Chapter 31
Henry ought to have gotten a response from Carlton by now.
It had been days, and he was beginning to feel as if his lungs were held in a constant vice, constricting further and further every hour that passed.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and it was being coupled with a sensation that he’d forgotten something important.
He would have thought it was due to his increased vigilance, but it was more than that. It was Alice.
There was something about her that was familiar. More familiar than the fact that they’d now known each other a month. More familiar than a face he might have seen in London once or twice.
Yet no matter how many evenings he spent in her company, nor how many stolen moments he took to enjoy a walk or game of cards with only her, he could not discover just what it was.
Henry made his way downstairs to break his fast, stretching out his shoulder that had nearly returned to normal.
A yawn overtook him as he reached the entrance hall.
His dreams had been filled with swirling dance figures, masked individuals, and pirates demanding he give them Alice’s maps.
He felt as if he had hardly slept at all.
The knowledge that he could possibly have known Alice before this party needled him.
It felt important, but how could it be as important as the Gentleman Pirate, or the relationship itself blooming between him and Alice?
Perhaps they’d attended a party or assembly together.
Perhaps he’d even danced with her and that was why their dance days before had so jogged his memory.
But he’d have remembered her, certainly.
No matter how much of a wallflower she claimed to have been.
“Sir Henry?” a masculine voice called from down the hall.
He turned to face the butler, who held out a letter. Henry’s heart thumped as he took it, thanking the man even as he tore the seal. The information Carlton would be sending was too important to wait.
But it was short. And in an unfamiliar hand.
When you hunt shadows, they have a way of learning your shape. Hold her close while you still can.
Henry’s throat grew suddenly dry. He flipped the paper over, but saw only his name scrawled across the back.
“Man!” he called, chasing after the butler. “Who gave this to you?”
The servant frowned. “No one, sir. It was here when I came up just now.” He pointed to the table beneath a grand painting in the hall.
Henry thrust forward the paper, showing only his name on the back. “Do you recognize this hand? Someone in the household, perhaps?”
To his credit, the man did not flinch away from Henry’s intensity. He peered down at the two little words on the page, then cleared his throat. “I apologize, sir. My eyes are not what once they were, and I see a great deal of correspondence.”
Carruthers had said that he’d received too much correspondence. Had he sent this as well?
“Lieutenant Carruthers,” he said, his voice low. “Have you anything of his—anything at all? A letter to, or from, him?”
The butler blinked, and Henry knew he was pushing too far. But they had threatened Alice.
They had threatened her. Something had to be done.
“Please,” he said, the word torn from his dry throat.
The butler looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.
“He has asked me to post this,” he said, walking the rest of the way to the table.
He pushed aside two missives, then pulled one out.
Thankfully, the superscription was long, though it had no name.
The address alone was enough that Henry had much to compare to.
And, almost definitively, he could say it was not the same hand that wrote the threat he held. If he was smart, the writer would have disguised his handwriting, so it did not truly say anything conclusive.
Henry tossed it back onto the table, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Mrs. Seymour. Where would I find her?”
The man did not hesitate. “The gardens.”
“Thank you.” He paused only a moment. “Remind me of your name, man?”
“Milton, sir.”
“Thank you, Milton.”
The old man’s mouth lifted into a semblance of a smile and he bowed.
Henry jogged to the back of the house, his empty stomach forgotten.
His eyes scoured the lush gardens as he exited onto the stone steps. Alice was not—
There, some twenty paces from the house, just within the hedge maze, a couple was kissing.
A couple including his sister. Blast!
“Oi!” he yelled, starting toward them and registering the man to be Lord Jennings.
Julia’s hands were planted on the blackguard’s chest, and she seemed to be pushing herself away.
Shocked cries from his left told him more people had arrived.
Thunder and turf!
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. Henry pulled Lord Jennings back, and Julia gasped, stumbling away. Her hands covered her mouth, a glaze of moisture in her eyes.
Henry barely held himself back as he stepped between his sister and the man who’d been accosting her. His hands curled into fists at his side, and he shook with the effort to keep them there. “Ten seconds,” he said to Jennings. “You have ten seconds to explain.”
Jennings bowed his head, but something in that penitent expression did not appear sincere.
The man was as difficult to read as a stone.
It might have behooved Henry to thoroughly search him instead of those entangled in the smuggling scheme.
“Forgive me,” the viscount said, “it seems I forgot myself for a moment.” He looked around at the small crowd that had gathered.
A maid and footman could be seen at the back door into the house.
Mrs. Watts appeared near to swooning beside Lieutenant Carruthers.
Henry groaned within. He hadn’t time for this. He needed to find Alice.
“You must know I intend to do right by your sister,” Jennings offered. He was saying all the right things, but his words were calm, placating. Lacking warmth.
“No!” Julia cried, her one word holding a hundred times the fire of any of Jennings’s. Henry turned to her, loath to take his eyes off the viscount, as if he’d abscond with whatever shreds of Julia’s reputation remained.
“Julia,” Henry said in an undertone, stepping closer to keep their conversation from carrying, not that it could help much at this point. “What happened?”
Julia crossed arms over her midsection, those unshed tears catching the light of the morning sun.
“I was walking in the garden when Lord Jennings found me. He has been persistent in his interest, but I never . . . Henry, I did not encourage this, I swear it.” Her whispered voice rose to a pitch as her fingers whitened.
Henry’s heart cracked at that sight of her so distraught, but he could not let emotion dictate his decisions. All of Julia’s future suddenly hung in the balance. He had to make a choice for her. The right choice.
His eyes swung back to the people around them. The maid and footman retreated hastily, but Mrs. Watts stepped forward. “I . . . I . . . Gracious. Can I help?”
Henry jerked his head from side to side. “No. Go, please.” Somehow, his mind believed that if the audience did not continue, all would be well. They could pretend this had never happened.
But it had, and they could not.
Lieutenant Carruthers held the door as Mrs. Watts entered the home with several glances over her shoulders before he leveled Henry with a stare.
“Should you need a second, I am a very fine shot.”
Jennings stiffened, an actual bit of concern flashing across his eyes. Henry stared at the lieutenant. “I appreciate the offer, Carruthers.”
The man dipped his head and followed Mrs. Watts.
Henry’s teeth ground together, his mind racing with options. “I ought to take him up on his offer,” he said to Jennings.
The viscount lifted his hands in surrender.
“I apologize, truly I do. I cannot help the feelings that rise in me around Miss Ainsley. I want to marry her; I will make her a viscountess, Sir Henry. I will give her the world, if you’d but let me.
” The man’s expression even appeared contrite. Pained, almost.
Torn, Henry stood. He could see how much Julia needed this. Not only did Henry want her cared for, but also, between this and his potential financial ruin, she may never have another chance to marry.
This was it.
And in terms of opportunities, it was not a terrible one. As Jennings had said, she’d be a viscountess. She would be safe from Henry.
Every bit of him wanted to say yes. It was the right choice to make.
The door to the drawing room opened again, and Alice appeared, eyes concerned. Everything in Henry seemed to sigh in relief at the sight of her. She was here. She was whole.
Somehow appearing to know just what was occurring, she came down the steps to join their group.
Much as she’d done, without realizing, to remove alcohol from his life, her presence now had him seeing more clearly. Wanting to be the best version of himself. For her. And for Julia.
He could not force his sister into a marriage. Of course, he couldn’t.
“It is not my choice to make, though I believe I will recommend my sister against marriage.” He turned to Julia.
Her eyes rounded, and a puff of breath escaped her. They’d formed an odd sort of triangle—Jennings at the tip, Henry, Julia, and Alice at the bottom. For the first time in a long while, he was facing a problem with others by his side.
“Julia?” he asked.
“I . . . ” She looked over at Jennings, and oddly, hesitation crossed her face. Henry would never have predicted her hesitance to refuse the man. For years now, since she’d been publicly humiliated by a man she was meant to marry, she’d been hardened to the idea of marriage. Vehemently opposed.
Did she actually care for Jennings?
“I will marry him,” she stated. Her words were wane. Lifeless.
He stared at her in shock.
“No, Julia,” Henry whispered. “You do not have to do this.”
Her gaze connected with his, the tears gone, replaced with a steely determination. “I do.”