Chapter Fifteen #3
“I do beg your forgiveness,” Constance said. “It’s just that I cannot understand the haste, nor keeping your own mother from the wedding.”
“When two people love each other, there’s no reason to wait,” Sophia said.
“As far as why you were not invited to the wedding, it should be obvious to you,” Henry said. “You would have caused trouble. And you will not play your games with my bride. I think I made that clear.”
“Yes, yes. You’re in love. How romantic.
” Constance tilted her head. “Though I confess, I’m curious.
Henry was always so devoted to Eleanor. He swore after her death that he’d never love again.
It’s remarkable that you managed to change his mind so completely.
Did you wear him down with persistence? Or did you simply catch him at a vulnerable moment? ”
“I fell in love with Sophia because she’s kind, intelligent, and devoted to Amelia,” Henry said. “The same qualities you seem to find so objectionable.”
“I find nothing objectionable. I’m simply trying to understand my enigma of a son.” She paused as the fish was replaced with roasted duck. “After all, a man who’s suffered as much as Henry must be approached carefully. His grief over Eleanor was so… consuming.”
Henry’s hands tightened on his silverware. There was something in her tone. A warning.
“Such devotion,” Constance continued. “He wouldn’t come out of his room. Do you remember, Arthur? How worried we were?”
His father shifted uncomfortably. “Constance, perhaps—”
“I’m simply sharing family history with our new daughter-in-law.” She turned to Sophia with false concern. “Did Henry tell you about that difficult time? How he used to go to the cliffs where Eleanor died and stand at the edge for hours?”
Henry felt the blood drain from his face.
“Mother.” His voice came out strangled. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what, darling? Share the truth?” She looked at Sophia. “He was in such a dark place. We had no choice but to seek professional help. For his own safety.”
“Stop. Not another word.” Henry glared at his mother. “I mean it.”
“Hush now.” Constance’s voice was steel wrapped in silk. “I’m sure Sophia deserves to know whom she’s married. A man who spent six months at Dr. Morrison’s private sanatorium. A man who was so broken by grief that he had to be looked after.”
“I know all about Henry’s past,” Sophia said. “We keep nothing from each other. He told me all about Doctor Morrison.”
He had not, in fact, told her about the sanatorium or Doctor Morrison. But the fact that she was willing to lie for him almost made this better. But not quite.
“Did he tell you how he almost jumped from the cliff?” Constance asked. “How one of the servants had to save him?”
The room spun. He felt as if he could not breathe.
“That was a long time ago,” Henry said. “I was grieving. I recovered.”
“Did you?” Constance leaned back in her chair, looking supremely confident now that she’d drawn blood. “Or did you simply learn to hide it better? Because I must wonder—is a man with such a history truly fit to raise a child? Particularly a child as vulnerable as Amelia?”
And there it was. The real attack.
“What are you saying?” Henry’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’m saying I have concerns. About your stability.
About your judgment. About whether a traumatized man who once tried to follow his first love into the sea should be trusted with my granddaughter’s welfare.
” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
“My solicitors tell me these concerns are quite relevant in custody matters.”
The same pain from earlier stabbed the back of his head. “You’ve hired solicitors.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course I have. The moment I received your letter about the marriage. You see, Rebecca may have excluded me from her will, but the law does make provisions for concerned grandparents. Particularly when the guardian has a documented history of mental instability.”
“You’re going to try to take Amelia.” His vision blurred. All moisture from his mouth evaporated.
“I’m going to do what’s best for my granddaughter. What my poor, confused daughter should have done from the beginning. Amelia belongs with family who can provide stability. Not with a broken man and his—” she glanced at Sophia, “—convenient new wife.”
“That’s enough.” Sophia’s voice cut through the room like a blade. She stood, her hands shaking but her chin high. “You will not speak about my husband that way. Not in our home. Not at our table.”
“How touching. But my dear, you barely know him. You’ve been married three days. How much can he really have told you about his past? About the darkness he carries? About the fact that his own brother had to have him committed?”
“Edward didn’t have me committed,” Henry said, his voice raw. “I went voluntarily. Because I was in pain and I needed help. There’s no shame in that.”
“Isn’t there?” Constance’s smile was cruel. “Then why didn’t you tell your wife? Why did she have to learn about it from me?”
“I just told you—he and I have no secrets,” Sophia said.
“How shall I say this?” Constance asked. “I don’t believe you.”
Henry looked at Sophia. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears.
“It doesn’t matter what you think or believe,” Sophia said. “Whatever happened in Henry’s past doesn’t change who he is now. It doesn’t change that he’s a great man. A wonderful father to Amelia.”
“A good father.” Constance laughed. “We’ll see what the courts think about that. My solicitors are very thorough. They’re documenting everything. The hasty marriage. Your questionable background, my dear. Henry’s history of instability. It builds quite a picture, doesn’t it?”
“Get out.” Henry’s voice was deadly quiet. “Get out of this house. Now.”
“We’re leaving in the morning, as you requested—”
He slammed his glass into the table and his mother actually flinched. “No. Now. I want you gone. Tonight. Immediately.”
“Henry, you must calm yourself,” his father said.
He narrowed his eyes, glaring at his father.
“Oh, I am perfectly calm.” He turned to his mother.
“You will never threaten my family again. You will never use my grief as a weapon. You will not try to take Amelia from us.” Henry was shaking with rage.
“And if you attempt any legal action, I will fight you with everything I have. I will expose every cruel thing you’ve ever done.
To me. To Rebecca. To Eleanor. Every. Single.
Thing. To the ton you care so much about.
To the authorities who might be interested in knowing how you manipulated a young woman into suicide. ”
“Ridiculous,” Constance said. “You have no proof. No one will believe you. Not when I am ahead of you in spreading gossip. Probably as we speak, gossip is being shared at every dinner table in London.”
“It won’t work, Mother. Because Sophia nor I care what the ton thinks.
In addition, you think I do not have proof but I do.
I have Eleanor’s letter. The one she left before she died, naming you specifically.
I have witnesses who heard what you said to her.
And I have Rebecca’s will, which makes her feelings about you abundantly clear.
” He leaned close to her. “Try to take Amelia, and I will destroy you. Mother or not.”
For the first time, genuine fear flickered across Constance’s face.
“Arthur, we’re leaving. Now.” She rose with as much dignity as she could muster. “This is far from over, Henry.”
“No, it is over, Mother. You will never see Amelia or set foot in this house ever again.” Henry followed his parents into the entrance hall, his voice carrying the full weight of his authority as master of the house.
“Grimshaw.”
The butler appeared instantly, as if he’d been waiting. “My lord?”
“The Earl and Countess are leaving. Tonight. Have their servants pack their belongings immediately and prepare their carriage.”
“At once, my lord.” If Grimshaw was surprised, he didn’t show it. He bowed and disappeared toward the servants’ stairs.
Constance turned on Henry, fury in her eyes. “This is outrageous. We can’t possibly leave at this hour.”
“You can. And you will.” Henry’s voice was ice. “You’ll wait in the drawing room while your maid and valet pack. I don’t want you anywhere near my wife or daughter.”
Arthur put a hand on his wife’s arm. “Constance. We should go.”
For once, she didn’t argue. Perhaps she saw something in Henry’s face that even she recognized as dangerous. They retreated to the drawing room, and Henry heard the door close.
He stood in the entrance hall, fists clenched, listening to the sounds of hurried footsteps above as the servants scrambled to pack.
How could he go back in the dining room and face his wife?
Sophia had lied for him. She’d felt sorry for him.
Nothing was worse for a man than to think his own wife pitied him.
He strode back into the dining room. Sophia remained seated, a glass of wine clutched in one trembling hand, her cheeks pale.
Sophia got up, moving toward him immediately, her hands reaching for his. “Henry—”
He stepped back. He couldn’t bear her touch right now, couldn’t stand the pity he was certain he’d see in her eyes if he looked at her too closely.
“Henry, please. Let’s go upstairs. We can talk up there while the servants are packing them up.”
“You should go upstairs. I need some time alone.” His voice came out flat, dead.
“Henry, you don’t have to be alone. I’m here. I want to—”
“Please, Sophia.” He still couldn’t look at her. “Just… give me some time. I need to think.”
“Think about what?” Her voice cracked. “Henry, nothing she said changes anything. I don’t care about Doctor Morrison, especially if he helped you.”
“It changes everything.” He finally met her eyes, and the pain in them nearly broke him.
But he deserved that pain. Deserved worse.
“You married a man you barely knew. And now you’re finding out what kind of man I really am.
You lied for me. Pretended you knew everything when I kept things from you. ”
“I know enough. I know what a great man you are.”
“No. You don’t.” He turned away from her. “Please. I just need… I need to be alone right now.”
Silence. Then, softly, she said, “All right. If that’s what you need.”
He heard her footsteps retreating, heard her pause at the door as if she might say something more. But then she was gone, and he was alone in the dining room with the remnants of their disastrous dinner.
Henry stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing. Then he walked to his study.
The room was dark except for the dying fire in the grate. He didn’t bother lighting more candles. He poured himself a whiskey—a large one—and drank it standing by the window, looking out at the black night.
Dr. Morrison’s sanatorium.
God, he’d hoped to never hear those words again. The shame of it burned through him like acid. Six months of his life locked away because he’d been too broken to function. Too weak to handle his own grief.
He poured another whiskey. Drank it faster.
Sophia’s face when his mother revealed it—the shock, the confusion. She’d tried to hide it but he could see how shocked she’d been. Blindsided. How could she not be? He should have told her. Should have been honest about how damaged he was.
A man who once tried to follow his first love into the sea.
His mother’s words echoed in his head. She’d made it sound like he’d actively attempted suicide, which wasn’t quite true.
But it was close enough. He had gone to those cliffs night after night.
Had stood at the edge, looking down at the rocks and churning water where Eleanor had died.
Had wondered what it would be like to simply step off.
To stop feeling this crushing weight of guilt and grief.
Davies had found him there one night. Had seen the look on his face and known. He’d called Edward, Henry’s brother, who had come right away. When he arrived, he’d told Henry about a rest home for nervous disorders. Henry had agreed to go. In fact, he’d begged Edward to take him.
Henry poured a third whiskey with shaking hands.
What had he been thinking, marrying Sophia? Bringing her into this mess of a family, this broken version of a life? She was a duke’s daughter. She deserved someone whole, someone without this darkness lurking beneath the surface.
And now his mother was going to try to take Amelia.
The solicitors, the custody battle, dragging everything out into the open—his breakdown, his time at the sanatorium, every shameful moment of his grief. They’d make him look unfit. Unstable. Dangerous.
And maybe they’d be right.
He slumped into the chair by the fire, the whiskey glass dangling from his fingers. The room was spinning slightly. Good. He wanted oblivion. Wanted to stop thinking about Sophia’s face, about the legal battle ahead, about the fact that he’d just ruined everything.
She’d married him thinking he was someone worth loving. Someone strong enough to protect her and Amelia. But he wasn’t that man. He was broken. Had always been broken. His mother had just finally exposed it.
The fire burned lower. Henry poured another drink but didn’t bother drinking it. Just sat there in the darkness, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of his failures press down on him.
Sophia deserved better. Amelia deserved better. They’d be better off without him.
The thought slid through his whiskey-soaked mind like poison, and he was too tired, too drunk and too defeated to fight it.