good man. He was a bit of a snob, but what member of the aristocracy was not? From his perspective, Alice had to admit Henderson had seemed a bit overbearing and out of line. Yes, Lord Northrup seemed to be a good match if one was not part of that match. Alice’s heart did not speed up when he entered the room, and the thought of kissing him the way Henderson had kissed her made her slightly queasy. While Henderson’s kiss… It was magical.
Her chest hurt to know her father would no longer welcome him into their home. Nothing made any sense, not her father welcoming Lord Northrup so easily back into their lives nor pushing Henderson out.
“I might never see him again,” she said aloud, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears and spilled over to leave wet spots on either side of her pillow. When Henderson had left before, Alice had always assumed he would return. Someday. Even after years had gone by, she would think of him, think about how lovely it would be when he returned.
Now, though, he would not come to their home in London and he would never set foot in Tregrennar again.
She would never kiss him. Never hold him. Never speak to him.
It was impossible. Wrong.
Alice sat up, her breathing harsh, and swiped the tears from her eyes. She had to say good-bye, had to kiss him and hold him and remember how that felt. If she had thought that kiss in the library would be their last, well, she would have taken care to remember every moment, every touch, every sound he made.
She tiptoed to her vanity and held her small clock to the moonlight so she might see the time, smiling when she realized at this late hour of two o’clock, everyone would be abed. She knew where Henderson was, of course, for her mother had put him in the same room where he always stayed.
Alice put on her wrap and opened her door silently, her heart in her throat. This is wrong. Ignoring the strident voice in her head that sounded remarkably like her grandmother, the duchess, she moved silently down the hall until she reached Henderson’s room. Sorry, Grandmama, but I have to say good-bye.
Alice stood outside his door, her bare toes curling into the carpet that lined the hall, her arms down straight and stiff, her fingers waggling in her uncertainty. She would just say good-bye. Perhaps kiss his cheek. A hug might be permissible. After all, this was Henderson, her friend. Her friend who could kiss her and make her knees weak. Oh God. If you knock, you know what could happen. What you want to happen.
Alice lifted her hand suddenly, then hesitated, her knuckle just inches from the wood of the door. Then she knocked softly and held her breath.