“Alex, I—”
“No,” he interrupted, leaning forward and jabbing his finger in Henry's direction. “You need to hear this. You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever known. Remember what a wreck I was when I left Fern? If it weren’t for you, I would probably be glowering in a library somewhere, missing her desperately.”
“Now you glower in a library just for fun.”
“See?” Alex cried, pointing at Henry’s chest. “You are constantly celebrating the happiness of others. And you deserve happiness too.”
Henry dropped his head, his gut churning even as he felt the glow of friendship in his chest. “She won’t have me, Alex. What can I do?”
A wry smile pulled at Alex’s lips. “Remember when you climbed the bell tower and got stuck?”
Henry moaned. “It would have been disastrous if you hadn’t gotten me down.”
“Did they ever find all the hedgehogs?”
“No, but the birdbaths smelled like perfume for months after. I’m still sorry about your hat, though.”
Alex shuddered. “I couldn’t eat marmalade for years after that.” The men chuckled, and for the first time in weeks, Henry felt as though something remained in his heart. He may have lost Ellie, but he still had his friends. “You've gotten out of worse messes than this. The question for you is, is she worth the effort?”
“Undoubtedly. With her, I finally felt whole.”
“It sounds to me like you love her,” Alex said, without a hint of doubt.
“I do love her. But I’m rubbish with words, you know that.”
“Then show her another way.” Alex lifted and slumped his shoulders in a sigh. “Fern said you should paint what you love. Why don’t you start there?”
“Were you talking about me?” Fern opened the door and stepped inside, eying the tray of uneaten biscuits. “Because I’m starving, and I’ll cover my ears if I can have another go at the snacks.” Her eyes lit up. “Or perhaps a pie?” She grinned at Alex. “Can you get me a pie?”
Alex laughed as he wrapped his arms around his wife, placing his hand on the burgeoning swell of her stomach. “Anything for you, my love.”
An idea began bubbling in Henry’s mind, quickly taking shape. “I think I know what to do, but I’ll need your help.”
“Of course,” Alex said with a smile. “What are friends for?”
Chapter 32
Abriskwindsweptacross the Prince’s Gardens, lifting Ellie’s shawl from her bare arms and sending a shiver down her spine. The scorching days of summer had given way to an early autumn chill without a hint of resistance, as though even nature had grown weary of the musty heat.
The sun had barely dipped beyond the horizon when Ellie reached the facade of 11 Ennismore Gardens, glancing down at the engraved card to confirm the address in Knightsbridge. Having memorized the direction did not assuage her doubts. She had handled the card frequently over the past month, tracing her fingers over each bold letter until the ink smudged, the edges soft as linen against the kidskin of her gloves.
Her heart thudded as she approached the modest building and blinked, suddenly unsure if she was doing the right thing by even being there. The invitation sent to her childhood home, delivered by a footman in Fensworth livery, was the only indication of Henry’s existence. No rumors circulated in the press, no sightings in the clubs, no visits to her home. No letters.
Blood rushed in her ears as she approached the entrance and she swayed on her feet. If he wanted her there, Henry would have said so, somehow. The invitation did not even have her name on it, just her direction.I should leave. My presence would only upset him.
Ellie took a step back and started to flee when a footman swung open the door, the glow from inside the parlor spilling onto the sidewalk. He looked at her expectantly for a moment before she gave a weak smile and lifted her skirts to ascend the three steps into the building, heart thudding in her throat.
As soon as she entered the first gallery space, she gasped. The space was…
Empty.
Her stomach dropped. Only one other gentleman made a leisurely perusal of the landscape on the wall, barely giving it a second glance before moving on to the next frame. Her breath came in bursts, tears pushing at her eyes as she looked at the canvases.
She recognized Henry’s style, the quick brush strokes and attention to color. But the paintings were lifeless, as though all of Henry’s essence had been diluted until nothing remained, the result washed out and soulless. Where was the passion she had seen in his sketches in Italy? The joy he experienced when creating art and the love emanating from everything he touched? He must be devastated. This work was nothing likehim. This was—
“Brilliant, simply exquisite.” Ellie’s eyes darted to the woman crossing into the foyer from deeper in the house, a gentleman on her arm. A rumble of conversation accompanied them and was quickly muted when the heavy door shut behind them.
The man made a grunt of agreement. “It’s a pity he won’t sell any of it.”
