Page 63 of One Waltz with the Viscount

He thought of all the times in the last few years that he had accepted his fate without a fight, and a surge of anger bloomed inside him. No more. Today he would fight for himself and fight for his sister.

‘Pack a bag,’ he said, his mind finally made up. ‘Just the very essential items.’

‘You’re taking me with you?’

‘Yes.’ It was foolhardy and could end up with him facing the hangman’s noose, but this time his father had pushed him too far. Sarah had made him see that he could still make his own decisions, that even though he had made one mistake in his life that didn’t mean he shouldn’t keep striving for autonomy. His father was not going to set the terms he lived by for the rest of his life.

Sophia gave a little shake of excitement, then quickly disappeared into the bedroom at the back of the nursery. Within three minutes she was back, carrying a small bag. She’d changed from her nightgown into a dress, swapping her slippers for sensible boots.

‘Are you ready?’

She nodded.

Henry was aware this was not the sort of behaviour expected of a Viscount, but his father had forced his hand by trying to manipulate him for so long. He only hoped they managed to escape unseen.

‘Henry?’ His father’s voice cut through the air as they reached the bottom step of the staircase. They were only twenty paces from the door—Henry considered grabbing hold of Sophia’s hand and running, but he realised it was important he turn and face his father. Carefully he positioned Sophia so she was a little behind him, hopefully protected from the worst of their father’s malice.

‘I’m taking Sophia away from here,’ he said. There was no point trying to make an excuse for what he was doing here so late in the evening. It was clear Sophia was leaving with him and, for all his other flaws, Lord Burwell was a clever man.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Sophia, get back to the nursery.’

He was pleased to see his sister did not move.

‘Mrs French,’ Lord Burwell bellowed. ‘Mrs French, get your incompetent, lazy self down here immediately.’

‘We’re leaving, Father. I am not going to marry Lady Isabelle and Sophia is not going to marry Lord Tutley.’

‘No,’ Lord Burwell said, a nasty little smirk on his face. ‘Perhaps Lord Tutley is the wrong choice for her. Remember, I have absolute control over her and her future. I can marry her to a disgusting, perverted cowherd or a village idiot. I can marry her to anyone I choose. She will be begging for Lord Tutley when she walks down the aisle and sees her future husband, and it will be all your fault.’

‘You won’t do that,’ Henry said. ‘All you care about is carrying on the family name, of heirs to the earldom with a pedigree the Prince Regent himself would be jealous of. Sophia’s future children might be your only grandchildren, you will not risk them having a cowherd or village idiot as a father.’

Henry felt better than he had done for years. Since he had gained his independence at university, and broken away from his father’s control, he had not put up with his manipulative behaviour for some time. But in the depths of his grief this last year, he’d allowed his father to worm his way back in, planting seeds of doubt about his own abilities. Henry had ended up a wreck, unsure if he could trust his own judgement, and that state of affairs had meant he had allowed the old man far too much influence over his life and his decisions. He could see it now ever so clearly, but it had taken Miss Shepherd to open his eyes to it.

At that moment the governess came hurrying down the stairs, panic in her eyes as she saw her young charge dressed, with a packed bag, close to the door.

‘Take her upstairs,’ Lord Burwell commanded.

‘No,’ Henry said, his voice calm and collected. ‘Sophia stays with me.’

‘I am her father. You have no right.’

‘You are no father. A true father loves and cherishes his children.’

Lord Burwell scoffed. ‘You’re soft, Henry. I should have seen it years ago. Losing that dumb wife of yours has just made you softer.’

‘Don’t speak to him like that,’ Sophia said, surprising them all with her outburst.

Lord Burwell stepped forward, reaching out to grab her arm but Henry blocked his path.

‘You can’t hope to win this, boy. I have the law on my side.’

‘Not in everything,’ Sophia spoke again, this time much quieter.

Henry turned to her, wondering what she meant. His sister was brave to stand up to their father, but he did not want his wrath focussed on her.

‘Be quiet, girl.’

‘I am quiet. Ever so quiet,’ Sophia said, holding her father’s eye. ‘Every night I creep out of bed whilst Mrs French is sleeping, even if we are in the same room, and sometimes when I cannot sleep I creep around the rest of the house. It started as a game, to see if I got caught. I never did.’