Chapter 26
“You are certain this came this morning?” Henry knew how strange he looked, standing there with an armful of his wife’s clothes.
If Baxter noticed, he did not mention it. “By express messenger, Your Grace.”
“And you are certain it is from him?”
Baxter nodded. “That is what the messenger said, Your Grace.” He paused, finally eyeing the clothes in Henry’s arms. “Would you like me to take those to Her Grace while you read the letter?”
“No… no, I will do it. Thank you, Baxter.” Henry began to move away, tossing back over his shoulder. “I shall need you to take a letter to London tomorrow, if you do not mind? A small matter that needs tending to.”
“The wretch who tried to harm Her Grace?” Baxter said. “I shall ensure it is done.”
Henry turned sharply. “How do you know about that?”
The butler raised a bemused eyebrow. “You told me before you left this morning, Your Grace. I had assumed you would want me to deal with him personally, but I would be only too happy to deliver a letter.” He dipped his head. “Anything for Her Grace.”
Evidently, the events with Alan Fry had meddled with Henry’s head, arousing suspicions in places where there were none. Of course, he had informed Baxter. It was the last thing he had done before departing the manor.
“Apologies, Baxter,” he said. “It has been a trying day.”
Baxter offered an appreciative smile. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Readjusting his grip on the bundle of clothes he had grabbed from Thalia’s armoire, Henry turned and hurried back down to where his wife awaited him.
He came to an abrupt halt just inside the secondary drawing room, his gaze settling on Thalia. She sat sideways to the garden door, her bare feet and ankles on full display below the muddied hem of her skirts.
As she turned to him, he quickly looked away.
“I brought whatever I could find,” he said, approaching.
She laughed quietly. “You could have asked Mrs. Fisher or Rowena. They would have done it for you.”
“I am your husband; I am quite capable of fetching things for you,” he insisted, his attention fixed upon the wainscoting. “Shall I leave you to change into these dry things?”
He heard her get to her feet. “You should probably stay. I may need assistance.”
“Right… yes, I see.” He swallowed thickly. “Tell me when you need me. I shall keep my eyes closed, for your privacy.”
True to his word, he closed his eyes and held out the armful of garments.
A short while later, he heard her draw the drapes, the shadow of it intensifying the darkness behind his closed eyes.
Next came the damp, heavy sound of wet fabric falling to the floor, before her cold touch removed the clothing from his hands.
He thought he heard her set them down, though he could not be certain.
“Here,” she said, as she took hold of his hands. “I just need you to unfasten this knot.”
His heart began to race as she guided his fingertips to her back, just above her waist. There, he found the knot of her stays; it could be nothing else.
I should have locked the door. Anyone might walk in.
With surprisingly steady hands, he managed to unravel the tight knot and let his hand slide up the crossed laces to tease apart the two sides. He felt the quickening of her breath, and longed to slip his arm around her, to pull her against him… but, instead, he stepped away. Keeping his promise.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“It was my pleasure,” he replied stiffly.
In the ensuing quiet, he listened to the rustles and susurrations of her dressing, imagining the fall of the fabric over her body, the relief she must have felt to be dry again.
“Henry?”
“Hmm?”
“You know when you said that you married me to help,” she said unexpectedly. “What did you mean by that?”
“It means what it means,” he replied, resisting the urge to open his eyes. Surely, she was clothed by now? “I married you to help you.”
“But why? Why make your life more difficult? Why… waste so much of your fortune, your income, when you did not have to?” she pressed.
In the darkness of his own making, he felt as if she would keep him there with his eyes closed until he told her the truth of it. He could not risk opening them too early and breaking his promise, but nor could he stay there all day.
Why not tell her? Does she not deserve to know? The trouble was, he did not want her to feel like charity. As such, he would have to be very careful, or very vague, with his explanation.
“Because of my father,” he said simply.
“What do you mean?”
He puffed out a breath. “If we are to have this conversation, can I open my eyes?”
“Yes,” she said, somewhat shyly.
Hesitant, he cracked open an eye… and opened the other as he found her seated on a chair by the garden door, fully clothed once more. Save for her lack of shoes.
“My father was a man of excess,” Henry began. “In every aspect of his life, he wanted everything he could get: he bought the most expensive things, he went to the finest events, he commissioned the finest painters and sculptors and tailors; he kept a lot of mistresses.”
Thalia paled. “Oh…”
“Gambling, drinking, and women; they were his favorite things,” Henry continued.
“But he was fiendishly intelligent, and he knew how to make those things work in his favor, too. He got rich from other people’s losses, other people’s vices.
My inherited fortune, immense as it is, was built upon lies and deceit and the ruination of others.
“I am still the owner of one of his former establishments, and I keep it to remind myself of the kind of man my father was, so I never become like him. But I needed a wife to tip the scales of that endeavor back to good repute, so when I overheard your father in my gentlemen’s club, lamenting his debts, I investigated.
When I discovered the true severity of your family’s situation, and that you were unwed, I made an offer of marriage.
A chance for you to escape the reckless men of your family, as I escaped mine. ”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You own a gentlemen’s club?”
“It was more of a gambling den when my father was alive. Not anymore. Now, it is… moderately well-respected and very well attended,” he replied with a smile.
She rested her head against her hand, puffing out a breath of disbelief. “What of your mother?”
“An angel, who died when I was rather young,” he said, his throat tightening. “I am glad she did not have to endure him for long, but I am sad that she had to endure him at all.”
Her forehead furrowed. “I am sorry, Henry.”
“That is why I found it so… ridiculous when you thought that having two children in two years meant that my parents were in love.” He shrugged away his discomfort.
“All my father wanted was more sons, as quickly as possible. He got his heir and his spare and then cast her aside. Although, I have no doubt that he must have multitudes of illegitimate children out there in the world.”
Just the thought of his father made his blood boil, all those years of acting like a scoundrel, neglecting the sons he had put Henry’s mother through such torment for.
“I never wish to be anything like him,” Henry said, his lip curling. “I loathed him.”
Just then, he noticed a strange expression upon Thalia’s face, her features frozen as if she had suffered a fright… or had just had a rather tremendous notion.
Slowly, she raised her green-eyed gaze to him. “Do you think one of those illegitimate children might be behind these attacks on me?”
“I doubt it,” Henry replied gently. “My father was discreet even in his indiscretions. He would never have confirmed his parentage of any child outside of his marriage. He would have quietened any woman who dared say otherwise.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “What about Walter?”
“He has never indicated any desire to be the duke. In truth, by the end, he hated my father more than I did, which was strange because, when Walter was younger, he was my father’s favorite,” Henry explained.
“Then, one day, Walter was gone. He left a note saying he would be residing with friends for the foreseeable. My father would not speak of it, not even on his deathbed. Walter moved around from place to place, across England, on the Continent, all over, and then found himself in Morocco, where he has been for some years now.”
Thalia seemed perplexed. Disappointed, almost. “I suppose, if it was Walter, he would have tried to hurt you instead of me.”
“We can be certain of it in a few days, if that would ease your mind,” Henry said, a little flurry of nerves settling in his stomach.
Her head snapped up. “In a few days? What do you mean?”
“Well, I have just received news of my prodigal brother,” Henry said, producing the letter that Baxter had given him.
“He is returning, at long last, and will be staying with my cousins at Weverton, for he says he cannot bear to set foot in Holdridge Court again. They have arranged a garden party to welcome him back.”
After all this time, Henry was finally going to see his brother again. And, in truth, he did not know how to feel about that… nor did he entirely like the timing.
“Do you think that might not be a coincidence?” Thalia asked, speaking his concerns aloud.
“I hope it is a coincidence,” Henry replied, “but we shall not know until we meet with him.”
They had fought for so much of their younger years, vying for the attention of a father who did not care for either of them. He would have hated it if, in their friendlier adulthood, it turned out that Walter had tried to kill his wife after all.