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“Sir! Sir, wake up!”
A violent shaking of Lex’s arm accompanied those words. He bolted upright at the panic in Henry’s voice, and before his eyes could even focus he was asking, “What is wrong?”
“It’s not fair.” The boy was standing beside the bed, fully clothed, his face twisted into an unattractive scowl. “Mama says we are going back to Mayne Castle and you aren’t coming with us.”
Lex could go if he wanted; she didn’t have any right to keep him away from his own estate. And he could demand that Henry remain with him. Portia too, if he were so inclined. All of this only brought a grimace to his face, though. Why had it come to this?
Henry grabbed hold of his hand. “Please come, sir. We can find your cricket bat and play on the west lawn. We can spin and spin and spin. We can even fish if you’d like.”
He would not miss this child’s incessant chatter. Nor the cock-eyed smile. Nor the warm feel of a small hand gripping his fingers. He’d lived six peaceful years without a small boy sleeping in his bed. What a relief it would be to do so again.
“Pleeeeeeeease.”
“No.” Lex snatched his hand back, took hold of Henry under the arms, and sat him on the mattress while he himself stood. “I have too much work to do. Important work. For the government. General Wellesley cannot fight the blasted Frogs without weapons. Not to mention the Americans,” he added with a grimace.
“Then let me stay here with you.”
“No.” If nothing else, the boy had inherited his mother’s persistence. And, as angry as he still was with her, Lex wouldn’t keep Eleanor from her son. Besides, one couldn’t brood in tormented, self-pitying silence with a happy-go-lucky child clamoring to go to the park. “You will go with your mother and that is that.”
He strode toward the dressing room, but Henry kept talking. “When will I see you again?”
Somehow, Lex stopped himself from slamming his palm against the dressing room door. He looked back at his son. “I don’t know, Colonel.”
On that sickening thought, he slipped into the dressing room.
Head aching, he shaved and dressed quickly. He’d already been up once this morning when a note duly delivered from Castlereagh informed Lex that while the secretary had talked to Drummond, there would be no change in the status of the Robsons; the man’s sudden change of heart had done nothing to convince the other government ministers. Lex would like to think this day couldn’t get any worse, but he knew it was about to.
As much as he couldn’t bear to see Eleanor and once more feel the sting of her reproach, he had to say goodbye to Henry and Portia. Though the state of his marriage was back to where it had been six years ago, he would not punish his son or his sister for his own inability to make things work. That mistake, at least, he would not make again.
He headed back to his bedchamber, hoping Henry was still there and he could say his farewell in private. Of course the boy was gone.
Lex trudged downstairs. Trunks and baskets covered the marble floor. Maids dithered, packing items into luggage at the last minute, barely snatching their hands back before a footman grabbed a piece and lugged it through the open door to the waiting carriages. Eleanor and Bickley stood in conference near the morning room door. Just seeing her caused Lex’s heart to shrivel. He’d been so stupid to place it in her trust.
Suddenly, he froze on the bottom step. His mother. If Eleanor had offered that woman a bed in this house... “Where is she?”
Eleanor stared at him woodenly. “Portia is helping Henry collect his toys.”
“No. Lady Lexden. Where is she?”
“At the Pulteney Hotel, as far as I know.”
Lex’s next breath was easier to take. Still, the air between him and Eleanor was stiff and unyielding. They had both said some very ugly things last evening. Hadn’t he always known this day was inevitable? Whether she was to blame or he and his irrational thinking were...
There was nothing more to say. There was everything more to say. His lips wouldn’t move.
“I’m ready,” Portia declared behind him, slicing through the stifling mood. She passed him but then turned back. “Thank you for allowing me to return with Eleanor. About...about Mother...”
She sniffled, and the rest of her question disappeared in a gasping sob and a flow of tears down her pink cheeks. Lex reached out his hand, but before he could even touch her his sister fell into Eleanor’s arms.
Eleanor. The one who had brought their mother here. He would never understand Portia. Or his wife. Or any other female, no doubt.
“I cannot find my cricket bat,” Henry declared, planting his feet in front of Lex and facing his mother and sobbing aunt. “I’ll have to remain here until I find it.”
Eleanor continued to pat Portia’s back. “Henry...”
They would never be gone at this rate.
Lex crouched down and turned his son around. “Colonel, you must accompany your mother. Who else is going to protect her from bandits?” When Henry opened his mouth to protest, Lex squeezed his arm. “You have permission to use my cricket bat at Mayne Castle. And”—he took a deep breath—“should I find yours, I will deliver it to you myself.”
A wide grin spread across the boy’s face. “You will?”
They needed to go. All of them. Lex craved the silence and peace their departure would bring. He needed to be alone with his madness and failure.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, blinking hard to banish the stinging at the back of his eyes. “Now, go on. Protect the ladies as only one of Wellesley’s officers can.” He rose quickly and stuck out his hand. Best to keep this civil and efficient.
With great reluctance, Henry shook his hand. His momentary joy had dissolved. “Goodbye, sir.”
“No.” Lex gave the boy’s hand an extra shake. “Until we meet again.”
He could feel Eleanor’s gaze boring into him. If he would just beg her stay, those eyes seemed to say, then Henry wouldn’t have to leave. She wanted so much. There was no hope for him.
Portia had righted herself, and she had sopped up most of her tears, so Lex reached out and pulled her away from Eleanor.
“Write to me if you wish, Lady Porcupine. I promise I’m a better correspondent than conversationalist.” And just as soon as the waters calmed a bit, he would invite Portia to visit him and he would try to explain, though the task seemed impossible, the wretched history of their family and the truth about her parentage.
She nodded. “Thank you. Will you give my regards to Mr. Andrew Robson?”
With great restraint, Lex didn’t roll his eyes. “Yes, of course. Now go. I think you’re going to love Mayne Castle much more than Somerset.”
He certainly did. How he longed to go back. If he found Henry’s bat, he would have an excuse for the trip, but that would mean confronting Eleanor and her expectations and his failures.
He waved Henry and Portia through the door. Then, though he ordered his feet to turn and take him to the solitude of his study, Lex found himself outside, shading his eyes from the blazing sun. One of the coachmen hefted the last trunk onto the second carriage while a footman assisted Eleanor’s lady’s maid inside.
Eleanor put her arm around Henry’s shoulder and tried to guide him to the front carriage where Portia already waited. When the boy merely shuffled his feet, his mother called his name in a strident tone Lex had never heard her use with him. Henry picked up his feet but not his shoulders, and he made quite the tragic figure mounting the carriage steps. If his stomach wasn’t twisting itself into knots, Lex might have laughed at the drama of it all.
At the top step, Henry turned and waved forlornly, cinching that knot in Lex’s stomach into a sharp pain. Lex raised his arm in farewell. As Eleanor followed the boy in, he told himself to go back inside. Darkness and silence awaited him in his study.
Instead, he watched the footman raise the carriage steps and close the door.
The coachman took up the reins and with practiced ease set the vehicle rolling down Hereford Street. At last, peace. Well, as peaceful as things could be when those knots continued to coil and kink inside Lex’s gut. He hadn’t eaten breakfast. That must be the problem. Except that he wasn’t hungry.
He stood there on the pavement, unable to move, unable to take his eyes from the carriages traveling slowly toward the corner. And then the lead carriage stopped.
Lex ignored the acceleration of his heartbeat. Portia had probably forgotten something.
The door swung open and Henry leapt down.
Well, then. Perhaps the boy had remembered where his bat was. He took off running toward Lex, but the carriages, inexplicably, after further disgorging Henry’s nursemaid and a portmanteau, began to move away again. From Lex. From Henry.
With his son careening down the pavement, Lex crouched again and caught him around the waist. The child was laughing wildly.
“What’s wrong?” Lex asked.
Henry gulped in a huge breath. “Mama says I can stay!”
“What?”
“She says you need me more than she does right now.” The boy shrugged and then grabbed Lex’s hand and pulled him toward the house. “I’m to stay and make certain you find time to play. So first things first, we should go to the park again. I think I remember now where my bat is and—”
“Henry.” Lex pulled on his hand to slow him down and collapsed onto the front steps, keeping the child, the still smiling child, in front of him. She’d done this for Henry’s sake surely. Whatever he thought of Eleanor as a wife, he couldn’t fault her as a mother. He cupped his hand around his son’s cheek and said, “You have the best mother in the world, do you know that?”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy didn’t, not fully. Someday he would, though. Especially if he ever spent much time with either of his grandmothers. Ah well, children only lived for today, not tomorrow. Right now, Lex could live with that philosophy.
He stood and hoisted Henry in his arms. “I’m glad you are staying.”
“Me too,” Henry replied before throwing his arms around Lex’s neck and squeezing. “Can we go to the park now?”
Lex squeezed him back and turned toward the front door. “Absolutely. To the park it is.”
––––––––
“ELEANOR, ARE YOU QUITE all right?” Portia asked as the carriage trundled its way north through London.
Staring hard out the window in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, Eleanor ignored her for a moment. When she was able, she turned and smiled. “Why, of course. I’m happy to be heading back to Essex.”
Portia frowned. “Please don’t put on your all-is-well smile for me. I’m not Society. How are you feeling?”
The girl did deserve better than false positivity. “Absolutely wretched,” Eleanor managed to say just before her tears made their escape. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
While she dabbed at her eyes and bit her lip to keep from deteriorating further, Portia reached over and awkwardly patted her back. Amidst her jumbled thoughts and aching heart, it occurred to Eleanor that the poor girl didn’t know how to comfort someone because she had never had anyone to comfort. Never had anyone to comfort her. And that made Eleanor cry all the harder.
Face buried in her handkerchief, it took her a minute to realize Portia had moved closer and secured her arm around Eleanor’s shoulder in a hug. At that point, Eleanor turned and fully embraced her sister.
“Why do I have the feeling my brother has made you this wretched?”
Eleanor sniffled and tried to compose herself. “He’s maddeningly good at it. Last time I left London I was relieved to be going. Now I wish he had given me a reason to stay.”
Portia drew back a little. “Never say you are in love with him?”
“I am afraid so,” Eleanor admitted with a sigh.
“You’ve betrayed me,” Portia replied. “Though I must admit I saw it coming.”
“I’ve betrayed myself.”
Eleanor had always believed falling for Octavius would be disastrous. Yet, everything had been going so well. She’d gambled against herself. Octavius had grown, and she’d expected him to make amends this morning, not see her off without a by-your-leave. Alas, her first inclination had proved true.
And yet...
“Why did you leave Henry? Lex doesn’t deserve him if he’s hurt you this badly.”
“Life is never that simple.” Eleanor gestured with her handkerchief. “Henry wants to be with his father, and I can’t deny him that wish. Especially not when Octavius has finally embraced fatherhood. Not even when it tears my heart up that Henry chose him over me.”
Her boy had never been away from her for more than a day. Of course he had his nurse, but would he miss Eleanor come bedtime? Would he blame Octavius for his mother not being there?
Worse, would Octavius tire of the boy? No. She had to have faith in her husband’s desire to forge a relationship with his son. She wouldn’t have sent Henry back if she didn’t. Plus, she wholeheartedly believed Octavius would send Henry back to her when it was appropriate. He wasn’t the monster who had once threatened to take her son away. But, now how many mornings would Eleanor wake without her son bounding in, all smiles?
Portia folded her arms. “I don’t think I want to have children.”
“I think I can understand that sentiment coming from you.” Eleanor laid her hand on the girl’s arm. “I’m sorry about your mother. I played my part in that debacle by contacting her with such presumption. I must confess I thought Octavius’s perception of her was wrong, and that’s why I said nothing even after he and I spoke of her. I never wanted to put either of you in the position you were in last night.”
“I didn’t believe him either. He tried to warn me. He didn’t just tell me no.”
Eleanor sat up a little straighter. “Really?”
Portia nodded. “He found me and tried to explain why I hadn’t lived with her, but I completely disregarded him and went charging back into the ballroom.” Her jaw tightened. “Of course, he could have told me years ago.”
“He was trying to protect you from her indifference.” Portia looked up sharply, and Eleanor squeezed her arm. “I’m not saying it was the right course of action. I’m simply trying to explain how he thinks.”
“Good luck,” the girl muttered.
Eleanor sank back against the cushion and sighed. “It’s a daunting task.”
The carriage grew quiet as both she and Portia became lost in their thoughts.
Portia was fiddling with the ribbons on her gown when she spoke again. The scenery rushing by was greener and bluer now. They had reached the countryside.
“How do you know for certain you love him? I thought I loved Mr. Semple, but even before Lex told me the truth about him I can’t say I longed for him. I was upset when Lex denied us permission to marry, but I look back and I can easily see how Mr. Semple wasn’t right for me. But how does one tell without hindsight?”
“I recognize your brother’s many faults. I do. I think part of loving anyone is being able to accept their faults, and I’m willing to do that for Octavius.” She had hoped he could do the same for her. He couldn’t. “I also see the beauty that lies beneath his imperfections: generosity, a strong sense of protection, a willingness to bend. Usually.”
“I’m sorry he’s hurt you. Is this the end then?” Portia asked.
Eleanor smiled ruefully, realizing the truth. “Here’s the thing about love. It’s very optimistic. I am still waiting for Octavius to bend.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Eleanor said nothing. Something must have shown on her face, though, for Portia reached out and caught up her hand. “I apologize. That wasn’t well said of me.”
Linking their fingers, Eleanor sighed. “I’m still too optimistically in love to see beyond the hope. He’ll come. He’ll bend.” She turned more fully toward Portia. “But whatever happens, I don’t want you to lose what’s grown between you and your brother. He cares about you, Portia.”
“What’s to stop him from turning against me too?”
“He won’t. Please don’t think that. He’s always loved you and, in his odd way, always tried to protect you. He’s just not very good at showing people how he feels.” At the girl’s skeptical look, Eleanor rushed on. “It’s different with you. You’re his little sister. Dearest, do you have any memories of the day your father died?”
Portia shook her head.
“It was a terrible day for your family, but the most important thing you need to know is that your brother spent hours in the nursery with you, distracting you from all that was going on. He was aware of all the horrible things that were happening, but he protected you above all. He loved you then and he always will. He just might not ever be able to tell you so. Look for the love in the things he does, Portia. It’s there. Keep your eyes open.”
“Like when he didn’t tell me that Mother didn’t want me? Like when he refused to allow me to marry that dastardly Mr. Semple?”
Eleanor nodded at each of these things, though she wasn’t thrilled with the way he’d handled them. But with luck he would get better.
“Lex said I could write to him. I think I shall do that.”
Good. If nothing else, the Mayne family was on the mend after all these years. And if she, Eleanor, wasn’t a part of it...
That didn’t bear thinking about.
Portia laid her head back and closed her eyes. Eleanor gazed out the window, glad to be alone with her thoughts once more, missing Henry dearly. What were he and his father up to right now?
Octavius’s sister spoke again, more quietly this time. “He’s a fool if he doesn’t bend.”
Eleanor smiled. “Portia, I love you. You are the sister I have always wanted.”