Chapter Seventeen

‘D o you have any regrets?’ Sarah asked as they lay naked together on the bed. It was early evening and the last of the sun’s rays were filtering through the window. Soon he would have to get up to light a candle, but not yet. They had spent a wonderful afternoon in the bedroom, making love and talking, and he felt satisfied with life.

There were still so many details to work out, not least what he was going to do about his sister, but he felt as if he had regained a little of his old self back. It was liberating, making the decision to refuse to bend to his father’s will. For so long he had felt like there was nothing worth fighting for, that he might as well give in to his father’s wishes, because he could not see that he would ever want to risk his heart again. It was only with Sarah’s appearance in his life he’d realised he could not let the old man dictate his future.

‘Not one,’ he said, leaning over and kissing her on the top of her head. ‘How about you?’

‘I do,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘Just one, a tiny one.’

‘Oh?’

‘I regret not bringing some food into the bedroom.’

‘You are hungry, my lady?’

‘I am ravenous.’

‘Then I have been doing my job right. You should be hungry after you have spent the afternoon making love.’

He sat up, reaching for his shirt and trousers, pulling them on. He was aware of Sarah’s eyes on him the whole time and grinned as he saw a flicker of desire in them.

‘Let me see what I can find.’

He padded barefoot into the sitting room, looking for his shoes, before heading to the stairs. There was a kitchen in the basement, and the maid he shared with his downstairs neighbour prepared a few light meals each week, as well as ensuring the essentials were kept well stocked.

He was halfway down the stairs when there was a frenzied knocking at the front door. It was a strange time for visitors, and at first he wondered if his downstairs neighbour might have forgotten his key. He hadn’t heard him moving around all afternoon and it would not be the first time he had locked himself out.

Henry crossed to the door and opened it, cursing silently when he saw who stood outside.

‘Good evening, Father,’ he said, surprised when the older man pushed past him into the house.

‘What do you think you’re playing at, boy?’ his father barked.

Henry felt a familiar mix of irritation and despair, as he always did when dealing with his father.

‘What do you mean?’

His father did not answer, but to Henry’s horror headed for the stairs and began climbing.

‘We will discuss this in your rooms.’

‘This is not a good time...’

‘Nonsense. You’re hardly dressed for going out. Anyway, I think you will want to hear what I have to say.’

With his heart in his throat, Henry followed his father up the stairs, hoping Sarah had heard the exchange and at the very least closed the door to the bedroom.

His father sat down on the sofa upon which Henry had started to undress Sarah only a few hours earlier. With a flash of panic Henry looked round the room for signs of anything untoward, but thankfully all their discarded clothing had made it to the bedroom.

‘I received a note from Sir William earlier today. He told me he’d encountered you with a young woman he did not think I would approve of.’

‘Of course he did,’ Henry muttered, cursing Sarah’s estranged father.

‘Am I to understand it was the same young woman you were seen with in Hyde Park, and later that I met at the opera house? This poor relative of the Shrewsburys?’

‘Yes. Miss Shepherd.’ A long time ago he had realised it was best to keep his answers short when it came to his father. It gave the old man less to argue with.

Lord Burwell grunted in disapproval. ‘As I’ve already told you, she is hardly the sort of young woman you should be focussing on.’ His father narrowed his eyes. ‘There is nothing romantic between you?’ He didn’t wait for his son to answer before pushing on. ‘In fact, I do not care what there is between you. I came here to tell you I have found you a wife.’

‘What?’ Henry reeled back, stunned.

‘A wife. A suitable young lady. A gem amongst next year’s debutantes. This young lady can trace her ancestry all the way back to the Norman kings.’

‘A wife?’ Henry repeated, not able to take in everything his father was saying.

‘She will be popular of course. Her fortune is incomparable, and she is passable to look at, but her breeding is the main attraction. You can be sure any children you have with her will be of good stock.’

‘You make her sound like a brood mare.’

‘Nonsense. She is much more valuable. You will need to strike quickly, before any of her other potential suitors can get in. Once she’s been presented to the Queen she will be inundated with proposals.’

‘I don’t even know the name of this girl.’

‘Lady Isabelle Stanwell.’

‘Ah,’ he said, understanding why his father was so keen. ‘Daughter of the Duke of Hampton.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘She’s a child.’

‘Not anymore.’ His father was almost cackling with glee at the prospect of the match. ‘She is seventeen, and ripe for the plucking.’

He shuddered at the thought. It had been a year or two since he had last seen lady Isabelle Stanwell, but she still very much seemed like a child on their last meeting. He could never even contemplate marriage to a girl so young.

‘I expect she’ll accept your proposal without much fuss. For all your faults you can be charming, when you want to be.’

‘Father, I am not going to propose to her,’ Henry said resolutely.

His father stilled—an air of contempt came over him. ‘Oh, but you will, boy.’

‘No.’

Lord Burwell gave a humourless smile and shook his head. ‘You forget yourself, and the deal we made.’

‘I wish to renegotiate.’

‘So do I.’ The words sliced through Henry. Suddenly he felt a cold chill, as if he had just caught a glimpse of the devil in his father’s eyes. ‘Did you know your sister is in London?’

Henry shook his head, on edge.

‘I had her governess bring her down, when I saw a little leverage might be required to get you to step up and fulfil your side of our deal.’

‘Sophia is in London?’

‘Tucked away safely at One Grosvenor Square.’

‘Can I see her?’

‘Once you are engaged.’

‘I am not going to marry Lady Isabelle.’

‘Oh, but you are.’

‘You cannot make me, Father.’

Lord Burwell smiled wickedly, his expression like that of a snake slithering towards its prey.

‘There will be a wedding in three months. It can be yours, to Lady Isabelle, or it can be Sophia’s.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Sophia is far too young to marry.’

‘Yet I have arranged the most marvellous match for her. Old Lord Tutley is looking for his fourth wife.’

For a moment Henry could not believe what he was hearing.

‘Lord Tutley is seventy.’

‘A man still has needs at seventy.’

‘Sophia is fourteen.’

‘It is perfectly legal for her to marry, as long as she has my permission.’

‘You cannot think to submit her to that. It would be too cruel, even for you.’

‘It is not my decision,’ Lord Burwell said with a shrug. ‘As I said, there will be a marriage in three months. Either you marry Lady Isabelle, or Sophia marries Lord Tutley.’

Henry sank into a chair, leaning back and holding onto the arms.

‘Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to make you hate me so?’

‘I don’t hate you,’ Lord Burwell said, his voice without emotion. ‘I am just not sentimental enough to pander to your whims instead of putting the good of the family first.’

‘How is any of this good for the family?’

‘You jeopardised our reputation and our bloodline once. I will not allow you to do it again. It was hard enough cleaning up your last mess.’

Henry felt his heart twist in his chest and glanced surreptitiously at the bedroom door. He did not want to marry Lady Isabelle. He did not want to marry anyone except Sarah, even though he had not officially proposed. But if he was selfish, putting his own happiness over the welfare of his little sister, how would he be able to live with himself?

‘So what do you say? Do I contact Lord Tutley, or will you do your duty?’

‘Leave Sophia alone.’

‘I look forward to the announcement of your impending nuptials. Make it soon.’

Lord Burwell stood and walked away, not looking back at his son once. Henry hurried downstairs after him, more to make sure he had actually left than to be polite in seeing his father out.

Once the old man had gone he took a moment to himself, resting his head on the wood of the door. He felt panicked, forced into a corner, as if his thoughts were racing around in his head, crashing into one another and just confusing him more.

After a minute he climbed back up the stairs, his feet dragging as if he were wearing heavy metal boots.

Sarah was getting dressed, fighting against the laces and ties as her fingers fumbled.

‘I expect you heard all of that,’ he said quietly.

‘I did.’

‘He is threatening to marry Sophia off to a man five times her age.’

‘Would he do it?’

‘Yes,’ Henry said without hesitation. ‘He would probably derive some sort of pleasure from it as well.’

‘What do you want to do?’ Sarah asked him, her eyes wide and her face pale and drawn.

‘I want to marry you. I want to rescue Sophia from that beast of a man and take her far away from him.’

‘But you cannot do both.’

‘No. I cannot do both.’

They both fell silent. Henry was desperately trying to find a way he could save his sister from the terrible fate their father had proposed, but also marry the woman he loved.

‘I don’t think there is a way,’ Sarah said eventually, walking towards him slowly. She reached up and stroked his cheek, then raised herself up on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. ‘Your father has won.’

‘I cannot give you up.’

She smiled, but it was full of sadness. ‘Then let me do this for you. I love you, Henry Routledge. Do your duty and take care of your sister. Try to forget about me.’

‘I can’t forget about you.’

‘You must.’

He shook his head, gripping hold of her hand, even though he knew she was right. Marrying Lady Isabelle was the lesser of two evils. He would be tied to a woman he did not care for, but it would be a relationship he would be in control of. Never would he be unkind to his wife, however little he enjoyed her company. If Sophia was forced to marry Lord Tutley she would have to endure unspeakable things.

Sarah pulled her hand from his and, before he could say anything more, she slipped past him and ran from his rooms, down the stairs and out into the street. He stood, unmoving for a minute, before cursing under his breath and following her out. He could not lose her, not like this, not when he had finally allowed himself to feel something real again.

The street was empty in both directions. He could try to follow her, but what would it change? Right now he needed time to think and time to plan. Perhaps he could find a way to get out of the wedding, and if not...

He let the thought linger. It was a cruel world sometimes.