TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-SEVEN
If Henry hadn’t been in such a miserable and dark mood, he would’ve been impressed by how effortlessly Arabella managed to break him away from Admiral Twickum, who’d cornered Henry upon his arrival. Henry had no interest in attending this party, nor did he care about the price of goldfish; he’d only come to speak with Arabella. To tell her in a public setting, where she wouldn’t be able to argue with him, that nothing more could happen between them. If she fought his decision, he feared he would be powerless to resist. But he was doing this for her, and if she hated him for it, all the better. It would make it easier for her to forget him.
She’d told Admiral Twickum she was bringing him to her mother, which he was glad about. He wanted her to have the support of her mother when he left. But then she suddenly turned, weaving them through a grouping of citrus trees.
“Where are we going?” he asked, not wanting to be completely alone with her.
She glanced over her shoulder and offered him a nervous smile.
He didn’t like the fact that Arabella Latham of all people was remaining silent, so he pulled against her grip.
“Please,” she said, slipping her palm from the crook of his arm and taking his hand
Powerless at her touch, he allowed her to pull them deeper into the jungle of trees and ferns.
The farther they went, the more he wanted to thread his fingers with her own. But he couldn’t. To do so would give her the impression that such intimacies could continue.
Or you could be selfish, the voice whispered.
Henry gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t bring the darkness of his family down upon her.
Breaking out of the trees, she pulled him toward a wall of vines near the back of the orangery. An abrupt right at the wall of vines brought them to a smaller, hidden room. They would be completely and inappropriately alone. He should stop her before—
Dr. Stafford stepped forward.
Henry’s body stiffened, and his shock turned to fury.
He’d purposely been avoiding the doctor. He was done with the man’s false promises of hope. There was no hope. Sarah would stay at Bedlam, where Dr. Stafford would continue to give her the care and protection Henry couldn’t provide once the madness finally overtook him.
“What is this?” Henry demanded in a harsh whisper, ripping his hand free of Arabella’s and taking a step back.
“Henry, please. Let me explain,” she said, stepping toward him with her hands held out. Her eyes were wide, making her look almost frightened.
His gut twisted at the thought of her being afraid of him, and he glared at Dr. Stafford. “You could not get to me, so you used her?” He clenched his jaw. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her nothing,” Dr. Stafford replied, his calm but cautious demeanor made Henry feel more out of control. “I only wish to talk.”
Henry scoffed. “Do you truly expect me to believe that?”
“He is telling the truth,” Arabella said, moving to stand between them like a warrior standing before a beast. Jealousy that she was defending the doctor reared its ugly head. “He has told me nothing, even after I continued to ask. He only wants to speak to you. To help you.”
“Help me?” Henry mocked with a disgusted shake of his head. He was already too far gone. “And what do you believe I need help with?” He glared down at Arabella, daring her to give him an answer.
“I do not know,” she said. “I wish I did, so that I could help you. But I know enough about you to know something is not right. You look ... Your eyes, they ...” She trailed off, as if she were hesitant to speak her mind.
Arabella was never hesitant to say anything.
Make her say it, the voice whispered.
“I look like what?” he asked, letting the voice win.
She hesitated again, her eyes looking deeply into his. “Haunted,” she finally said, proving to him why he needed to end this. He would not risk having his family or himself tarnish the beautiful light that was her spirit.
“Haunted is only touching the surface,” Henry said, taking another step away from her before looking to the doctor. “Are you happy now?”
“None of us will be happy if you persist in acting like this,” Dr. Stafford said, taking a few cautious steps closer to Arabella. His demeanor remained calm, but his actions proved that he thought Henry volatile enough to lash out, and Arabella was closest.
Here is your chance, the voice whispered. To end all hope for the both of you.
“Acting like what?” Henry said in a biting tone, ignoring both the sadness in Arabella’s eyes and the feeling of his heart being ripped from his chest. It was time to finish what he’d come to do.
Dr. Stafford’s jaw remained determinedly set, and he gave no answer. Instead, the doctor stepped protectively beside Arabella.
“Tell her,” Henry ground out, his anger at everything that had ever happened to him in his life igniting like a keg of gunpowder that’d been carelessly left by an open flame. “Tell her what my sister did. Tell her how she attacked my aunt—”
“Your aunt attacked her,” Dr. Stafford cut him off, his jaw clenched. “You do not know the history betwe—”
Henry bitterly laughed. “Oh, I know. I know exactly what my aunt and my mother have done. It is a plague upon my and my sister’s lives, and there is no cure for such darkness and hatred. My sister is better where she is. I failed her then, and I will only fail her now.”
“Henry, do not say that,” Arabella cut in, tears glistening her eyes.
The pity he saw there was all he needed to say the one thing he’d never told anyone. He wanted no one’s pity; this was what he was.
“Before you or the doctor try to convince me otherwise, there is one more thing you should know.” Henry swallowed, and it felt as if fire burned through his throat. “I hear a voice inside my head.”
But his admission didn’t give Henry the response he wanted from Dr. Stafford. Instead of being shocked, the man remained watchful and calm. “I’ve seen this before from those who have suffered trauma, as you have. I can help you,” he said, his words slow and careful.
Henry scoffed. “I am beyond help.”
Dr. Stafford studied him, and Henry stared him down.The doctor could disagree all he wanted, but that fact would never change.
A gentle pressure touched Henry’s chest, and his eyes jerked down. Arabella stood directly in front of him, her eyes cautiously watching his, her hand covering his pounding heart.
“Please.” Her voice caught, but her eyes never wavered from his. “Let him help you.”
Henry shook his head. The woman had more fight in her than a hundred men, but Henry knew when it was time to surrender.
He removed her hand from his chest and returned it to her side. “What was happening between us can never be.”
“Why not?” She reached for him again, and he took a step back. But instead of looking hurt by his forced distance, she only looked more determined.
“Do you not understand what my family is capable of?” he said, clenching his jaw. “My father killed himself. My mother murdered my uncle. And I have heard about and witnessed my sister’s violent outbursts. We are not safe, and I will not risk anything happening to you,” he ground out.
“And what about what I want?” Fire burned in her magnificent eyes, and she stubbornly raised her chin. “How I feel?”
He shook his head. “It does not matter.”
“It does matter,” she demanded. “I am in love with you.”
Whatever remained of Henry’s heart shattered into thousands of irreparable pieces. He cursed the heavens for putting him through this. She loved him, and he’d never get to have that bliss.
He hated himself even more for what he was about to say.
“You of all people should know, Miss Latham, that love is blind.”
Her eyes widened in shock at his cruel use of her beloved Shakespeare. For a moment, he thought he’d finally got through to her. She needed to go with Dr. Stafford, who still stood behind her.
“The Merchant of Venice,” she replied, straightening her shoulders. It was clear she was going to play her game to win. “And you should know that the course of true love never did run smooth.”
He glared and took a step closer to her. “Lovinggoes by haps; some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.”
“A heart to love, and in that heart, courage to make ’s love known,” she retorted, lifting her chin and taking two steps toward him.
He scowled down at her. They were close enough that either one of them could reach out and touch the other. “Love is a familiar; love is a devil. There is no evil angel but love.”
“My bounty is as boundless as the sea. My love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,” she shot back.
“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs; being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes; being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers’ tears. What is it else? A madness—” He choked on the word, then closed the last distance between them, forcing her take a step back into the protective reach of Dr. Stafford if she wanted to meet his eyes.
His heart turned cold. The pain was so intense. It was time to end this.
“A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.” He took a painful breath. “I want nothing to do with love.”
His parting words cut like a knife in his chest, but he forced himself to turn and walk away. He was a beast. But at least she would be safe.