“Henry.”
He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes to see his mother standing in the doorway to the library. A deep crease divided her brow as she looked over her son, and Henry could imagine her thoughts.What a waste. What a disappointment.
Henry sat up and propped his elbows on his knees, then rested his forehead on his palms. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
The cushion depressed beside him as his mother sat. “For what?”
He shrugged, the gesture dislodging his head from his palms and forcing him to sit up. “Take your pick. I’ve given you a menu of disappointments this year.”
His mother flicked an invisible piece of lint from her skirt. “I don’t worry about those things, darling. Your father does, perhaps, but not me.” She placed her hand over Henry’s. “I worry about your heart.”
Huffing out a laugh, Henry placed his other hand over his mother’s. “My heart? I’m not a child.”
“You’remychild, and I will worry about your heart until the day I leave this earth.” She twisted until Henry had to meet her eyes. “You looked a mess when Lord and Lady Ashby departed, as though you were ready to leap into the carriage with them.” She paused, her eyes softening. “Did you ever tell her about what you did, the morning—”
“No,” he interrupted firmly, withdrawing his hand from hers. “And I have no intention of doing so. It wouldn’t change anything.”
His mother sat back in her seat, her eyes down. “You’ve been intolerable this past year, Henry. Indulging far too much, not giving a fig for your own health.” She sighed. “Every night I go to bed expecting a constable to wake me, reporting you’ve been found dead in an alley somewhere.”
Henry took his mother’s hand and squeezed it, guilt clogging his throat.
“I can’t see you like this, darling,” she continued. “Have you considered your father’s offer?”
“I’m not smart enough to manage an investment.” His shoulders slumped.
“You’re plenty intelligent, and you’d have a partner. Your father said Mr. Brightling is a brilliant man and eager to take you on as an apprentice.”
“I’ll only muck it up. I can’t be trusted.”
“I trust you. Your father trusts you.” His mother cupped his cheek, and instantly he was a boy again, seeking the comfort of her arms when he woke from a nightmare, trusting her to solve his problems and make the world whole again. “We both want to see you settled down, not for the estate, but foryou, so you can find happiness.”
And happiness would not be found with Ellie.
“Was father serious when he said Brightling’s daughter was looking to marry?” Henry’s words made his gut twist.
His mother pursed her lips. “She took a liking to you when you met last month. Did you feel anything for her?”
Nothing. Not the slightest hint of attraction to the passably pretty young lady who cast anxious glance at him all night while he drowned himself in champagne.
“Miss Brightling could make you happy, darling.”
No, she never could. But perhaps marrying her would make his mother happy, his father proud.
Henry sighed and pressed his palms into his thighs, pushing himself up to standing. “Is Father still awake?”
The London Lark, 15 January 1900
A little bird told me a collective feminine cry of disbelief and sorrow echoed over Mayfair with the news of the engagement of Lord Morley to Miss Claire Brightling of Cardiff. Miss Brightling, a relative unknown to London society, is reportedly the daughter of a railroad magnate who is in business with Lord Morley’s father, the Earl of Fensworth.
While this all sounds horribly wholesome, never fear. We will have some time to enjoy our favorite scoundrel’s exploits before he attaches the proverbial ball and chain, as Miss Brightling will travel to America with her family for at least a year before the nuptials. Keep your eyes on this paper, as we will detail Lord Morley’s exploits in detail.
18 February 1900
Dear Lady Ashby,
I was saddened to hear of the passing of your husband this past week. I hope you find comfort in your memories of happy times together.
I hope this is not too forward, but may I call on you? I know you are in mourning, but I hate the idea of you being alone. It took quite a bit of hunting, but I found a shop in Camden that sells pistachio gelato. I could bring you some, although it may be a puddle by the time I reach you. Seeing your smile would be worth the trek. By now, you must have heard the news of my engagement. I feel I owe you an explanation, and it is best given in person.
