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The remaining members of his family had been trapped in there, and now there truly was no hope left for them. They were gone, and Henry could do nothing about it.
The world seemed to stop then, as he collapsed to his knees, all the while screaming in agony for all that was lost. His throat was scratched raw, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Nothing else mattered at that moment.
Henry was beaten down to submission, but the life-shattering fire continued to smolder throughout the dark hours of the night and into the next day.
CHAPTERONE
The usually quiet, comfortable house nestling on a quaint street in Hertfordshire was disturbed by a flurry of commotion. A red-haired woman paced around the drawing room, hand pressed against her forehead in obvious annoyance.
Florence, normally good-natured, couldn’t grasp the beginnings of what would surely become a long-winded argument with her father. He sat in his usual chair, brandy in hand, stroking his mustache thoughtfully.
“Florence, dear, it would be wise for you to heed my advice.”
Florence threw a skeptical look in her father’s direction and halted her relentless pacing. Her brows came together, pinched tightly with an accusatory air.
“Advice? I’m sure you meantdemands, Father!”
Lord Murray sighed and looked at his daughter, hoping to keep the conversation from devolving into a full-fledged row. Florence was prickly and hot-headed when the subject was broached, so the chances seemed slim.
“You are getting older with each passing Season, Florence. With you soon reaching six-and-twenty, your chances of finding a suitable husband on your own are practically abysmal,” her father declared.
Florence turned to face the window overlooking their small garden, anger bubbling up inside her. She had always despised the way a woman’s worth was measured by her age along with the dowry that accompanied her into marriage. She deemed the notion barbaric.
“Up until this moment, I have given you space to choose your husband, and look how far that has gotten you.”
“I won’t let you speak for me, Father! I would rather be thirty and unmarried than forced into a partnership with someone you consider suitable,” she retorted, recognizing the frustration that often pooled within her belly whenever her father aired his thoughts on her marital status.
“You will marry a man of my choosing, even if you despise me. Do you not trust me with your best interests?” Lord Murray questioned, exercised by the thought of her remaining unwed and under his care for years to come.
Florence shook her head and tried to keep her anger from building any higher. It was not her intention to entrap her father in a heated argument, but the resistance within her was formidable. She couldn’t take the thought of marrying a man she had no interest in, and certainly not one chosen merely to further her father’s interests.
“I will not do it. You cannot force me.”
Lord Murray slammed his fist down against his armrest, no longer willing to entertain her defiance. “My word is final!”
“As a father and a lord, do you have no honor?” she demanded, forcing her eyes back to him, even if it pained her. She hated how politics often came between them, since it seemed they were from two completely different worlds at times.
Her father’s face filled with color at such an allegation, and his voice hardened. “Honor? It is most honorable for a father to choose the right man to care for his daughter, to ensure she is given the highest station possible. It is you, dear, who disrespects my judgment!”
The door to the drawing-room creaked open slowly, and the butler poked his head inside, looking sheepish. He hesitated before saying, “My lord, I—”
“Not now!” both Florence and the Lord snapped at once. The cowed butler apologized swiftly and backed out of the room. The door clicked shut once more and sealed their bickering away from the rest of the house.
Florence adjusted her dress and tucked away a stray piece of red hair that had come loose from her braid. Her eyes fell on her father once more. The brief interruption had not quenched the frustration within her.
“How can you see honor in luring a man into marrying me under false pretenses?”
Lord Murray bit down on the words waiting on his tongue, and each feature of his face showed his confusion. He placed the glass of brandy on a nearby table and stood from his chair, albeit slowly. “What are you talking about, Florence?”
Pain flashed across her face then, and she folded her arms over her chest. She couldn’t believe his ignorance, especially not toward something that caused her so much grief—a piece of their family history he was more than aware of.
“You know exactly what I mean!” Florence returned, her eyes sharper than before.
The topic was another sensitive one for her, as the blight in her family tree had existed for many generations before her. Surely, she was destined to share the same fate, and prove to be a disappointment to her future husband? Florence didn’t want to risk that humiliation, especially not with a man of her father’s choosing.
Lord Murray eyed his daughter before waving her off. He went and stood in front of the window next to her. His arms went behind his back neatly.
“That’s no matter, dear. Besides, you are too old to expect a better match. The selection pool is much smaller than it once was, and your choices are limited.”
