SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEEN
Henry’s butler was waiting for him the moment he walked through the front door, as always, playing sentinel for his aunt. Samson took his hat and then glanced with questioning eyes over Henry’s shoulder.
Bradbury had followed him home.
“Good afternoon,” Bradbury said, holding out his hat for the old butler.
One invitation to dinner and he was making himself at home. Henry was relieved. Grateful, even, but he could never tell Bradbury that.
The old butler looked to Henry and then to Bradbury’s hat, his expression as stiff and lifeless as a gargoyle’s.
“Or not, I suppose ...” Bradbury said, his tone unsure as he looked at Henry with a quizzical brow. “Is he all right?”
“Come on,” Henry said, taking Bradbury’s hat and pushing it into Samson’s hands before heading toward his study.
He didn’t want to explain to his friend that he and his aunt were quarreling. Samson had likely been instructed to send Henry to his aunt the moment he returned home. Bradbury’s presence was preventing him from doing that.
The situation between Henry and his aunt had gone from strained to tense. After his visit to Guy’s Hospital, he and his solicitor had spent two days searching for any information regarding his mother and sister’s admittance to the old Bedlam. They did everything they could think of, from sending an inquiry to the old family solicitor to asking Dr. Stafford for what information he had. The letter to Dr. Stafford had so far gone unanswered, and the old family solicitor told them nothing and had instead informed his aunt.
She’d stormed into Henry’s study that morning with fire in her eyes, demanding he cease looking into the past before he risked exposing more of his family’s failings and ruin what was left of the Northcott family reputation.
He made her no promises and left the house.
Instead, he’d collected Bradbury from Brooks’s and gone straight to the Lathams’ house, hoping his friend’s presence would help disguise his reason for visiting. He doubted it worked after the way Mrs. Latham had discreetly watched him. She no doubt suspected something had shifted between her daughter and himself.
He bit back a groan. He was getting in far too deep, and he was proving hopeless in being able to stop himself.
Entering his study with Bradbury just behind him, Henry ignored the portraits of every previous baron that ran down the length of the room. He knew he was risking all they’d built, but he wanted a different future for himself and his sister
He stopped at the sideboard that he rarely used, and never for himself, and reached for a crystal decanter of brandy while turning toward his friend. “Would you like a dri—”
His words were cut short by the impact of Bradbury’s fist as it struck him.
Henry’s head snapped sideways, and pain radiated from his chin all the way through his teeth.
Bradbury let out a loud hiss. “Blast, that hurts as bad as I thought it would.” He shook his hand, flexing his fingers.
“What the devil was that for?” Henry growled, rubbing at the throbbing muscle at his chin.
Bradbury shot him a stern glare and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “That is so when Emerson returns home and finds you making moonstruck eyes at his sister, I can look him in the face and say I defended his sister’s honor. How long have you been secretly courting Miss Latham?”
He’s caught you now.The voice inside his head laughed.
Henry’s hand froze on his chin. He didn’t know what to say.
They stared each other down for several long minutes, and then Bradbury let out a huff of frustration and dropped his hand.
“I knew this was going to happen. Once one fool gets married, the next fool follows.”
Henry held up a hand and shook his head as panic settled in. He was far from being able to make a proposal of marriage. “It’s not exactly what you think.”
Bradbury’s scowl deepened. “What do you mean it’s not what I think?” His voice was sharp with impatience. “Because I can tell you that is exactly what Miss Latham is thinking. Are you leading on our friend’s sister?”
“No,” Henry said adamantly.
“Then what are you doing?” Bradbury asked, confusion warring with exasperation across his face.
Henry shoved a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what to say that would satisfy his friend but not divulge his family’s secrets. “It’s ... complicated.”
That will satisfy him, the voice said with sarcasm.
Bradbury threw his hands in the air and began to pace. “Of course it’s complicated, you bacon-brained fool! This is Emerson’s sister.”
Henry stood in stunned disbelief. Had that explanation truly worked?
Bradbury tapped his hand against the side of his leg as he continued to pace. “Now, we need to come up with a set of rules, ones that will keep Emerson from pummeling us—well, primarily me—you may very well have to take at least one facer for going behind his back.” Bradbury abruptly stopped. “Although, he did go after his sister’s friend behind her back, so maybe lead with that.” He paused, then winced. “On second thought, do not do that.”
Henry agreed. If he was so fortunate as to have that discussion with Emerson, he’d use no such excuse.
Bradbury resumed pacing. “Rules. We need rules.”
Henry remained silent, knowing his friend was correct.
Bradbury held up a finger. “First, you must no longer call upon the Lathams without me in attendance.”
Henry nodded. That was actually a good idea, which was shocking coming from Bradbury. Until Henry was able to sort out everything with himself and his sister, what had started between him and Arabella could go no further. He’d not distance himself from her entirely, but he wouldn’t allow another situation like what happened in his study the night of the dinner party. His fingers still twitched at the thought of being able to touch her again, to hear her sudden intake of breath when he did. It was the honorable thing, until all could be resolved. And with Bradbury present, he would be able to keep his control.
“Second ... second ...” Bradbury turned quick on his heels to face Henry, throwing up his hands once again. “For pity’s sake, I am no Lady Bixbee. I do not know what strategy to make. Heaven knows I am never courting anyone.”
A knock sounded at the study door.
“Enter,” Henry called, a knot of unease forming between his shoulders as he anticipated seeing his aunt enter.
What tactic would she try next? He’d never gone against her before, and she was not handling it well.
Instead of his aunt, however, Samson walked in along with a boy Henry recognized as a runner from his solicitor’s office.
“The boy refuses to give the missive to anyone but you, my lord,” the old butler said with a tight scowl.
The boy squeezed past an unmoving Samson and handed Henry a rectangular, brown-paper parcel.
“Good lad,” Henry said, his heart picking up its pace. Had Mr. Tompkin finally found something related to his mother’s history?
Henry had instructed his solicitor that all letters were to be delivered directly to his hand, and he would cover all costs. There would be no more letters easily read by his aunt.
“See the boy is paid,” Henry directed Samson. “And have something brought up from the kitchen.” The boy was cleaner than most runners, but Henry remembered being that age. He had been constantly hungry and growing out of his clothing.
Samson nodded, though Henry knew he wasn’t happy about it. Turning his back to both the door and Bradbury, Henry untied the string holding the parcel together, praying it contained what he’d been searching for.
Peeling open one side of the stiff brown paper, he quickly read his solicitor’s very short message that sat atop a folded letter.
This just arrived from Dr. Stafford.
Finally.
His heart pounded as he retrieved a second letter from the stack of papers with shaking hands.
He skimmed over the proper greetings and got to the heart of the matter.
I have been called away on a matter of the Crown and do not know when I will be allowed to return. But I agree, we must talk.
Henry cursed. Of course—why would anything come easy for him?
Until then, I will have a trusted member of my staff send you what I have on your sister, along with this letter. But I must warn you, there is not much. The old hospital was not the only thing to succumb to rot and decay.
On the matter of your mother, though, there is much to discuss, and it must be in person. I will call on you the moment I am free to do so.
Henry clenched his eyes shut and let out a frustrated breath. Again, he was left with more questions than answers. How could there be a thin stack of papers about his sister but much to discuss about his mother?
He doubted he would get many answers soon if the rumors about the current state of the king were to be believed. Dr. Stafford’s absence could be for some time.
Bradbury cleared his throat. “Is everything all right?”
Henry looked at his friend and secured the parcel under his arm. “I do not know,” he said, being fully honest with himself and Bradbury for the first time that day.
But he would have hope and read and wait.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Bradbury asked, a hint of concern in his tone.
Henry shook his head as he heard hurried, feminine footsteps outside his open study door. His aunt had apparently grown inpatient. “Go to the club. I will meet you there later,” he said.
Bradbury hesitated, his eyes glancing from the door to Henry. “Whatever is going on, I hope you know you can trust me ... Goosey.” Then he winked.
A soft chuckle found its way out of Henry’s tight chest, and he shook his head at the familiar ridiculousness of his friend. Bradbury, it seemed, was circling Henry’s nest, waiting to be allowed closer.
If only he could.