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His forehead furrowed while he considered the idea.
Susan held her breath.
“And Susan is responsible enough to manage herself, Casper, let her go it will do no harm.” Susan looked at her mother who had come back out of the drawing room and stood just before the open door.
Only days before her mother had been afraid of highway men, obviously Susan’s responsible nature would frighten them away. Or perhaps it was the ridiculous anomaly she presented. She heard the words in Henry’s voice.
Her hand lifted and her fingers slid her spectacles farther up her nose.
Her father looked at her. “Very well, you may go.”
“Thank you, Papa.” She walked over and wrapped her arms about his neck.
His arms came about her, knocking her bonnet loose, so it tumbled off her head and rolled down to hang from the ribbons about her neck.
“Enjoy your day,” he said into her ear.
“I shall immensely.” They let each other go. “And at the end of the fortnight I shall show you my endeavours. I am quite pleased with myself.”
“Bless you.” His fingertips touched her cheek.
She turned away, without putting her bonnet back on, and walked out through the open door. Dodds was standing outside, speaking with one of the footmen. She had a sense that he had bestowed a warning for the men escorting her to take greater care as she travelled alone with only a maid to guard her reputation. The maid had already taken her place on the seat beside the coachman.
She smiled at Dodds when he opened the door of the carriage, accepted his hand and climbed up.
Within the carriage she righted her bonnet as Dodds shut the door. Then they were away.
She had not travelled in the carriage alone before.
Her heart pulsed quickly as she stared out of the window watching the passing view around the brim of her bonnet.
The tall remains of the walls of the ruined abbey in Farnborough’s grounds peaked above the trees in the distance. The Abbey marked the border of Uncle Robert’s land and Henry’s cousin’s, Rob’s, property. She had known Rob since her childhood too, his father was also a friend of her father’s.
She had always liked Rob. He was quieter than Henry and he’d never been self-obsessed. She liked Rob’s wife too. Caro was also quiet, and friendly, though, she shied away from crowds and strangers. They therefore never attended the local balls but Susan saw them frequently at her parents’ and Aunt Jane’s dinner parties.
The road followed a wall which surrounded Uncle Robert’s estate. The wall stretched for miles, but they were not following it all. It broke at the main gateway and the carriage turned to pass between the open iron gates and the giant lion statues guarding the entrance.
The carriage slowed when the gatekeeper came out of his lodge, but he looked at her father’s emblem on the side and waved them on.
The drive to the house from the gate seemed nearly as long as the journey had been from her home. But it was pretty this time of year, with the huge horse chestnut trees covered in white flowers.
Excitement gathered inside her when she neared the house.
Her new project was stimulating, she had never been very good at idleness, and embroidery and sewing were really not her calling. As the carriage passed beneath the arch into the courtyard, she smiled at herself when her reflection appeared in the glass for a moment. Perhaps she was like Alethea in some ways; she had just admitted she was no good at being idle. Perhaps in her, her mother’s and Alethea’s enthusiasm and constant hurrying and need for activity, was exposed in a desire for an active mind.
Uncle Robert walked out of the house surrounded by three of the dogs. Not Samson.
He stopped and stood still as the carriage turned and drew to a halt then he came forward and opened the door. “I thought Henry had sent word to say do not come.” He looked beyond Susan, clearly seeking Alethea, but then he held out his hand to Susan to aid her descent as the dogs barked their greeting. Once he’d let go of Susan, Uncle Robert silenced them with a lifted hand. They continued to wave their tails.
“He did, but I was ready and I wished to come over and paint anyway. You do not mind?”
“Of course I do not mind, Susan, you know you are welcome. Come I shall escort you in before I go about my business.”
The large dogs walked beside them, tails swishing at the air. If Samson had been among them he would have surreptitiously, out of sight of Uncle Robert’s discipline, nudged Susan’s hip for some particular attention. Perhaps that was another bad habit that Henry had encouraged, and another reason why Samson was so attached to the heir of the family.
She did not see Aunt Jane, Sarah or Christine when they walked through the house. He opened the library door. “There.” He stepped back and let her pass. “You’ll not be disturbed, Sarah and Christine have returned to their lessons now that the excitement over Henry’s return has settled down, and Jane is with Henry, I believe.”
Susan looked at him as she undid the ribbons of her bonnet. “Is he suffering very badly?”
“I believe so, but it is what he deserves, and it may yet teach him the lesson he has kept refusing to learn from me. But today I think he is simply feeling sorry for himself. He has refused to dress because it is too painful, he has said he merely wishes to remain in his room so he might rest without the need for a sling. I am sure he will be up and about again in a couple of days and Alethea may call to fuss over him once more.” Uncle Robert’s pitch seemed to laugh at the idea.
Susan did laugh—at his jocular manner—not at the fact that Alethea would fuss or that Henry was in pain.
As Uncle Robert’s eldest son, and his heir, Henry had been spoilt horridly.
Uncle Robert had often admitted it too and mocked himself for the error of it, although perhaps never in Henry’s hearing. It was usually when he was speaking with her father. Perhaps she was not meant to have heard…
“Shall I have a maid bring you some tea?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
“I will have Davis tell Jane you are here, and that you are not to be disturbed.”
She was not always sure with Uncle Robert when he was speaking seriously and when he was making fun. His tone of voice always held a lilt which had a measure of amusement and unless he chose to reveal the humour in his words, sometimes it skipped past her. His manner of mocking life, and himself, made him extremely likeable, though. She supposed it was where Henry had inherited his charm from.
“Good day, Susan.” He bowed his head in parting then turned away. “Come!” he called at the dogs, rallying them. “Susan shall not want you disturbing her, you may go down to the kitchens.”
“Good day, Uncle Robert!” She called as he shut the door.
She took off her bonnet and cloak and set them down on a chair. The maid could take them when she brought the tea.
Her parchment, the box of water paints, her brushes and the book she’d been using were left where she’d used them on the desk yesterday. She opened the giant book and sought a new orchid to copy. Ophrys apifera. It had a petal which looked as though a bee was sitting on the flower. It would be hard to capture correctly and yet she wished to challenge herself, and at least on this there were only three small flowers, others had dozens of flowers on a stem.
Her hand lifted and her fingers pushed her spectacles a little farther up her nose. She bit her top lip as she chose a charcoal to sketch the picture with first.
The room seemed darker today, there was not as much light on the desk. She looked up and realised the shutters were still closed over the windows before the sofa.
When she opened them, her mind’s eye saw Henry lying on the sofa, asleep, a patchwork of ghastly colours.
A slight knock tapped the door. “Come!” The maid who had brought the tea entered. “Set it there please. Thank you.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and left with Susan’s cloak and bonnet.
Susan poured herself a cup of tea and carried it over to the desk, then concentrated on copying the shape of the orchid correctly.
When the clock in the room chimed once, there was a gentle knock on the door.
Susan jumped. She’d been entirely absorbed in her painting. Her tea cup was still full and the tea within it chilled.
The door opened. “Susan.” Aunt Jane stood with the door handle in her hand. “You must come and eat luncheon with us. You cannot hide yourself away in here all day and starve.”
Susan straightened up and smiled. “Thank you. I will be there in a moment.”
“Very well.” Aunt Jane turned away. Susan dipped her brush in the water to clean it, then dabbed it on the rag to dry it. She looked down at her painting, it was slow work today because there were so many tiny details on the bee petals, but she thought she was progressing well, she seemed to be improving.
The family at the table were Aunt Jane, Sarah and Christine.
Uncle Robert was still out undertaking whatever business he was about.
“Is Henry not coming down, Mama,” Christine asked as Susan sat down.
“He is not. He is not dressed.”
“But we are only family, it would hardly matter if he did not have his shirt on.”
Aunt Jane looked apologetically at Susan.
“Susan is like family,” Christine declared, disregarding the subtle reprimand.
Guilt pierced Susan’s side, she had not come here to prevent Henry having the freedom of his home. “I am sorry. I did not realise. I should not have come—”
“Nonsense. Do not be silly,” Aunt Jane chided. “It will do Henry no harm to remain upstairs, and he has been sick most of the morning so I do not think he will attempt luncheon regardless of his state of dress.”
Susan’s guilt cut deeper. “Has he a fever? Uncle Robert said he was only in too much pain to dress.” She had thought Henry in a lazy, sullen mood. Her instinctive sense of empathy, that she had fought yesterday evening, pulled within her.
“It is not a fever; he took too much laudanum without eating and is suffering for it. I think he also took a bottle of his father’s brandy to his room last night to help further numb the pain, and of course nor do laudanum and brandy mix. I think now he has had enough of laudanum.”
Christine and Sarah laughed.
Laughter gathered in Susan’s throat too, but for the first time in her life she felt wholly in charity with Henry. She could no longer deny her instinct to feel sorry for him, and wish to help. He had been in a lot of pain when he’d come to the library yesterday she did not think less of him for seeking to free himself from it.
She would not stay long after luncheon, then if he wished to come down and take tea with his family, shirtless, he might. An image formed un-beckoned in her mind of him lying asleep on the sofa in the library, shirtless, an artwork of bruises.
Once Susan had eaten she returned to the library. She would finish the detail on the flower she was working on and then she would ask Aunt Jane if she might travel home in their carriage.
A maid came into the room at three. “Miss Susan, Lady Barrington sent me to ask if you wished for tea?”
She had worked on and on and forgotten the time. “No, thank you, but is my aunt in the drawing room.”
“She is, Miss Susan.”
“And has Lord Henry come down?”
“No, miss, he is taking tea in his room.”
He must have risen from his bed at least then.
“Susan.” Christine walked about the maid, entering the room with a quick stride. “Sarah and I are going to take the dogs out as far as the meadow, would you like to come? It is one of those lovely fresh days, with a breeze to sweep away the fidgets and a pleasant sky without the sun pounding down upon you.”
Susan looked out of the window. It was a middling day, with a light grey sky, and she could see the breeze was strong as the clouds whisked across it. It would be refreshing to go for a walk before she returned home. She looked back at Christine. “Thank you, I would love to join you.”
Christine smiled. “I am going to fetch my bonnet and a cloak.” She looked at the maid. “Will you have someone bring Miss Forth’s to the hall?”
The maid curtsied in acknowledgement and left them. Christine looked at Susan. “I shall meet you in the hall, then.” Then she was gone too.
Susan tidied up her things and thought of Samson upstairs with Henry, while the guilt she had felt at luncheon skipped around her, taunting her with a pointed finger of accusation.
She shut her paints away in their box, and closed the book. She would not come back until Henry sent for Alethea.
She had maligned Henry in her thoughts too much. He did deserve some sympathy. Perhaps she could offer to walk Samson, as Henry could not take the dog out. Perhaps she should prize Samson free from his precious idol and give him some fresh air too. Henry would most likely appreciate the gesture, and there was little else her sense of empathy might do to be quietened.
She decided to go up to his sitting room before meeting Sarah and Christine in the hall. She knew where his suite of rooms were. She did not need a servant to show her up. They had still been playmates at the point he’d moved into his current rooms.
She left the library and instead of making her way to the family room walked past it and on to the main hall, where the dark, square, wooden stairs climbed upward about the walls. No one was there, the footman had probably gone to fetch her outdoor things.
Her hand slipped over the waxed wood of the bannister as she hurried up the stairs to Henry’s rooms on the second floor.
She remembered his huge bedchamber, and beside that a dressing room and a large sitting room, with a desk and about half a dozen chairs in it. He had been allocated the rooms because he was the eldest, the heir—and the most spoilt.
When she reached the second floor she turned to the right. His rooms were at the end. He’d moved into them one summer when he’d been home from Eton, in his last year there, and he’d made Susan and Alethea go upstairs to look at the space he’d been given solely to show-off.
She walked to the end of the hall and tapped on the door she knew was his sitting room. If he was out of bed and taking tea, he would be in there. If he did not answer she would presume him undressed and still in bed and go away.
“Come!”
Her heart pounded foolishly as she opened the door. She could not see him. But one of the high backed chairs had been turned to face the window and she could see the footstool before it and a tray containing a teapot, cup and saucer, and a small plate of cakes, was on a low table beside it.
“Henry?” she said as she walked across the room. “I—”
“Susan…” His pitch carried incredulity as he stood up before her.
He was not clothed! Who took tea in a sitting room unclothed?
Or rather he was clothed but only in a loose dressing gown that covered one shoulder and was left hanging beneath his bad arm before being held together by a sash at his waist.
He held his damaged arm across his middle. It drew her eyes to his stomach. She had thought him muscular yesterday but today she could see all the lines of the muscle beneath his tarnished skin on the exposed half of his body. He sported a variety of shades of blue, black, dark red, bright red and gruesome yellow, and his shoulder was entirely black as she had guessed yesterday, and the bruising ran not only down his chest but also covered his arm.
“What are you doing here? Being rebellious again? What do you wish for?” His initial tone may have been incredulous, but now his voice mocked her as it always had.
Her gaze lifted to his face. “I thought you were taking tea?”
His eyes laughed at her. “I am taking tea, alone, here, in my private rooms.”
“But, who drinks tea, in…”
“In what?”
Embarrassment engulfed her. She had been about to accuse him of being naked, although he was not quite. She looked at Samson, who had risen when Henry had, like Henry’s shadow. He had been on the far side of the chair.
