The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(5)

“Yes. Three. First Baron Livingston. Then a scoundrel. Then—”

“—another scoundrel,” he finished for her. “You really do have the worst taste in men.”

“Says a man who is known as one of the worst rakes in all of England.”

He looked shocked and hurt. Mockingly so. “Rake? Hardly. Well, perhaps in my younger years. You have noticed, haven’t you, that I’ve been gone out of the country these last four years.”

“Were you?” She pretended to think. “Yes, I do believe I haven’t seen your name in the Tattler in quite some time.”

The look he gave her nearly made Alice shiver. For just a moment, he seemed genuinely angry with her.

Christina sat silently, but it was never an easy thing for her to do, and apparently her sister also saw that glimmer of irritation. “Alice isn’t the only one who thinks you’re a rake. Since your return to London, you’ve been in the Tattler several times.”

Henderson raised one dark brow. Slowly. It really was quite fascinating to watch the control the man had over that muscle.

Turning to Christina, Alice said, “Has he really?”

Christina’s cheeks tinged a bit pink. Their mother had forbidden the girls from reading the gossip column, but they did manage to sneak a peek at friends’ houses now and then. Apparently Christina had been sneaking a peek more frequently than Alice. “Yes. Just last week there was something about a Mr. S, back from his travels, being seen with Madame L. That must mean Mr. Southwell and Madame Lavigne. She’s appearing at the Vauxhall Theater, you know.”

“You are mistaken,” Henderson said, his voice oddly flat, and Alice gave him a sharp look.

“It must have been Thomas Southwick, Christina. Or any other number of men who’ve been traveling and whose last names begin with s. Really, you should not listen to such gossip nor spread it.”

Christina looked horrified and her cheeks flamed even brighter. “I do apologize, Mr. Southwell. It’s just that—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Please do not distress, Miss Hubbard. Not too long ago, that Mr. S could very well have been I. But I am a reformed man, these days. I haven’t been to the theater in years.”

A maid entered the room at that moment, and not far behind her came Alice’s mother and father, both looking weary and worried. Hurrying over to her as if she were about to drop off a cliff, when it seemed perfectly obvious to Alice that she was handling the whole jilting thing rather well, they each clutched one of her hands.

“I shall file a breach of promise immediately,” her father said.

“Papa, you’ll do no such thing. I don’t want to bring more attention to this.”

“You have been terribly wronged, Alice. If we do not file a petition, you will appear an even more tragic figure.”

Alice shook her head. “I find such actions crass, and endorsed mostly by women seeking money. I have no need for money, thanks to you and grandmamma, and no stomach for the proceeding.”

“I agree,” Henderson said, causing her parents to turn toward him.

“By God, Henderson,” her father said. “I didn’t realize you were back in England.” Richard strode over to Henderson and clasped his hand warmly. “It is so good to see you.”

Alice felt her throat close painfully. Her parents had loved Henderson like a son; everyone had loved Henderson in their family and everyone had felt his loss, paired as it was with Joseph’s death. It was almost like getting a tiny bit of Joseph back, bittersweet as it was.

Her mother also went over to Henderson, who had stood upon their entering, and gave him a warm embrace. “Where have you been? We have all missed you. Haven’t we, Alice?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve been in India working with a physician, a Dr. Cornish. The famine, you see.”

“Oh, yes, those poor people. Florence Nightingale has written several passionate letters to the Times about it.” Alice was not a regular reader of the Times, but she read it frequently enough to have known about a famine. “The drought must have been terrible.”

Henderson gave her a tight smile. “It was. I only wish the drought was the worst of it.”

Alice looked to her father, who shook his head. Apparently he wasn’t certain what Henderson meant either.

“I hope to return there soon,” Henderson said. “I’m here to gather support for relief.”

“Of course we should help, shouldn’t we, Papa?”

“Yes. But I’m afraid my influence with the politicians is not particularly widespread. We can talk later about this and see what I can do to rally support.”

Henderson seemed hugely relieved. “Thank you, sir. We’ve been getting an astounding amount of resistance, you see. People are dying from starvation. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You cannot imagine the horror of it.”

Richard gave an uncomfortable cough. “Yes, I can see you are passionate about this, Henderson, but I do not think this is a topic to be discussed at the moment.”

Henderson shot a look to Alice and nodded. “Yes, sir. My apologies. I seem to have lost a bit of my polish in the last few years.”

“Think nothing of it, my dear boy. India is so far from British society as to be on another planet.”