Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Watching Josephine's carriage disappear into the distance, Henry thoughtfully rubbed his jaw. It had been a long time since he had laughed so freely – even longer still since he had been so close to acting so rashly.

God save him, but he had been so close to forgetting decorum and her parents in the room entirely when she had started kissing him back in the sitting room after dinner.

She'd tasted of vanilla and cinnamon, the red wine still on her breath, a heady flavour that he had already been having a hard enough time ignoring before she enticed him so much further.

Kissing her alone had been risky. An impulsive, uncharacteristically impetuous action that had been driven by desire alone. She'd mentioned that she'd never had any entanglement, and the basest part of him had been pleased. And then she had joked like she had about it being so entirely separate from the tour of the manor that he had given her, and everything after that had been a chain reaction of events.

He had wanted to kiss her. So he had.

After all, why shouldn't he have? They were engaged to be married. It was hardly out of the scope of things.

But he had intended it to be a chaste, exploratory sort of gesture. Not at all what it had turned into once his lips had actually touched hers.

Because she awoke parts of him that he had forgotten even existed.

"Because I like her."

Muttering it aloud into the chill of the night air felt like confessing to a priest.

Maybe, in a way, it was.

Because he did like her. More than he had anticipated was possible.

It wasn't like with Martha.

He didn't set eyes on her and know they were destined for one another. It wasn't a fire that caught in his chest and swept him away.

It wasn't like he was suddenly imagining himself in love with her.

But he was certainly realizing that he might actually be able to develop real feelings for her. Feelings that went beyond only being able to stand one another and produce heirs.

That went beyond even that heated magnetism that existed between them.

He was attracted to her, surely. But, more than that, he also found her interesting. He hadn't expected to share so many things in common with her. He hadn't thought about enquiring after her tastes when it came to reading, and the fact that they held such similar interests in authors and shared opinions on some besides was a boon he hadn't even known to look for.

As in so many other aspects of her personality, Martha had been much more of a romantic than he was. She had enjoyed reading romances of all types. And while she would read, on occasion, a book that he had thoroughly enjoyed, she had never shared the same verve he did for it.

"Sir?"

Harbuttle's voice interrupted Henry's musings, jerking him back to the present as he turned away from the road he had been staring at to look where his butler stood in the doorway framed by the lamplight behind him.

"Did you require anything?" Harbuttle asked carefully, his voice impassive as he looked Henry over.

Only as he did so did Henry realize how long he must have been standing there staring after the long-departed carriage.

"No," he sighed, casting one last glance over his shoulder before stepping back up the front steps to enter inside again. "Just thinking, Harbuttle."

Gooseflesh had lifted over his arms from how long he had been standing outside without a coat, his fingers chillier than he had realized as he curled them into the palms of his hands and readjusted to the warmth within.

"About Lady Josephine?" Harbuttle spoke plainly, crossing that threshold once more with the familiarity that only one who had worked so long for Henry's family could manage.

Henry's lips twitched. "Yes. About Lady Josephine." Thoughts that were both chaste and otherwise. The former of which he had no intention of sharing with the old butler.

"And Lady Brisby?"

Henry's gaze flickered quickly to Harbuttle, his eyebrows lifting high on his forehead in surprise.

"The walls have ears, Your Grace," Harbuttle murmured, not looking the least bit ashamed for having said it. "And servants are much more easily missed than those of your social standing."

Henry almost flinched. He didn't need that reminder, making him wonder what else the servants might have overheard or witnessed. This night or any other. Lack of privacy was something that he had long ago given up mourning, yet there were still times that it grated on his nerves to think about.

"I did not think her so far gone in her grief," Henry admitted with a sigh as they crossed back into the sitting room.

Without a word, Harbuttle crossed the room to gather Henry's glass from before, pouring another glass of port for Henry and handing it over before Henry had even realized what was afoot.

"Lady Brisby has always been of a singular disposition," Harbuttle said cryptically. It was the most that he was going to say, Henry knew. He didn't speak about those ‘above his station' – never carrying gossip that the other servants may know on account of how discreet a man he was.

Henry snorted at the phrasing of it, though.

"She was always congenial enough," he muttered as he took a large sip of his port. The alcohol was a welcome warmth in the back of his throat as he sank into his armchair. "I always enjoyed her company when she came to visit Martha." Even if there was nothing marked about such visits, he could remember a fond warmth from the period.

"She is grieving, as you said," Harbuttle offered, again almost cryptically.

Henry's frown deepened. "I don't suppose I need to tell you the purpose of her visit the other day?" One eyebrow rose on his forehead as he shot a frank look at the older man.

Harbuttle didn't look the least sheepish as he shook his head. "Of course not, Your Grace."

For a moment, Henry was suitably distracted.

"Just how much of my personal life is it that you overhear, Harbuttle?"

The butler's lips twitched, his eyes glimmering as he looked over at Henry.

"I've always found it a better practice not to answer that question quantitatively, Your Grace."

By which, of course, he meant everything. All of it.

Henry shook his head, running his hand down his face in aggravation. As much at his butler's lack of acknowledgment as the memory of Catherine's last visit.

"It is a singular reaction to grief," he muttered, his hand falling from his face as he leaned back in his chair. "I expected for the other day not to be the end of it. I already made the mistake once of just assuming that things were over. I just assumed this time that she would come with her husband to my wedding and that it would put things to rest once and for all."

"Is that not still possible, Your Grace?"

Henry exhaled roughly, staring off into the fire in the hearth with the fervent wish that it could be.

"No," he muttered crossly. "Not if she approached Lady Josephine. That is a step too far." As if the ones that had preceded it hadn't been. He shook his head, taking a more conservative drink of his port as he looked back at his butler. "I will have to have words with her about it."

"Ah." Harbuttle excelled in the art of keeping his opinion to himself. He looked neither surprised nor agreeable to such a thing, and for once, Henry wished that he was the butler of his youth once more, lecturing him on the behaviour befitting a duke.

"Do you disagree?"

"It is hardly my place to agree or disagree on such matters, Your Grace."

Henry huffed. "It is if I am asking you to weigh in, Harbuttle."

The faintest smile hovered over Harbuttle's lips as he met Henry's gaze head-on.

"It sounds, Your Grace, as if you have already decided on a course of action. You do not want me to weigh in on it; you want me to tell you that the course of action you decided on is indeed the one you should pursue. I am neither a duke nor part of the ton. I am merely a butler … However, in this butler's opinion, I think it might be wisest if you sought an audience with Lady Brisby, not on your own."

"Wonderful, you'll join me tomorrow then," Henry muttered sarcastically. He hated knowing that Harbuttle was right almost as much as he had hated Harbuttle's reminders to do his lessons growing up.

"She does have a husband, Your Grace."

Oh.

Henry laughed, finishing his port and running his hand over his face again. "She does, doesn't she? A much more reasonable Brisby as chaperone and witness all in one." Henry sighed. "I suppose there's no help for it."

"As I said, Your Grace, you were already decided on your course of action."

"And you just knew what that course was?" Henry challenged with the barest of smiles.

"No, Your Grace. I imagined, though, that you might share it with me at some point."

The beginnings of Henry's amusement faded as quickly as it had appeared.

"I shall call on Catherine at her and her husband's country estate tomorrow. I will need to clarify that I will no longer tolerate this behaviour. Her grief only excuses so much, and she needs to be aware that Lady Josephine is, above all else, off limits." Her behaviour had clearly already upset Josephine. Henry hated to think what might happen should she go as far as she had that day that she had come to the manor … or the day of Martha's funeral.

"The late duchess was always good at keeping her sister on more even ground."

Henry winced.

"Yes. I think I might need to remind her that Martha would be ashamed of her acting in such a manner towards Lady Josephine. It was she, after all, who reminded me that Martha would have wanted me to remarry."

"Clearly she had another in mind for that position, Your Grace."

Henry's nose wrinkled.

He didn't like to think that she had considered it that far to begin with. It was much easier and more likely in his mind for her to have concluded in the heat of the moment spurred by her grief.

"She is already married, Harbuttle!"

The butler shrugged wryly. "It would hardly be the first of such a scandal, Your Grace."

"It would be a Greek tragedy," Henry argued with a snort.

"It is the ton."

It was as close as Henry had ever heard the butler discourage society. He stared at Harbuttle for a moment, his own gaze pensive as he ignored the subtle jab at high society and thought instead about his problem.

"I don't imagine that her husband will take too kindly to any insinuation that his wife …"

"Wants to be unfaithful?" Harbuttle supplied dryly.

Henry made a choked noise, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Desires His Grace over him? Offered herself so freely?"

"Be serious, Harbuttle." Henry chuckled despite himself. "How would you go about bringing such a thing up?"

"I usually find it best to just say it."

Henry gave him a quick look, appreciating how quickly his butler sobered and seemed to actually consider the request.

"Perhaps you needn't outright accuse her of any such thing," Harbuttle mused after a few minutes of silence.

Henry's brows rose, furrowing along with it as he tried to imagine how he might do that and confront her as he needed to.

"You only need to tell her you didn't appreciate her being so openly disapproving of your marriage, especially to your fiancé. You can remind her that you well understand her grief but that what she did was inappropriate. You will still be getting your point across without having to face her denying your claims or explaining yourself to Lord Brisby."

That… was actually a very good idea.

Henry nodded, his gaze slipping towards the fire once more as he considered it.

"And perhaps I can salvage what familial relationship is left with Catherine at the same time," he muttered.

Harbuttle didn't respond one way or another to that, but it didn't bother Henry. He knew that the butler hadn't been near as fond of her as he had her sister.

Very few people were.

He just couldn't consign himself to burning that last bridge between him and his late wife. He knew, even as much as Martha would disapprove of her sister's recent actions, that she would have wanted to help her even still. And he knew that she would expect the same from him in her absence.

"You know, Harbuttle, I don't think I pay you nearly enough."

"Ah, that is hardly for me to say, Your Grace," Harbuttle responded facetiously.

Henry finished his port, waving Harbuttle away as he moved as if to take the glass from him to refill once more.

"Take the rest of the night to yourself, old man," he said with a sigh. He put his glass off to the side and stretched his legs out, his shoulders relaxing at the realization that he had a battle plan in place. "I can take care of myself for the rest of the night. Take the bottle of port with you. As my thanks."

"An expensive thanks," Harbuttle snorted as he grabbed the bottle. "Thank you, Your Grace. Do you want me to prepare for your departure tomorrow?"

"It can wait till morning," Henry assured him offhandedly. He knew that Harbuttle would have it settled in no time at all.

"Then I'll bid you goodnight, Your Grace."

Henry shot him another grateful look, leaning back even further as the sitting room door closed, finally leaving him in solitude.

He didn't know just how much of that he had left. And for the first time, the thought didn't bother him in the slightest. Not if Josephine's company was anything like it had been thus far. It felt less intrusive than he would have imagined, more welcome …

And the more he was around her, the more he felt like himself.

Something he hadn't even realized he had lost.