Chapter Twenty-Two

Henry frowned. "No, Mother, I do not know where Miss Tidemore is."

His mother clicked her tongue and shook her head. "That is unfortunate. I do not know why she is tardy and dinner cannot wait any longer!"

Rather than finding Miss Tidemore's absence an annoyance, Henry began to grow concerned. "It should not be held back. Continue on with it, though I myself shall be absent also."

His mother's eyes flared. "Why ever would you be absent? You are the host, this evening is to be the dinner and then the ball and you cannot be away from that!"

"My betrothed is missing," Henry told her, firmly. "You cannot expect me to care about the dinner and the ball when she is not present and I do not know where she is. I presume her parents are unaware also?"

Spreading out her hands, the Duchess shook her head. "It should concern you, Fairglen, that your betrothed is not only absent from this but also from the awareness of her parents! This is yet another reason that I do not think she is suitable for you."

Henry's jaw tightened, his anger flaring suddenly. "I have already spoken to you about this, Mother. I will not have you saying anything about my betrothed. If she is absent, then it is for good reason. Or mayhap it is for a concerning reason, in which case, I will do all that I can to find her. Now," he continued, making his way to the door, "if you will excuse me, Mother, I will leave the dinner – and the ball, mayhap – in your very capable hands."

Without waiting for her response, Henry made his way from the room and went straight out of doors. He was quite certain that if Edith was not at the house, then she would be at the orphanage – and something must have held her back there. He had no anger or frustration at her absence, trusting entirely that there was some good reason for her absence rather than being afraid that she had chosen to step back from him without warning. After what they had shared earlier that day, Henry was more than confident in Edith's affections and in his own. There was no doubt in his mind that she cared for him and he, he was glad to admit, cared for her too.

***

"What has happened?"

Henry jumped down from his horse, his heart pounding as he took in the frightened children banded together in front of the vicarage and smelled the smoke which poured up into the sky. "Mr. Wilkins, where is your wife?"

"She is here, she is safe," Mr. Wilkins replied, his shirt sleeves rolled up and sweat on his forehead. "She has gone to the village for more help. I assume the man we sent to your estate found you?"

Henry shook his head. "No, I was looking for Edith."

The vicar's eyes rounded. "The last I knew, Miss Tidemore was visiting the orphanage and went to fetch the children from the rooms while my wife went in search of help. Has she not returned to the estate?"

"Please, Your Grace." A small hand tugged at his jacket and Henry looked down to see a little girl with wide, frightened eyes looking back at him. "She went back to get Caleb. He was the only one missing."

Swallowing hard, Henry took off running without so much as a look back at the vicar or the child. The orphanage was ablaze and he could hear the wood cracking and splintering as it was licked up into nothing but smoke and ashes. A few men were throwing buckets of water from the well towards it but from what he saw, Henry was sure it would do very little indeed.

"Edith?" he cried as the men looked to him. "She is still inside!"

Heedless to the danger, Henry pulled his jacket over his face and stepped into the orphanage. The sounds of cracking and groaning grew ever louder but Henry did not hesitate. He tried to call out Edith's name but his voice was hidden behind his jacket, his chest growing tight as smoke fought to get in. Coughing, he found the door to one bedroom and, bending low, took in a deep breath and began to search on the floor for Edith or the child. His mind whirred with fright, his thoughts tormenting him. What if he was too late?

Not finding her, Henry again pulled his jacket over his face but it was not enough to stop the smoke from pushing into his lungs. Eyes streaming, he searched the second bedroom, hearing a dull roar of the fire from the other side of the orphanage.

His hands touched something solid.

"Edith?"

She was not moving. Fear clogged his throat. Putting one hand to her face, he paused for a moment, his eyes closed until, much to his relief, he felt a gentle heat of breath on his hand.

I have to get her free from here. Turning, he went to the door again, his lungs burning, checking to see that the path was clear – only for something huge, something heavy to come crashing down from the ceiling. Staggering back, Henry shut the bedroom door, his hand burning on the metal handle as he did so. He barely felt it, looking around the smoke filled room and trying his best to see what he ought to do next.

The window.

Coughing violently now, Henry made his way to the small window, trying to lift the latch to force it open but it was stuck. Without even a second of hesitation, he shoved his elbow through the glass, ignoring the searing pain that came with it. Fresh air poured in and he gulped it eagerly, his head already growing a little clearer.

"Here!" He tried to call out for the men around the front of the orphanage but his voice was cracked and hoarse from the smoke. Turning back around, Henry reached for something – anything – until his fingers grasped a small, wooden chair. With as much strength as he could muster, he threw it at the window and smashed it completely.

The air poured in and Henry quickly turned back to where Edith lay. It was only when he reached her again that he saw the truth… she had not just collapsed in a heap as he had feared, but instead, she was wrapped protectively around someone else. A small child who was coughing violently, his hands at his mouth, eyes streaming.

"Come here," Henry said, as gently as he could. "I'll get you out of here and back safely now. Come on."

The boy held out his arms and Henry lifted him, hating the sound of the racking coughs which came from his chest. Approaching the window, reluctant to leave Edith for any great length of time, Henry's heart filled with relief at the sight of two men standing by the window.

"We heard the crash," one said, urgently. "Is she here?"

Henry nodded and handed the small boy carefully out of the window. "Take him. Quickly now."

"You had best hurry, Your Grace," the second said, taking the child carefully into his arms. "The whole place is about to collapse!"

As though the house had heard him, it creaked and groaned with a greater strength than before. With fear pounding through his veins, Henry hurried back across the room and took Edith in his arms. Her head lolled, her eyes closed, her face streaked with dirt. Hurrying to the window and heedless of the cuts to his arms as he gently passed her to the other two waiting men, Henry climbed out after her, his hands catching on the broken glass and leaving streaks of blood behind him.

As he reached for Edith, lifting her into his arms again, something exploded behind him. With a glance over his shoulder, Henry saw that the door to the bedroom, the one which had kept Edith and the child from the flames, had been blown back by the sheer force of the fire. With the shouts of the men in his ears and Edith held tightly in his arms, Henry rushed away from the burning orphanage, just as the roof collapsed completely.

***

"How is she, brother?"

Henry glanced at Lord Frankton as he came into the drawing room. "Brother. Good evening." He cleared his throat. "I do not know. The doctor has not yet returned from examining her." He looked to his brother again. "Thank you for leading the ball. The butler told me that you and our mother have taken care of everything."

His brother merely nodded, his expression grave.

"The orphanage is gone," Henry continued, beginning to pace up and down rather than look into his brother's face. "There is nothing that can be salvaged. The whole thing will have to be rebuilt, though I have every intention of having that work begin almost immediately, of course. It will be larger too, so that it can accommodate more children."

"But that is not your present consideration, surely?"

Henry passed one hand over his eyes, feeling the heavy burden of worry settling on his heart. "Edith has nothing but kindness and generosity for these poor, abandoned children," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "She spoke with such love and affection for one of the children back in London, Lilly. What if that child never sees her again? What if… ?" He could not bring himself to say it. Lord Frankton did nothing other than walk across the room and pour two measures of fine French brandy before handing a glass to Henry.

"You need not think such things. I am sure she will take some time to recover but will be well again soon enough," he told Henry, settling one hand on his shoulder for a moment. "Let us try to be confident. Though… " He trailed off, looking suddenly thoughtful. "Might I ask if you know how such a thing happened?"

Henry shook his head no.

"And who knew that your betrothed was to be at the orphanage?"

A little uncertain as to what his brother meant, Henry began to frown, stopping his pacing entirely. "I do not know. Why do you ask?"

His brother shook his head. "You will not like what I have to say so, for the moment, I will refrain. However, I will warn you that this could have been a deliberate act."

Horror stabbed into Henry's heart, making him catch his breath. "What can you mean by that? You think that someone deliberately set the fire in order to injure her?"

"Or, mayhap, to blame her for it? To make her seem foolish in your eyes? After all, it would not be the first time that – "

Lord Frankton stopped dead, then shook his head before turning away.

"What do you mean?" An urgent fear began to creep into Henry's heart and he came closer to his brother though Lord Frankton refused to look at him. "Brother, you must tell me now. What can you mean? What would not be the first time?"

His brother took in a long, deep breath and then shrugged. "I suppose that, even in these circumstances, I should take my opportunity to tell you what I know."

Henry was reminded that he had always thrown his brother's letters away without reading them, that he had never once permitted Frankton to explain anything. Was he really ready to hear him now? Searching his heart, he found himself nodding. Yes, he was ready. If this had any bearing on Edith, he had to hear it. "Tell me."

"It is about Rachel. It is about what happened before your wedding."

A flash of anger shot through Henry but he steeled himself. "Go on."

"It is not as you were told," Lord Frankton continued, urgently, taking a step closer to Henry. "I walked in to see Rachel being assaulted by another gentleman. She was crying out, Henry, almost screaming with the horror of what Lord Venables was attempting to do."

Henry's stomach lurched and he blinked furiously, going cold all over. "That… that was not what was told to me."

"I know." His brother lifted both eyebrows. "Though it worked, did it not? You were not told that I went into that room quite by mistake, that I saw what was happening and flung that gentleman from the room. You can ask him, if you wish, about what happened and he may tell you the very same thing as he told me – if he remembers one of the many things he has done." A dark, angry scowl flooded Lord Frankton's expression and he threw back his drink. "I pulled him from her and flung him back. I demanded that he quit the room and then went to make certain your betrothed was quite all right."

"But then you were discovered," Henry said, slowly. "You admitted that you and she had been enjoying a secret tryst and – "

His brother shook his head vehemently. "No. No! I would never have done such a thing. Rachel would never have even thought to do such a thing to you! She cared about you. I cared about you as my brother. My respect for you was great and I would not have done such a thing. I am not a cruel, selfish sort, brother. I am not the sort of gentleman who would ever steal a bride from another. Therefore, when I tell you that such a thing was not what happened, I can only pray that you will believe me."

It was too much for Henry to take in. He closed his eyes, reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose as a sudden uncertainty rocked him. If this was true, if this was what his brother had done, then he had spent years believing a lie. He had ended his engagement based on a lie too, had he not?

"I do not understand," he said, his voice barely loud enough for even himself to hear. "If that happened, if what you are telling me is true, then that means.., that means that everything that I did, everything that I believed, was nothing more than a lie." He shook his head. "I cannot understand who would do that nor why."

His brother spread out his hands. "Can you not?"

Henry looked back into his brother's face, trying to understand what it was that he meant. He could not see any correlation, could not make any sense of what Lord Frankton was trying to say. What had been wrong with Rachel in terms of their engagement? Why would someone attempt to break their engagement apart with such force?

"You know this," his brother said, very quietly indeed as though he was afraid that Henry would break down into anger should he speak any more loudly. "You already know who it was that held such concerns, brother. You know what concerns there are about your present engagement."

The shock that rocked Henry was so great, he had to sit down suddenly, his feet suddenly no longer willing to hold him up.

"I am sorry, brother," Lord Frankton said, snatching the glass from Henry's limp fingers and then hurrying across the room as though he was afraid that Henry would come rushing after him in fierce anger. "I have wanted to tell you – I have tried to tell you, but – "

"How could our mother have done such a thing?" Henry closed his eyes tightly, trying to accept all that had been said to him, only for his heart to close up, to refuse to let him believe it.

"Rachel was just as shocked when our mother offered her money and another, suitable marriage should she end your engagement," his brother said, from across the room, pouring another brandy for them both. "And when she refused, then came the threats."

"Threats from our mother ?" Henry shook his head. "I cannot accept that she was the one who orchestrated that with that roguish gentleman."

"But who else would do so?" his brother asked, handing the glass of refilled brandy back into Henry's hands. "And why would they want to ruin the lady's reputation? Yes, mayhap someone wanted to remove her from your side so that they might take her place, but you did not have any young lady desperate for your attention, did you? There was no obvious malice from anyone, was there?"

Henry shook his head no, shuddering lightly as another shock ran through him.

"It was always our mother who complained about Rachel's standing, was it not?" Lord Frankton asked. "She said that the daughter of an Earl was not good enough."

"She wanted me to marry a young lady of high standing," Henry whispered. "The daughter of a Marquess or even of another Duke." His eyes flared open as he looked at his brother. "But Edith is the daughter of a viscount and yet our mother has been nothing but kind and considerate to her. It was she who berated me when I was cold towards her; she who told me that I was not considering Edith with the right amount of care."

"And so, you would never suspect her of doing anything untoward then, would you?"

Henry blinked, a cold hand grasping his heart. "She has been very upset of late, however. I think she hoped that I would have chosen to end the engagement with Miss Tidemore but now that I am not…"

His brother nodded, answering Henry's silent question. "Yes, I think that she did this. I think that she was determined to do whatever she had to in order to make certain that you did not marry her."

"Because up until the moment that I told her I was going to marry Edith, she believed that I was going to set her aside. She made it quite clear that she thought Edith would not do for a Duchess, that she had much too many failings and the like. She even complained about the ball, telling me that Edith was unable to assist her with the planning – though I questioned why she ought to have been expected to do such a thing when she had never once been a Duchess before! I told her that Edith would be able to learn, I believe I might have even thanked her for her willingness to help teach Edith all these things but now… "

"But now you see that there was no truth in that. That the reason she spoke unkindly about Miss Tidemore, the reason that she pointed out Miss Tidemore's supposed flaws was in the belief that you would see it too, that your desire to end the engagement would win out."

Henry set his brandy on the table to his right, his whole body shaking with a sudden, furious anger.

"And when you said you would not, when you said that you were going to marry her, then our mother acted quickly. There is only one day left of the house gathering and, thereafter, Miss Tidemore is going to London with her family and, thereafter, to her father's estate for the wedding. She does not have any other opportunity save for this."

"But to kill her?" Henry got to his feet, his anger now burning through every part of his veins. "To do such a thing as that?"

His brother shook his head. "I do not think that she ever intended for such a thing to happen. No doubt, our mother hoped that there would be some disaster at the orphanage and that, thereafter, Miss Tidemore would be blamed. Thereafter, she would be shamed not only in her own eyes but also in yours and in those who live in this area. They would all hold her responsible for the destruction of the orphanage and, thus – "

"And thus, the marriage would have to come to an end," Henry finished, as his brother nodded, grimacing hard. "Even if I still wanted to marry the lady, knowing what reputation she had garnered for herself by such an action, knowing what it was that those around here thought of her, my hand would have been forced."

"Precisely."

Henry rubbed one hand over his face, his anger continuing to swirl as he fought for clarity, fought to even just take one full breath so that some of what he felt might calm itself just a little. He looked at his brother, seeing a fresh sense of relief in Frankton's eyes and realizing just how much he owed him.

Henry‘s shoulders slumped. "Frankton, I should never have thrown your letters in the fire. I should have given you a chance to explain, a chance to – "

"None of that matters at this present moment."

"No, it does matter. I have shunned you for three years, I have treated Rachel with disdain and it was never her fault." Shame threatened to rip him apart, replacing his anger as he bowed his head, one hand going to cover his face. "Goodness, Frankton, how abominably I have behaved! If I had only given you both a chance to explain, then I would have known the truth. To know that Rachel endured such suffering, such agonies and that I was not there to even listen to her… that tears my heart into pieces." Closing his eyes, he let out a ragged breath. "Why did she not tell me?"

"How could she?" came the quiet reply. "She would have been speaking against the Duchess, against your own mother."

Understanding it, Henry's heart tore all over again. "I bear now such a weight of guilt which is entirely deserved." He dropped his hand and looked back into his brother's face, seeing him now for the gentleman he knew him to be, for the man he had always known him to be. "You are the true gentleman. If you had not stepped into the place where I ought to have been, then who knows what would have happened to Rachel?" Stepping forward, he made to shake his brother's hand, only for Lord Frankton to shake his head. For a moment, Henry thought that his brother was about to refuse him, about to withhold forgiveness, only for Lord Frankton to step forward and embrace Henry into a tight hug.

Henry swallowed tightly as waves of emotion ran over him, crashing into one another and threatening to overwhelm him. When he stepped back, clearing his throat gruffly, he could not even look at his brother for fear of what might come into his eyes should he do so.

"Thank you for believing me, Henry." It was the first time his brother had used his Christian name in a long time and Henry swallowed hard, feeling that sense of restoration and healing coming between them again.

"Thank you for telling me." Henry looked to the door, silently praying that the doctor would soon return and with good news also. "I can keep Edith safe now, though I have already failed her in that."

"You did save her, Fairglen," his brother stated, emphatically. "And I am sure that one day very soon, I will be seated in church, watching the two of you wed."

Henry looked back at him, his hopes barely daring to grow. "I can only pray that what you say will come to pass," he answered, a little brokenly. "I can only pray that she will recover."