Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(34)

And that?

That broke her heart.





Chapter Twelve



The next day Triton marched into the palace and into the throne room. The prince was sitting with his fiancée, telling her once again how brave she was to have saved him, while Clio stood by mournfully. Triton rolled his eyes at this scene. He took the prince by the shoulders, picked him up, and shoved him into Clio’s arms, firmly enough that the prince’s mouth fell against Clio’s lips.…

—From The Curious Mermaid



Henry was dismounting from his horse in front of Keating House a few minutes later when he heard hoofbeats behind him.

He turned just as Seymour pulled up. The other man must’ve followed him directly from the ball. The carriage carrying the rest of the Keating family hadn’t even arrived back at the house.

“Blackwell,” Seymour greeted him with uncommon seriousness as he dismounted. “A word?”

“Of course.”

Henry led the way into the house, passing Phillips with a nod and continuing up the stairs and into the library. He went straight to the decanter sitting on a table and poured the amber liquid inside into two glasses.

He turned and offered one to his oldest friend in the world.

“Thanks.” Seymour took a long sip, paused to swallow, and then looked up at Henry. “I can’t let you have her. I’ve been in love with Joanna for years, I think you know that.”

“Yes,” Henry said. He would’ve had to be a blind fool not to have seen the love between the two. They’d never discussed it. One wasn’t supposed to in the aristocracy. A man was just supposed to marry his best friend’s lady and never say a word.

Henry made a face at his drink. What bloody idiots they were.

“The thing is,” Seymour continued. “When Cecilia was found it changed everything. I could tell Joanna how I felt. She could tell me that, surprisingly, I’m the man for her. We made plans. And I find that just because Cecilia wasn’t who we thought her doesn’t change those feelings. Those plans. She’s mine, Blackwell. I can’t even tell you I’m sorry.”

“Nor should you,” Henry replied. “I should’ve broken off the engagement long ago and damned the earls. Naturally you should marry Joanna.”

“Thank you.” Seymour’s charming lopsided smile spread across his face, and he suddenly clapped Henry in his arms. “God. Thank you, Blackwell.”

Henry hugged him in return and then stepped back. “Angrove won’t like it, you realize.”

Seymour winked. “Which is why we’ll present him with a fait accompli. I told Joanna to pack before I left her tonight. We’ll elope. I’ve bought a commission in His Majesty’s army, and I’ll at least keep a roof over her head until her father comes around.”

Henry shook his head. It was a wild plan, but if anyone could pull off eloping with an earl’s daughter it was Seymour. “Good luck. You’re going to need it, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you.” Seymour set down his glass and turned to the door before hesitating. He looked over his shoulder at Henry. “I just couldn’t vanish without making it right with you first. We are all right, yes?”

“Always,” Henry replied. “You’ll write to me should you need help?”

Seymour nodded and waved, and then he was out the door.

Henry swallowed the rest of the brandy in his glass.

The door to the library opened again and Kate stuck her head in. “There you are.” She entered and closed the door behind her, then leaned against it. “How are you?”

Henry shrugged. How to explain what it felt like to have your heart break? “Not good.”

She nodded pensively. “Mother’s weeping, and Becca is hiding in her bedroom.” She glanced up at him. “I quite liked Cecilia…or whoever she was.”

“Mary,” he said, and even saying her name made him feel a little better. “Her name is Mary Whitsun.”

Kate bit her lip. “What will you do?”

He sighed and put down his glass. “What I must. Where is Father?”

“In his study.” She backed away from the door to let him open it. “Henry?”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and looked at her.

She clasped her hands at her bosom. “Whatever happens, please know that Becca and Mother and I love you very much.”

“And I you all.” He took a step toward her and bussed her on the forehead, then looked into her worried eyes. “You’d best be prepared.”

With that he went to confront his father.

He found the earl pacing the cavernous expanse of his study—the room ran all along one side of the house and really ought to have been the library, but Father had long ago taken it for himself.

“I want you to call upon Joanna tomorrow afternoon,” the earl said as soon as Henry entered the room. “Bring her flowers and a small present. Be sure to take my carriage so that the Keating crest shows plainly. If we act promptly we can forestall much of the gossip.”

“There’s just one problem with that plan,” Henry drawled. “I’m not marrying Joanna.”

Father stopped and glowered at him. “Henry—”

“No,” Henry said quietly but firmly. “You can’t make me marry Joanna. You seem unable to acknowledge that. Perhaps it’s my own fault. I’ve submitted to this ridiculous arranged marriage all my life. It’s past time I quit.”