Alex pursed his lips as Henry’s words struck closer to his heart than he wished to admit. “I’m not avoiding responsibility.”
“You’re postponing it then. But your reckoning comes when Redborne returns to town and you ask for Rose’s hand.” Henry picked up the letter and waved it in the air. “Time is running out for this little dalliance with the sister.”
“Her name is Fern,” Alex burst out, his breath gasping. “And it’s…” He sat on his bed and buried his head in his hands. “It’s more than that.”
Henry turned his chair to face his friend head-on. “What do you mean?”
Alex lifted his head and gave a weak laugh. “I’m certain now what I feel for Fern is more than a passing interest. She’s…”
“Different?” Henry offered, echoing their previous conversation.
“Phenomenal.” His throat suddenly closed up with the force of his emotions. He felt an uncontrollable need to be the one who convinced her of how phenomenal she truly was.
Henry cleared his throat. “Will you really go so far as to end things with Rose, then?”
Alex groaned. “If I do, I’ll certainly lose my recommendation to Strathmore, and London.”
“It will be hard to gain a position with such a black mark against you,” Henry conceded.
“But marrying Rose, seeing Fern as a sister, I couldn’t—” Alex dropped his head back into his hands. “And even if I ended things, and Rose was devastated, I couldn’t ask for Fern’s hand in exchange, Redborne would have my head.”
“So what do you want, Alex?”
Alex lifted his head. “I need to see Fern. Just to talk to her for a moment. If I can ask her, directly, tell her my intentions…”
“And what are your intentions?”
The answer came to him with such stunning clarity he needed to close his eyes. A weight lifted from his shoulders, the release of so much tension he nearly laughed aloud. “I’m in love with Fern,” he said, not bothering to hide his smile. “I know I am, and I think she loves me too.”
Henry sat back and rubbed the back of his neck as he released a deep exhale. “That’s…yes, she needs to know that.”
Alex nodded. “So you see why I can’t marry Rose.”
“I agree it would be a poor idea.” Henry shook his head with a chuckle. “Remind me again why I am the one to deliver this note, in my dreadful handwriting?”
“Rose will recognize my hand, and I can’t put Fern in the position of having to explain why I’m writing to her,” he replied. “Rose needs to find out about us, but Fern wants to be the one to tell her. And if you go, you can insist upon an answer before leaving. You can charm anyone, Henry. Surely you can keep Rose occupied until Fern writes a response.”
Henry hesitated, then folded the letter, writing Fern’s name on the exterior. “You have to get yourself out of this mess, Alex. You’ve worked too hard to be undone by such nonsense.”
“I know,” he replied. “I just hope I don’t destroy everything in the process.”
Chapter 26
Thirty-fourpaintingsonthefirst floor. Fourteen landscapes; eleven portraits, five individuals and four of the family; six hunting scenes; three still lifes, mostly fruit.
As far as Fern knew, there had never been a detailed accounting of the artwork in Boar’s Hill, and while she did not anticipate a need for such information, with limitless time on her hands it seemed like an appropriately mindless task to keep her distracted.
While she clung to a ludicrous hope Sylvester would change his mind and Alex would declare his love for her while Rose stepped aside graciously, deep down she knew it was hopeless. Her only path was to escape the situation entirely. If she left Oxford, the lies she had told her sister and her prolonged deception of Alex would never come to light, and the people she hurt would never know of her actions. Cowardly, and certain to destroy her, but perhaps the people she loved could remain unscathed.
“Do you need some help, Fern?” Rose asked from her perch on the settee in the parlor. She was curled onto the yellow silk brocade reading a novel, the light from the leaden glass window behind her illuminating her profile like a religious icon.
“I don’t mind doing this alone,” Fern replied absently.
“And I don’t mind helping, although I’m not entirely certain why this task is so pressing.” Rose stood, smoothing her damask skirt, and assessed her sister with a furrow in her brow. “I know you’re still upset about the meeting, Fern.”
Fern set her lips in a firm line, not breaking her gaze from her notes. “It’s fine,” she said. “It cannot be helped.”
“Surely you can do something—”
