“The condition of your walk is a disgrace. I nearly broke my neck out there.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Lord Ashby.” Henry’s mother spoke with soothing tones, but his heart pounded at her words, the name he ached to hear echoing as he surged forward.
“And Lady Ashby, how lovely to see you,” his mother continued as Henry reached her side.
Piercing gray eyes lifted to meet his, and he was reminded of the first time he saw her across the ballroom, the pride and strength in her expression as she held her head high.
A completely different woman blinked at him. Her skin was pale and dull, and dark circles hung below her eyes. Her ample figure was diminished, and while society would now consider her proportions fashionable, it was as though her very essence had wasted away as well, leaving a shell of the girl he had once known. He hated it.
“Lady El—Lady Ashby,” he stammered, bowing.
She gave him the merest hint of a smile, her tense lips lifting for only a second before resuming their straight line. “Thank you for having me, Lady Fensworth, Lord Morley.”
Her words, thin and reedy, barely crossed the space between them before fading into nothing. Henry spoke as though she might disappear if he didn’t catch her attention now. “Lady Ashby, would you—”
A throat cleared at Ellie’s side, the sound so rough Henry nearly put his hand to his own throat in sympathy. He met the gaze of a grizzled man, the waxy folds of his skin speckled with brown dots, his thin lips set in a sneer. Despite his feeble state, the earl carried himself like an emperor, looking at Henry as though he were an insect he would happily crush on his way to supper. An unpleasant shiver ran down Henry’s spine.
Lord Ashly nodded in Henry’s direction. “Happy Christmas, Morley,” he said, as though he wished him anything but. Ashby clasped Ellie’s elbow, and Henry witnessed her slight wince before her composure returned, her expression pure complacency.
His mother released a slow hiss as they watched Lord and Lady Ashby pass into the ballroom. “What is it?” Henry asked, his throat tight.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” She sighed again, and Henry gave her a subtle nudge with his shoulder. He missed the casual closeness they shared when he was a boy, but he never felt he could burden his mother with his darkness. When the spells overcame him, he disappeared, escaping to Eton or Oxford, or to his own apartments once he was of age. His mother had given him nothing but joy and light, and he should give her the same.
His mother shook her head again. “She’s too young to be stuck with a man like Ashby.”
Henry stilled. “What do you mean? He’s old, yes, but she’s a countess now.”
“She may be a countess, but at what cost?”
Alarm bells rang in his head. “Mother, what are you saying?”
His cousin William swept into the foyer with a gush of icy wind, his wife and toddler daughter in tow, their cheeks pink and wearing wide smiles. “I’m sorry, Auntie,” he said, hefting the small girl into his arms. “She refused to sleep and I just couldn’t bear to be away from her.”
Henry stared at his cousin in disbelief. Not long ago, the young marquess had been the scoundrel by his side, but when Delphine caught his eye, Williamwas smitten. Now William spent his evenings playing dolls and Henry couldn’t remember the last time he had joined them for cards, always begging off to put his children to bed.
Smug bastard.
“Do you remember your cousin Henry, Sophie?” Henry received the girl when William passed her over, the pliant child settling into his arms.
“Hullo, cousin Henry,” she mumbled, averting her gaze and causing dark brown ringlets to swing against her plump cheeks. Her childlike scent wrapped around him, like powder and fresh soap and sunshine.
Henry saw the resemblance to his cousin's wife in the girl’s dark hair and dimples, but her eyes were a mirror of her father’s. Would there ever be a child that resembled Henry, a cherubic face that lit up inhispresence?
He glanced up to see William wrap his arm around his wife’s waist, placing a tender kiss on her temple. A longing, quick and poignant, settled below his breastbone. Before he could examine it, he thrust the girl back to William. “I need a drink,” he muttered, storming off.
How dare they rub their contentment in his face? How did everyone find fulfillment with a person who made them comfortable and confident in their own skin? Instead Henry reached out for every vice to distract himself into thinking he was happy, only to have his peace disappear again at dawn.
Fresh tumbler of whiskey in his hand, he swept through the ballroom full of happy couples celebrating the holiday and turned down the hallway towards the gentlemen’s parlor. Perhaps a bit of gambling would take his mind off—
“Lord Morley?”
Henry froze at the words, their smoky tone settling in his bones and soothing him. Ellie stood behind him, and for one thrilling moment, he wondered if she had sought him out, hadwantedhis company. “Lady Ashby, are you well?” he managed.
She blinked, thick lashes sweeping over her silvery eyes. An absurd question, he realized, as he already knew the answer. “I’m well,” she said. “And you?”
Another absurd question. He clutched his whiskey as though it were a life force. His jacket hung off his shoulders, as he had been too lazy to have it tailored and he had never hired a new valet after his last one quit. A steady diet of hard spirits and little sleep had drained him. “I’m well.”
She swallowed and then opened her mouth to speak, but Henry was too agitated to wait. “We didn’t have the opportunity to drink our brandy last year, so I bought a particularly special bottle for tonight. We could go to the library. I had a fire started—”
