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Chapter Eleven
Henry tossed his jacket onto his bed and then tugged at the cravat about his neck. Gads, what a day it had been.
Dinah had retired sooner than he’d expected, but then again, she too had had a very long day, no doubt. Concern for her warred against the frustration and bitter disappointment he felt knowing she’d cost him his chance to finally see the face of the man who’d killed his friend. He tossed the cravat onto the bed along with his jacket and pulled at the button holding his shirt closed about his neck. Whatever his aunt had said to Dinah had clearly upset her. He’d been worried those two wouldn’t get along. They were both too headstrong for their own good. Still, he had been hoping they’d be able to make it through twenty-four hours before the sparks began to fly.
A knock sounded at his door, only, the noise hadn’t come from the door which led out to the corridor. It had come from the door which opened up to the sitting room he and Dinah now shared. Henry couldn’t remember the last time he’d used the door. He’d never had cause to before tonight.
Walking over, he heard whoever was knocking do so again. That impatience would never come from a maid or manservant. That only left Dinah, as none of his other family members would have cause to be in the sitting room.
Henry paused, placing a hand on either side of the door frame, and leaned heavily against the wood, his nose inches from the closed door. Did he really have the strength to face her again tonight? He’d spent the better part of this evening trying to decide if he should pull her aside, tell her all, and scold Dinah for everything she’d cost him. It was either that or high tail it away from Angleside Court and take himself off to another one of his holdings so his heart could come to its senses and stop jumping about erratically every time he saw Dinah’s face or heard her voice. He’d been most serious when he’d told Dinah he would never fall in love with her. He was old enough to know such was simply not who he was.
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried to find a wife in the past. There had been a time in his life when he’d seriously considered offering for Emily. But she’d made her opinion known. He was not the type of man she could ever connect herself with.
After David and Emily had married and while they were away on their honeymoon, Henry had tried again. That London Season had been as short as it had been miserable. The few women he had felt any sort of attraction toward began interested enough. But those courtships had all ended the same way: with Henry being dismissed as too intense and too prone to brooding. He was simplytoo much. It did not help matters that after each brief relationship ended, Henry had found himself neither missing the woman in question nor wishing their time together had been extended. Attraction, he concluded, he had felt. But clearly never anything more.
His experiences with romantic love may have been brief, but they had left him with a clear understanding that no woman would ever care for such a man as he.
Henry had sealed off his heart for good.
He was, simply put, not a man built for love.
“Henry?” Dinah called from the other side of the door. “Are you in there? We need to talk.”
Did they truly? Henry’s heart constricted at her voice, yet his head continued to wage battle. It was late, and they’d already spoken much today.
The doorknob rattled, and before he could do more than blink, Dinah had swung the door open and moved to walk into his room. Seeing him, she stumbled back a half step and let out a small cry of surprise.
Well, there was no escaping a conversation now.
“You wanted to talk?” Henry asked, not caring that his tone was hard. He pushed past her—her surprised expression causing his insides to feel quite jumbled—and moved into the sitting room.
There was a moment of silence during which Henry debated which of the many seats in the room he ought to take. There was a small fire in the hearth and a few of the candles on the side tables had been lit. The room was not terribly dark, but not overly well lit either.
“How long were you standing there?” Dinah asked from behind him. There was an accusation in her tone.
The courting bench seemed the best option as it was the nearest, and right now, he was too full of differing emotions to care about a seat.
He sat down facing the hearth, spreading his feet out far in front of him and folding his arms across his chest. “Long enough to know you weren’t going to leave me in peace for the night.”
Dinah blew out a huff and walked his way. Circling fully around him, she came to sit, not in one of the wingbacks facing him, as he’d anticipated, but atop the courting bench’s other seat. This placed her shoulder to shoulder with him but facing the opposite side of the room.
Her proximity was unnerving. Henry pulled his feet in closer and leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. His insides were a mess, torn between the unexpected and unwanted attraction he felt for his wife and the frustration and disappointment she had caused; he needed distance between them.
“You wanted to talk?” he grumbled again.
“You’re mad at me,” was all she said.
Henry never had been very capable of hiding his emotions; it was something he used to fight for, to keep his emotions locked up, but several years ago, he’d given up. Passion about every aspect of his life was just a hallmark of who he was. His family had come to see that, even accept it. Dinah would just have to do the same.
Henry glanced over his shoulder toward her. Her hair was beginning to come free of its pins, and it curled down her back in a most unruly manner. “Is there a question in there?”
“I think you owe me an explanation, at the very least.”
Did he, now? Her presumption continued. And yet, like earlier that day, he found himself giving in to her insistence at inserting herself into his life.
“Mr. Harding brought some bad news this afternoon.”
“And...that’s why you’re angry?”
