The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(68)

“I have a letter from him that indicates his interest in investing in a Portuguese slave ship.”

“My God.”

“Yes. My father has a letter in which Lord Hubbard expresses his unhappiness with the situation but in which he promises his funds at any rate despite his reservations and the fact the slave trade has been banned here since early in this century.” Berkley shrugged, then shook his head. “A second letter indicates he never did send the money, that his conscience would not allow him to support the transportation of Africans to Brazil, I believe it was. The fact my father kept the letters is astonishing. Both are very nearly forty years old, and there they were, carefully catalogued, just waiting for the day when such information could be useful. It was my understanding from Lady Hubbard that Alice’s parents were friends of my father. Yet he kept those letters. The first one could gain someone a powerful favor if one was inclined to use it.”

Henderson felt slightly sick about the idea of confronting Lord Hubbard now, as he lay recovering from a heart attack, with such information. Indeed, it was difficult to believe Lord Hubbard would have considered tying himself to such a scheme and Henderson found himself vastly relieved to know the young Hubbard had changed his mind. “I’ll never use it. Please destroy them both.”

Berkley smiled again. “I already have.”



*



Guilt felt like a live thing inside her, gnawing away at her stomach, making her physically ill. She had very nearly killed her father. It was impossible to contemplate that he could have died, that he still might die.

She would never forget the look on her mother’s face when she’d rushed out onto the terrace and had seen Richard in Henderson’s arms. It had taken perhaps one second before her expression changed subtly, her countenance filled with worry and then a terrible coldness when she looked at Alice. Later, Alice realized that her mother had been waiting just inside the French doors, that somehow Alice had been seen making her escape to the terrace, and that her father had gone to fetch her.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Alice stared at her toes peeking out beneath her nightgown and prayed with all her might that her father would live. It was four in the morning and her eyes burned from tears and lack of sleep. Yet even with the guilt, the fear, her thoughts often went to Henderson, his face pale but for the livid red mark on one cheek from her own father’s hand.

Her mother hadn’t said a word, not one word, to her all evening. Not, “Go to bed, you must be tired” not, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” The silence was awful because Alice felt in her heart that she deserved it. If she had simply accepted Northrup back when he’d come to beg forgiveness, none of this would have happened. Alice wouldn’t have fallen in love with Henderson, she would not have gone to his room on the pretense of saying good-bye, her father would not be lying pale and still on his bed. Her mother would still love her.

Tears fell once again down her cheeks. A small knock on her door gave Alice some hope that her mother was coming to talk to her. Perhaps when Alice told her how much she loved Henderson, how it had all been a terrible mistake, she would understand. But when she called the visitor to enter, it was Christina who came silently into her room, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She ran to Alice and threw herself against her, letting out body-racking sobs that Alice tried to pull into herself.

When Christina’s tears subsided, she pulled back and wiped her cheeks with her sleeves. “What happened tonight? Mama isn’t saying anything and they’re speaking so quietly in Papa’s room I cannot hear a word.”

Alice gave her sister a fond smile. “Even with a glass?”

“Even with a glass,” her sister said without an ounce of shame at having been found out eavesdropping.

Alice wasn’t certain she should tell Christina what had happened, but after some thought decided it would be a good way to teach Christina the dangers of veering from propriety. One should always be proper, even when one was tempted not to be. She had not been herself, not since Henderson had come back to St. Ives, and had been acting in ways she never would have dreamed.

“It’s my fault,” Alice said, and shook her head when Christina made to protest. “It is. I was out on the terrace with Mr. Southwell. Alone. And we were kissing. Papa found us together and was so angry. I’ve never seen him that angry. He actually struck Henderson, Mr. Southwell, in the face. It was terrible.”

To Alice’s surprise, Christina smiled. “I knew you loved him. And it was obvious he loved you. I’m so sorry, Alice.”

“I shouldn’t have been out there with him. I knew it was wrong and I knew he would kiss me but I went anyway. I…” She swallowed past a throat gone suddenly thick. “I tricked Mama and Papa into dancing so that I could go out and meet him. What a horrible daughter I am and now I’ve nearly killed our papa.”

Alice sat beside Christina, twisting the material of her gown between her hands until it resembled a cloth dust devil. “Mama is so angry with me, Christina. I think that’s the worst of it. She couldn’t even look at me, she was so ashamed.” She let out a small laugh. “And to think I believed I’d be able to convince them that Mr. Southwell would be a good match for me. Do you know what Papa said, Christina? He told Mr. Southwell to get his dirty hands off me and called him a low-born cur. Papa! He was so very angry.”