The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(4)

Joseph had given him a look of disgust. “It’ll be a lark, Southie. Plus, he’s got one of the finest race horses in all of England and I’d like to see it. Come on, you can see your widow any old night. I really want you there.”

No one called him Southie, short for Southwell, except Joseph. They’d gone to Eton together, and by the time Henderson had got there, Joseph was already well-liked with a solid group of chaps and welcomed him into their fold quickly. Alone among all the men he’d ever known, Joseph had never judged him, never faulted him for who he was. Until Henderson had looked a little too long at Alice.

He still remembered that night, every detail, vivid and awful. They’d been bantering about whether Henderson should join Joseph’s friends when what Henderson truly wanted to do was climb between the legs of Mrs. Patterson. Of course Joseph knew what Henderson’s plans had been that night, and Joseph didn’t mind telling Henderson he was rather disgusted with his seemingly indiscriminate taste in women. Henderson was unapologetic about his affairs. He never seduced an innocent, never made promises he had no intention of keeping, never allowed his emotions to enter into his encounters. Pure pleasure and plenty of it.

“Just because you’re afraid of women doesn’t mean I have to pretend to be,” Henderson had teased. That’s when Alice had walked by. He hadn’t meant to look at her overlong, hadn’t thought to school his features. He’d been more than a bit in love with her for about two years now, but he’d never been stupid enough to let his emotions show. But in that moment, she was purely beautiful, with womanly curves, and by God, she was glorious. Walking past the pair as they talked in the library, she smiled at him and that smile, well, it did something to his heart. It always had, even though she was far too young for him to even contemplate.

“Southie.” His name, low and hard, and Henderson inwardly shook himself and tore his gaze away from Alice. “Do not ever look that way at my sister again.”

Henderson could feel his cheeks heat. He found he couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes and was deeply hurt that Joseph would get so angry over a simple gaze. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Joseph said, his tone sharp. “Promise me you will never touch my sister. Promise.”

“God, Joseph, of course. Of course, I promise on my life. I will never touch your sister.” He hadn’t meant that promise, though his words had been spoken fervently. He thought he’d have years to court Alice properly, to get Joseph to understand that he was more than a little in love with her, that she would never be like those other women he only used to ease the ache in his body. Henderson knew when Joseph realized how much he loved Alice, he’d come around. He may not have known who his father was, but he was an Oxford man now with a promising future. Alice was far too young, wouldn’t even come out for another year. He’d be patient and in the meantime, could see her any time he wanted. Could dance with her and laugh with her and make her love him as much as he loved her. He’d thought he’d have all the time in the world to convince Joseph to allow him to break that promise.

But that night, Joseph died.





Chapter 2


Alice tried to ignore Mr. Owens’s shocked face when she entered the front door, still in her bride’s dress.

“Miss?”

“My groom was absent,” she said, and was touched when he flinched, as if her words had caused him pain.

“I am very sorry, miss.” Dear Mr. Owens had volunteered to stay behind whilst the rest of the staff had attended the wedding. He was likely glad he had.

“It’s all right, Mr. Owens. I shall live. My only regret is that you all will likely be stuck with me in perpetuity.”

“Hardly a sacrifice, miss.”

She gave him a tight smile and stiffened when she heard her sister and Henderson come up behind her. Giving Henderson a pointed look, she pulled off her gloves and handed them to Mr. Owens, who took them and bowed. “Tea in the parlor, miss?”

“That would be perfect. For two.”

“Three, Mr. Owens. There’s a good man. Miss Hubbard is so upset, she forgot I was here.”

Alice narrowed her eyes at him and for some reason found herself suppressing a smile. It wouldn’t do to give him any encouragement. It was difficult enough to maintain her dignity when he was grinning at her like a fool. The thing was, it was wonderful to see Henderson, and had it been any other occasion, she might have forgotten herself and fallen into his arms. Knowing he had witnessed this ultimate humiliation was, well, humiliating. Why, after being absent for four years, had he decided to come to her wedding, of all things?

He had changed a bit, grown older, of course, but though he smiled and acted as he always had, she sensed an underlying seriousness. Perhaps it was his eyes. His smile didn’t seem to completely fill his features as it had once. He was still tall, of course, and impossibly handsome. Debonair, one might say, with his carefully tamed dark hair and well-cut jacket, though she did notice his shoes were quite dusty, as if he’d been running in a field.

They settled, all three of them, in the parlor and waited for tea. Alice supposed she should be up in her room sobbing. Perhaps after she’d had some tea that’s exactly what she would do.

“So. Three.”

Christina gasped, but Alice waved her outrage away.