Candlelit Christmas Kisses. Anne HerriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
together like this?’ he asked. ‘I feel myself family already, and I wish to be of service to you in whatever way I can.’
‘Thank you, Henry,’ Selina said, and smiled again. ‘I think I should like some pudding. After all, we should not let all Cook’s work go to waste, should we?’
Alone in a garden sadly without the benefit of a summer moon and distinctly chilly, Robert wondered what had made him leave the company so abruptly. He had been in the habit of taking solitary walks at night in Italy, where it was very much warmer, and had come out without his greatcoat. If he were not much mistaken, winter had taken a turn for the worse and they would soon have snow.
Watching Miss Searles with her family, he’d suddenly felt like an outsider, shut out from the warmth and the intimacy of the group. Henry was obviously accepted by them as family, and he had taken on the role with evident pleasure. Always honest, he’d already admitted to Robert that his feelings were engaged, and that should Miss Amy show any preference for his company, he would offer for her, even if his chance of her accepting was slim.
She would be a fool to turn him down; although, given her chance to shine in society, the beautiful Amy Searles would undoubtedly become the rage—just as her sister had that night in Bath. The pity of it was that because of their straitened circumstances, she would probably never get her moment of glory—which was a shame for her and her family. However, should Nor propose and be refused, Robert’s sympathy might be transferred to his friend. Henry’s scars were not something that could be hidden away or forgotten; he must live with them for the rest of his life. Robert could sometimes forget his pain—at least for a while.
He had forgotten for a short time at dinner. Watching, rather than participating in the lively banter, he had felt happy for a while—and then something had brought the memory to mind, and he’d felt guilty that he was alive and enjoying himself. How could he be happy when Juanita lay in her grave—murdered by his men? Men he ought to have taught to behave in a civilised manner even under the heat of battle. All that beauty and passion gone for ever, only her pain a living memory that haunted him day and night. And he was to blame, because he had not controlled his men.
After so many years the pain should have dulled. Indeed, he hadn’t been aware of it for most of the day, with his thoughts preoccupied with the house, the estate—and the intriguing family who had settled in his home. They were like cuckoos in a blackbird’s nest, and if he’d had any sense, he would have found an empty house on the estate or in the village and moved them there before he arrived.
It was too late now to make them move before Christmas. Henry was enjoying life for the first time in years, and he—he had no need to be sucked into their enchanted circle. Good grief, the house was large enough. If he chose he could shut himself away in his wing and never see them …
The trouble was that he was like a moth being drawn to the flame. He wanted the warmth of their charm and beauty. His lonely soul was craving something he had lost so long ago. But his instinct told him that if he drew near, he would singe his wings.
He could never put himself at risk of such pain again. For a moment he could hear Juanita’s screams, and he put his hands to his ears, trying to block out the sound. But it was inside his head and could never be shut out.
When he was restless like this, he needed exercise. It was bitterly cold, and he was not dressed for it, but he needed to run and run hard. The only way to shut out this tearing agony was to exhaust himself physically, so that when he returned to the house he would fall asleep and achieve that peace he longed for so desperately.
Selina stood at the window at the top of the hall and looked out. Trent had told her that the earl had gone into the garden without his greatcoat and had still not returned by the time the others parted and sought their beds.
‘It’s bitter out, miss,’ the elderly butler had said. ‘I fear for him on a night like this—his family had weak chests. If he were to take a chill …’
Selina understood his fear of losing the last of the line. If the earl died, the estate must pass to the Crown, and it would probably stand empty for years until every effort had been made to discover a distant relative. If none were found, it would eventually be sold, and by then it would have decayed to the stage where it would almost certainly be pulled down.
‘I should not worry too much, Trent,’ she’d said kindly. ‘The Earl survived the war and must, I think, be stronger than his cousins were.’
‘I hope so, miss—but it isn’t wise. It isn’t wise at all.’
Selina could not disagree. She had gone to her room but, finding it impossible to rest, had donned a warm wool robe and taken up a position at this window, which looked out over the front of the house, watching for Moorcroft’s return.
It was almost one o’clock in the morning when he finally returned. She saw him walking towards the house. He paused for a moment and looked up, almost as if he sensed he was being watched. Then she saw someone go out to him. It was Henry Norton. He took hold of the earl’s arm and half pushed him inside. She could hear nothing, but she sensed that Nor was using the privilege of old friends to scold Moorcroft.
A feeling of relief crept over her as she realised that Henry must have done this many times before. He would know how to care for his friend—because they were friends, rather than employer and secretary. Henry Norton did not work because he needed to, or to amuse himself, but because he could not leave his friend. They had both been terribly scarred but in different ways.
Selina’s throat caught, and for some nonsensical reason, she found that her cheeks were wet with tears. She brushed them away. How foolish! She had hardly cried when Papa died, though she’d sobbed for Mama—to cry for a man she scarcely knew was beyond foolish. He would not want her tears.
Turning away, she went back to her room and threw her robe over a chair. She was glad to snuggle down into her bed, and after a few minutes of rather serious reflection settled down to sleep.
‘You damned fool,’ Henry said in a severe tone. ‘This isn’t Italy, and it’s cold enough for snow. What the hell did you think you were doing?’
‘To be honest, I didn’t think,’ Robert replied, and gave him a rueful smile. ‘I am sorry to keep you from your bed, Nor. You really must stop watching over me as if I was your child.’
‘When you start behaving like an adult, I’ll go to bed and leave you to yourself,’ Henry said. ‘Now, drink this hot toddy and no arguments. I don’t want you going down with a chill.’
‘I never have chills,’ Robert said. ‘I’m as strong as an ox. Give it here and I’ll drink it—but you must go to bed. And, Nor …’
Henry turned as he reached the door.
‘Thank you. I’m a fool and I’d be dead without you.’
‘Rubbish,’ Henry said. ‘You are a fool, but you would survive.’ He hesitated, then, ‘Let it all go, Robert. I know what happened, I know you feel responsible, but you were not to blame. Those men lost their heads in the heat of their bloodlust; they weren’t the first and they will not be the last. It is a beast that lives in some men, and you could not have known.’
‘Yes, you are right.’ Robert shivered. He was still cold all the way through, even though he was sitting by a roaring fire wrapped in blankets. ‘I’m trying. Believe me, I don’t want this nightmare to continue.’
‘I was hiding in Italy just as you were, Robert. I’ve decided it’s time I started to live again—and so should you.’
‘I’m glad for you. I really am. You deserve to be happy.’
‘I’m not sure I shall be happy. I have no right to ask her, Robert, and unless I can be sure I could make her happy, I shan’t—but whatever happens I’m not going to hide away. I am who I am—scars and all. People may love me or hate me, but I’m not going to apologise for how I look.’
‘No need, Nor,’ Robert said,