In an effort to get ahead of any gossip, Culfrey ordered the engagement cancellation placed in the
Times
the very next day…and Anne’s engagement to Cayson announced the day after that. It was hardly a graceful way of doing things, but it was hardly a graceful situation. All of society was going to realize what had occurred.
It was the only thing anyone could speak of the day the second announcement was made. Lord Brenleigh—the
earl
, Lord Brenleigh—had been jilted in favor of a mere Mr. Cayson, whom everyone was sure they had never heard of. Surely His Lordship must be furious with his humiliation and was very likely to disappear back to that far-off estate of his and never show his face in London again! At least this was the decided opinion of society matrons, all of whom mourned the predicted loss of such a charming gentleman from their ballrooms.
Richard listened to this gossip with a sickening mix of emotions. He was elated and yet so miserable he could hardly breathe. Henry was not going to marry Anne, but did that change anything? She had been the one to end it, after all. Henry had still lied to Richard, betrayed him by leading him to believe that they had a future when he had been planning to marry Anne all along. And then there was Henry’s cousin. Oh, yes! Richard could not forget that grand lie!
The days passed. The gossip continued, the family continued to worry, and from Henry they heard nothing.
Like the rest of London, Richard believed that Henry would be seen no more. Even when Culfrey had finally sent a letter inviting Henry to come over and
discuss
the recent events, the reply had been a short note thanking him for the invitation and assuring him that he bore no ill will to Anne or any member of His Grace’s family. Very proper. Very brief. And to Richard, very confusing.
So it came as quite a shock when Henry walked into White’s four weeks after the announcement and ordered his luncheon.
Richard had nearly bolted up from his chair when he saw Henry enter the dining room. Only Julian had noticed Richard’s reaction, for everyone else was too busy staring and exchanging humorous whispers under their breath. Henry appeared to be oblivious to it all, taking his seat with a proud posture and reading his newspaper as he ate.
Richard had felt nearly torn in half by the desires to offer Henry his support and the urge to punch him in the face. In the end, he had decided on a compromise and left.
The next two weeks felt like a stage show that Richard was merely watching but never participating in. He was too conflicted and too confused to attach himself to one reaction or another, to the point where he barely participated in conversation. He just watched and listened. He resumed his social calendar, for he had lost his appetite for self-destruction, and he doubted Julian would allow it to continue anyway. He began to wonder how long the pain would take to go away, for despite how many times he told himself that it was over and Henry was gone, he just could not
feel
that the words were true.
The gossip—the
new
gossip—started at the Bertrams’ concert, the first function that Anne attended with Ben as her escort. The couple had been kindly received, of course, even though a few stuffy old denizens observed Anne coldly. To everyone’s shock, Henry arrived just before the performance began. Their shock was compounded when he seated himself next to none other than Anne and Ben. The other guests pretended to continue their conversations, while surreptitiously watching Henry and Ben’s every move and straining to hear every word. But the altercation that everyone expected never happened. In fact…
Ben and Anne were all smiles, not in the least bit uncomfortable, and they talked with Henry about the program and his dinner plans and all the other usual topics that friends discussed as if nothing in the world was out of the ordinary. Nothing!
Perhaps Lord Brenleigh had lost his mind.
Richard watched this from his seat and tried to make questioning eye contact with Anne, but when he caught Henry’s gaze instead, Richard swiftly turned away.
And it continued in this manner—at the Norfolk ball two days later, at the theater the night after that, and Henry was even spotted chatting amicably with the couple at Gunter’s one afternoon! Talk of Lord Brenleigh being a jilted man vanished overnight, and virtually everyone was sure that
they
had never believed it and
they
had never said any such thing. Clearly, the cancellation had been a mutual agreement. But no. That was not good enough, not
dramatic
enough for society. Soon, it began being suggested that the impending union between Lady Anne and Mr. Cayson had been encouraged—nay, even arranged—by none other than Lord Brenleigh himself.
“Such a kind heart he must have!” Lady Shoal said only a few days later at a ball. Richard could hardly even remember the name of his hostess. He was far too preoccupied with the talk surrounding him like a fog.
“How do you mean, my lady?” he replied.
“Oh, you know!” she said, waving her fan as if he was being silly. “Anne and young Cayson are so clearly smitten with each other. Brenleigh must have seen it and set everything in motion, and all to his own detriment too.”
Lady Shoal was not the last person to express such an opinion in Richard’s hearing. Being Anne’s brother, Richard always encountered the subject, no matter whom he was speaking with. And after a time, he began to find himself wavering, hoping. His anger would slip like a shield that he was too exhausted to hold up, and during those slips the bright light of hope would shine through and leave him feeling temporarily light-headed. Could it be true, or was it just the same fanciful gossip that society always created to entertain itself? The stories would explain why Henry was seen conversing and laughing with Anne and the man who, supposedly, had stolen her from under his nose as if all three of them were the best of friends. If it was true, surely Anne would know, but Richard had not asked her. He refused to let his hope take him that far.
Then, just as suddenly as Henry had walked into White’s that day, he disappeared. Hostesses were bereft to receive his regrets in response to their invitations, and none of the stalwarts at White’s could report having seen him there in several days. The small hope that Richard had been letting in, bit by bit, froze in his gut.
“Does it really matter even if he did arrange things for Cayson?” Julian asked after Henry had not been spotted in a week. “You said that he lied about this cousin, his heir. That does not change, does it?”
“No, I suppose not.” Richard knew that Julian was just trying to soothe him by taking his side, now that it seemed pointless to do otherwise. He still did not feel sure enough to go with the sentiment, and he hated that. He hated not being sure about himself, about life.
It will pass.
The next day Richard agreed to accompany Anne, Cayson, and his sister-in-law to a garden party at one of the picturesque estates in Richmond. The hostess was particularly fond of the famous hedge maze that graced much of the back lawn, and encouraged the guests to wander about and sip lemonade, for the day was uncommonly warm for the time of year. Richard soon detached himself and wandered into the house instead, finding one of the smaller sitting rooms through the French doors on the terrace. His plans extended no further than having a glass of brandy—only one—and falling into a chair so that he could think. All he seemed to do recently was think, and he knew precisely what—
who
—he was thinking of.
I miss you, Henry. Damn me for a pathetic fool, but I do!
“Richard.”
That warm, smooth voice filled the room like a wind. Richard jerked round in his chair, then leaped to his feet. Standing in the open doorway, the bright afternoon sky behind him, was Henry. He was dressed with immaculate attention, his blue superfine coat hugging him like a glove. Yet there was a darkness around his eyes, as if he had not slept in a long time.
Richard opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Half his mind wanted him to sneer and turn away, while the other half wanted him to wrap his arms around Henry. “What—”
The anguished look that came to Henry’s face kept him from finishing the question. Their eyes stayed locked as they both stood, an ocean between them. Henry took a step back onto the terrace.
“Wait!” Richard gasped.
Henry turned as if to walk away but then immediately looked back over his shoulder. His gaze was speaking, pleading. He walked farther out onto the terrace, forcing Richard to move toward the door. At the terrace steps, Henry looked back again, his gaze just as pleading, as if saying,
Follow me.
He wants me to follow him.
Richard stepped to the top of the stairs and watched Henry walk down the white gravel path leading to the hedge maze. After several yards he slowed and looked back again. Richard started down the stairs. Whatever happened, he would satisfy at least one of his conflicting desires. He would give Henry a piece of his mind and maybe bloody his nose, or he would satisfy the other and finally have a reason to sleep soundly again.
HENRY PASSED A laughing couple of ladies just leaving the entrance to the maze. They plied their fans and curtsied. Henry managed the barest of polite nods before he continued on. He looked over his shoulder again. Richard was only a little ways behind him, his face still a blank mask.
Follow me, Richard, please. I need to be alone with you.
Henry had had a long conversation with his hostess when he had arrived, all about her lovely hedge maze. She had shown him the map in the library and told him about the secluded little nooks and closed gardens within. It was perfect. He took the first turn only when he saw that Richard had just cleared the last. Henry needed him to see which way he was going.
RICHARD CONTINUED ON, his pace growing much faster as they entered the maze. It was late in the afternoon, and many of the guests had already left the maze to seek cold drinks on the lawn. Henry turned left up ahead; then he must have run, for Richard just caught the sight of his heel making the next right. Richard’s pace grew, faster and faster, until he was at a full run. His pulse was beginning to pound in his ears, but not from the light exertion. Excitement, pure and unattached, was taking hold of him.
“Damn.” Richard groaned under his breath as he took the next right and came to an open area with a series of Greek statues and benches. There were several path options, and he did not know where to go. He was about to curse the very sky in his frustration when he spotted movement, and he turned around.
One of the paths was actually a doorway. It lay open to a small private garden. Henry stood a few yards inside, next to one of the white stone urns. Their gazes locked, and Richard came forward. Instinctively, he closed the ivy-covered door behind him with a satisfying click of the latch.
RICHARD DID NOT say anything. Henry cringed, wondering if it was anger or something else that lay behind that blank face. Either way, he had to keep going. Something had to be settled.
“My father lied to me,” Henry rasped, looking at the ground. “He knew about me. He knew what I am. S-somehow, he knew.”
Richard cocked his head slightly.
“He thought I would never marry and produce an heir if I could just rely on Franklin, so he…eh… It was all a lie. I never met Franklin until you brought him over to me at that picnic. I believed he was everything my father said.”
Richard continued to stare at him, his posture so perfectly still.
Henry drew a deep breath again, but it wasn’t helping. The pressure behind his eyes was too much, and Richard wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t saying anything. Oh, God…
“But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I proposed to Anne to protect myself from you because I knew I couldn’t do it if I had my head right, and I didn’t then, so I…” He closed his eyes to keep the tears away, but it was a mistake. The action caused them to finally fall over his cheeks. He spoke his last words with his eyes closed. “I just need to know if you can still want me—”
If the wall behind him had been a hedge and not stone covered in ivy, they would have tumbled through. Henry’s breath rushed out of him as Richard launched forward and wrapped him in an embrace so tight that for a few seconds Henry could not lift his face from Richard’s shoulder. But why would he try? He returned the embrace with all the vigor and pent-up emotion that had been keeping him awake night after endless night.
RICHARD WAS SHAKING. He couldn’t seem to hold Henry close enough. He was afraid to speak, lest the only thing to come out be a mad shout of joy.
Risking it anyway, he lifted his head and looked into Henry’s wild, glistening eyes. Richard cupped Henry’s face in his hands. “Can I still want you?” he choked out. “I love you.”
MORE TEARS RAN down Henry’s face, but they were tears of utter joy. He grinned and laughed and threw his arms around Richard’s neck. “I love you too, Richard. I think I knew from the first night.” He laughed a little madly. “That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“God, no.”
Henry’s brow knitted. “But…can you forgive me? Truly? What I did—”
“Good God, you think I’m perfect? You think anyone like us can be? Just promise me, Henry. Please. Promise me that you will never marry.”
“I promise. Never.” Henry ran his fingers through Richard’s hair.
RICHARD HELD HENRY’S face again and began kissing his cheeks, his eyes. Married? Oh, yes. The bond was just as real, just as permanent. Nothing else mattered. Richard moved his kisses to Henry’s brow and down his nose, needing to cover every wonderful inch. When their lips finally met, it was like the world around them vanished.
But of course, it did not. Much sooner than either would have liked, they pulled apart and breathed. As if of the same mind, they both looked toward the closed garden door. Closed but not locked. There would always have to be locks between them and the world. It was the only way it could be, but as they stared into each other’s excited, blissful eyes, they both knew that they would take advantage of those locks for all they were worth, and they would savor every moment they could behind them.