Page 30 of Dare it all for Love

“I am not,” Florence said, hotly, indignant that he should still equate her with sins and mistakes. “I just want—”

“I know what you want, but this isn’t it,” he said, and there was anger in his voice. “And this is not the way to get it. Don’t you see? If there’s to be anything between us then… then it has to be….”

Florence stilled utterly. If there’s to be anything between us. Had he…? Yes, he had said that. He’d allowed the possibility. She held her breath, waiting for him to go on with such impatience the urge to fidget was hard to deny.

“Not like this,” he said at length. He opened his eyes, gazing at her, but not allowing his attention to stray from her face. “Florence. I’m sorry. Go back to bed. Please, love.”

Florence’s breath caught at the endearment. “Yes, Henry.”

He stripped off his coat and handed it to her. “Quickly, before anyone sees.”

Florence nodded, taking the coat and shrugging it on. She stared at him for just a moment, trying to read his expression but it was too guarded. Nonetheless, he’d said if, he’d called her love. She smiled, swift and tentative, and then hurried past him, hope fluttering in her chest as she ran back to the house.

Chapter 9

Dear Nic,

Thank you for the warning regarding Wulfric. The world is never quite safe when that man grows bored. Though what the devil you mean by asking me if I’ll stand by you, I cannot fathom. And what do you mean by “not publicly”? I ought to call you out for such an insult, you damned fool. You seriously believe I would disown you in a scandal? I hope you have warned Eliza and her father, however. I am of the strong opinion the duke does not like surprises. Besides which, as he has supported us in the past, perhaps he would be an ally if we spoke to him? I do not understand what Wolf hopes to gain by coming here but then the past catches us all up eventually, I fear. Something that nags at us to lay old ghosts. I’m afraid I understand the impulse too well.

―Excerpt of a letter from Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen to his brother, Mr Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau.

16th August 1839, Holbrook House, Sussex.

The next morning Florence’s maid came to tell her they had all been invited to visit the Hall. According to Maisie, the other ladies had decided that they would go by carriage as it was promising to be a scorching day and none of them were keen to be trussed up in riding habits. Florence chose a pale lilac muslin with a belted waist and full bell skirt. The off-the-shoulder neckline had a wide lace collar which she fastened with a gold-and-amethyst brooch her father had given her.

“Such a picture you make, you do me proud. You’ll have all the gentlemen sighing over you, as usual,” Maisie said as she handed Florence her bonnet. It had an upturned brim, trimmed with sprays of purple flowers. Florence tied the bow and then waited patiently as Maisie adjusted it to her satisfaction. “Oh, and don’t forget your parasol. It’s going to be so dreadfully hot, I fancy you’ll need it.”

“Thank you, Maisie,” Florence said, giving her maid a grateful smile as she took the lacy lilac parasol that matched her gown.

Of course there was only one gentleman whom she wanted to sigh over her, and she could not wait to see him again.

When she went down to breakfast, she was disappointed to discover Henry had already gone home to prepare for his guests. Lord St Clair told them about the building as they breakfasted.

“Saxenhurst is a fascinating place. There used to be a small castle on the spot in the thirteenth century, then Henry III granted a charter to build a Chantry. The castle fell into disrepair and the manor built in its place in the next century. It’s been rebuilt and added to many times over the years. My wife’s family bought it towards the end of the fifteenth century and have been there ever since. It’s a handsome building, though, rather a gloomy old place,” the earl had added. “It has never really felt like a home. Harriet and Henry’s parents were barely there, always off on their travels, and they weren’t exactly the warmest and most welcoming of people when they were. Henry is in desperate need of some advice on how to make it a home to my mind. It needs a woman’s touch, don’t you agree, darling?”

Lady St Clair had choked on her tea at that, causing Lord St Clair to spring to his feet and run to pat her on the back.

“Drat you, Jasper,” she muttered, glaring at him though it appeared she was trying not to laugh.

All very peculiar.

Still, Florence could not deny the little bubble of happiness floating about inside her. Henry had invited them all, yes. Not just her, but he had invited them knowing she would come, and after his words last night…. Had he changed his mind? Though she had always considered herself too sensible to lose her head over a man, she could not deny the giddy excitement surging through her. Not least because she would finally get to see the Hall which she had longed to do. For surely the place where he had grown up and spent most of his life would give her some insight into the man himself?

“Is he going to ask you to marry him?”

Florence jolted out of her reverie at her sister’s question. She looked wildly around, only to discover the breakfast room empty.

“They left a few minutes ago, not that you noticed,” Evie remarked, picking up her teacup and taking a sip. “You wouldn’t notice if an elephant lumbered through the room. Well, unless Henry Stanhope was riding it.”

“Evie!” Florence exclaimed, and then let out a sigh. She ought to have realised she could not keep such a secret from her sister. “I don’t know, Evie. I don’t think he knows what he wants either. Half the time he seems cross with me because he doesn’t want to like me, so I’d be surprised. Mr Stanhope says he’s too old for me. He also says that he doesn’t want to marry at all, but I think he’s lying to himself. I think he is afraid to try because he was jilted so publicly before. Whether he wants me, though…I don’t honestly know.”

“Don’t you?” Evie said dryly. “I think he wants you very much, and I doubt I’m the only one who’s noticed.”

Florence flushed, remembering the look in his eyes last night. Oh, he wanted to bed her all right, but marriage…. Then she realised what her sister had intimated. “Oh, Evie, you don’t think Mama…?”

“Of course I think Mama. Honestly, Flo. If you would only stop gazing at the man like a lovesick puppy—”

“Have you been speaking to Ash and Viv?” Florence demanded, folding her arms.