“The Shoals have outdone themselves in entertainments this year,” Julian said, clearing his throat and giving Richard another curious look. “I believe the rest of the children have been occupied with an egg toss down by the pond.”
“Yes, sir! And I won! Look, Papa!” The boy raised a prettily painted egg in both hands as if it were a precious jewel.
“Beautiful, Lucas, but we mustn’t be rude,” Cortland said softly, tousling his son’s hair. “You nearly ran down His Lordship like a wild horse.”
“Lordship!” The child beamed, and when he turned around, Richard found himself looking down at a miniature version of Henry, blue eyes and all.
“Are you him?” Lucas continued, hopping in place. “Are you my cousin, the earl? Papa said when we came to London that we might meet you, but then he said you were terribly busy because great men always have so much to do and we must not bother you too much. Look at my egg!”
Richard stared, wondering what on earth all this could mean. The boy had not
met
Henry? The Cortlands probably interpreted his silence as irritation.
“No, no, darling,” Mrs. Cortland said. “This is Lord Richard Avery, not your cousin.”
“Oh.” The boy now looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Hello, my lord. Papa, aren’t we going to meet Cousin Henry
at all
?”
Cortland, who now looked decidedly uncomfortable, hushed his son gently and told him to run off and join the other children. Richard stood by with an ever increasing sense of misery.
This
was the man whom Henry was so desperate to keep from the title? This soft-spoken family man who despised gambling and looked upon his son with unconcealed affection?
It was never about the cousin. It was me. Henry just didn’t want
me. But another voice from within objected. If Henry felt nothing for him, why did he carry
his
handkerchief and wear
his
gift watch? But the little voice was not strong enough to get through the hurt and anger. Henry had been trying to get away from him since they encountered each other that day in the park, or so it now appeared to Richard as he looked back on it all. The story of a horrible heir that had to be thwarted was just the kind of pressing motivation a man would need to continue with his original plan, wasn’t it? It was, in fact, just the kind of excuse Henry would have needed.
He could have been honest. He could have just told me he didn’t want me!
Richard curled his lips with rage and humiliation as a new idea entered his mind.
“You mean you have not met him?” Richard said, smiling down at young Lucas before he could run off.
“No, sir. I mean, my lord,” the boy replied. “Papa says that Cousin Henry—that’s his name, you know?—Henry is a very busy man and has lots and lots of important things to do because he owns so much land, and we shouldn’t think bad of him for not having time for us. Isn’t that right, Papa? Cousin Henry must be really tired all the time.”
Cortland flushed to the roots of his hair and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. Everyone present knew what Lucas was revealing, even if the boy had no idea. The idea that the Earl of Brenleigh would
ignore
his own relations, and especially his own heir, was gossip of the most tantalizing sort.
“Well!” Richard grinned, vengeance coursing through his veins. “We shall correct that this very moment, Lucas, for your cousin Henry is just over there with my sister, Anne. He is going to marry her, you know, and then you and I will be relations.”
“Really?” the boy exclaimed. “Papa, I can show him my egg and tell him that I won. Cousin Henry must be on holiday if he is able to be at the picnic. Isn’t that right, Mama?”
“Richard, I don’t think…” Julian tried to intervene, seeing that something was amiss, but Richard ignored him and took the boy’s hand.
“You will excuse us, won’t you, Julian? Miss Garrott? It was good seeing both of you again.”
He was being an ass and knew it, but he didn’t care. He laughed brightly, a bit like a madman as he walked off across the lawn with Lucas happily running at his side. Henry might marry Anne, and Richard might lose her from his life forever as a result, but he would not for one moment allow Henry to believe that he was leaving a pathetic, sulking lover in his wake.
IT HAD TAKEN Henry a few seconds to recover himself and present a relaxed image, though he doubted any of the other guests around him were fooled. He had tried not to watch Richard as he walked away, but he had followed him with his gaze until Richard stepped around the fountain on the other side of the lawn and fell into conversation with a man. Through the distortion of the water, Henry had been able to see that it was Julian Garrott.
The surge of jealousy that ran through Henry nearly had him laughing. He was jealous? What right did he have to be jealous now? He supposed he should accustom his mind to such scenes and what they would do to him, for it would not be long before Richard moved on, before there were other men…
Anne had taken his arm once more and was making determined conversation with the other guests. Eventually, she was able to overcome their confusion at Henry’s strange behavior, and had them gossiping and going over the next week’s social calendar. As he watched her, he wondered what she was really thinking and feeling.
Since the day after their engagement, she had been unerringly polite and cheerful, but he had watched the sparkle leave her eyes over the past two weeks. His inclination was to blame himself. He was careful to be as pleasant and polite as she was, yet there were times when he was simply unable to do it. The weight of what he had done, how much hurt he had caused to others and himself, would fall on him, and he would close his eyes and go elsewhere. Sometimes she would have to call his name more than once to bring him back to their conversation.
He hoped Anne was not terribly fond of London. If she was, she would have to make her future visits without him.
A movement from behind the distant fountain caught his eye. Suddenly Richard was coming back toward their group, his expression and stride ominously determined. In an instinctive move, Henry pressed his hand over the watch in his pocket.
Please don’t take it, Richard. It’s all I have now.
But then he saw, to his utter confusion, that Richard was being accompanied by a young boy who skipped at his side and spoke animatedly. They were followed by a man and woman, both of whom struggled to keep up and looked rather alarmed.
“Hello there, Henry!” Richard called. His face was contorted into some version of a friendly grin. “You won’t guess who I ran into!”
Henry took a step back, still clutching his side. Richard’s eyes glistened with malice behind that false smile. “Oh?” Henry said cheerfully. “W-who would that be?”
“Why, none other than your cousin Franklin, and here is his son, Lucas. I have had the pleasure of speaking with them just now.”
Something in Henry’s gut wrenched.
“Cousin Henry!” Lucas shouted joyfully. “I’m so glad you’re at the picnic too! Look at my egg. See how it isn’t broken?”
“You must excuse my son,” Mr. Cortland said to everyone as he approached. “He won the egg toss and is determined to make everyone know it.”
Luckily, the other guests were not of a stuffy sort, and the ladies immediately began cooing over Lucas’s victory and his pretty egg. Cortland met Henry’s eyes for a second, then looked away with obvious discomfort. He did not appear as Henry had imagined him.
“Here is your dear cousin, Henry,” Richard hissed, his voice just loud enough for him to hear. “Or should I say, your
scoundrel
cousin? Funny, isn’t it? He doesn’t strike me as much of a scoundrel. We had a friendly chat.”
“I-I-I…” Henry stammered, still clutching his watch.
“What?” Richard leaned in, and the malice in his eyes gave way to something more like pain. He swallowed hard and said, “If you didn’t want me, you could have done me the honor of telling me so. You didn’t need to make up stories.”
No!
Henry shook his head, for it was all he could do as the boy faced him again. Richard turned his back and stepped away.
“I’m sorry I ran up and shouted, my lord.” The boy was all worried contrition now that his father had given him some whispered scolds. “How do you do?”
The child looked so much like him, Henry thought, that it was startling. When Henry glanced up again, he could see that Cortland also looked like him, with the same golden-blond hair and blue eyes. He had often wondered where from the family tree his coloring had come, since both his parents had been dark in their features.
“Very well. Thank you…eh…” Henry was at a loss.
“Lucas,” Cortland supplied. “Lucas Oliver.”
“Oliver.” Henry nodded. It was their grandfather’s name. “It is good to see you, Lucas. Congratulations on your win.”
Lucas beamed as if the regent himself had favored him.
“I believe I will adjourn to the terrace and pilfer some of Lady Shoal’s excellent pastries,” Richard cut in. “Anne, would you care to join me? You must tell me all about the plans you’ve made so far for the wedding.”
Henry stared at Richard, willing him to look back, but he did not.
“Of course.” Her smile was perfectly correct, as always. “Excuse me, Henry?”
He nodded, and Richard and Anne set off across the lawn, Richard drawing her arm against his side in a protective manner. The other guests, looking to Henry as if they had grown uncomfortable, bowed out politely and expressed their desire for some tea as well. Henry suddenly found himself facing the despicable cousin he had never met, and the wife and son he had never known existed.
There were some tense smiles, and Henry grasped the moment to steel himself. What did this matter? So the man had a wife and child. What of it? No doubt many amoral reprobates had wives and children, and the man’s looks, sober and respectable, did not signify either. Henry was sure that Richard had looked at Cortland and, not seeing the dashing wastrel one would expect, had assumed the worst. Now not only did Richard believe that Henry had betrayed him, but he believed Henry had planned to do so from the beginning.
Henry turned a cold gaze on his cousin.
“Please, do forgive the intrusion, Cou—my lord,” Cortland said. “Lord Richard was quite, eh, determined that we come over.”
Cortland was looking Henry in the eye as he spoke, but Henry could see nothing challenging about it. Despite being ten years his senior, Cortland appeared to acknowledge his inferior rank and place.
Or he would like me to think so
. Henry remembered the unread letter he had received from Cortland, addressed from Bath, and cynically wondered what had been in it.
“What brings you to London? I understood that you were in Bath,” Henry said, his brow raised in a cold mask. It was not a look that he used very often, but one that any man of his rank would have been trained for.
“Yes.” Cortland nodded. “We are just visiting for a spell.”
To ask me for money?
Henry could not count the number of times his father had told him about Cousin Franklin writing him yet another beseeching letter, begging him to increase his allowance or pay off some recklessly acquired debt.
Lucas pulled at the cuff of Henry’s sleeve.
“Lucas!” Mrs. Cortland gasped.
“Cousin Henry, guess what?” the boy said, oblivious to his mother. “Tomorrow I get to visit Camden and see what it’s like. I’m going to go to school there when I’m bigger. Next year, right, Papa?”
“The year after,” Mr. Cortland corrected gently. He shifted his eyes across the lawn, and he pressed his lips together. Henry could understand his discomfort, if that was what it was. Camden was a school attended almost exclusively by the sons of the middle and merchant classes, and sometimes the sons of second sons and other people who were too far removed from gentility to live without a profession. The education there, while rigorous, was utilitarian and directed at leading boys to gainful professions. Trade. No one with any kind of claim to gentility would send a son there.
“You are going to Camden?” Henry said to Lucas. He lifted his gaze to Cortland and frowned. “Why not Eton or Harrow? They hardly cost more.”
Henry had formed the words with the intent of being offensive. He knew that and yet regretted saying them almost immediately. He was never cruel, even with people he disliked. He sounded…he sounded like his father.
Cortland’s color rose and his nostrils flared, but no other sign of anger broke his surface. “You are right, my lord,” he said flatly. “Were cost the only consideration, I would gladly send my son to Eton, where I went to school, but one must be prudent. If a man cannot live as a gentleman, he must accept reality and pursue a profession.”
“A
profession
?” Henry balked. Despite flouting society’s conventions in one very taboo way, Henry was still a creature of the upper classes and held the vast majority of his beliefs in common with them. A gentleman could not train his son to a profession, to
trade
, without breaking entirely from his peers and forever after lowering his family’s place. It was unheard of.
Before Cortland could reply—and a reply appeared to be boiling over—Lucas pulled on Henry’s sleeve again. He said, “I’m going to be a doctor, my lord! Isn’t that famous? I wanted to help Papa in the bookshop because I like books, but Papa says being a doctor is better, and when I go to school, he will hire another boy to help him in the shop—”
“Lucas! Hush, dear, please!” Mrs. Cortland pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and grabbed her son’s shoulder. “His Lordship doesn’t want to hear about all that. Now, be a good boy and say good-bye.”
“But Mama!”
“No buts!” Cortland scolded. He faced Henry again, his jaw working angrily. “If you will excuse us, my lord, we have importuned enough on your time.”
But Henry was not listening. His mind had halted several sentences ago. “You own a bookshop? In Bath?” He was too shocked to put any tact in his tone. Unfortunately, he sounded disgusted.
“Yes!” Cortland snapped. “We will be on our way now, so—”
“B-but
why
? Why on
earth
?”