“Lord Morley, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
The honorary pierced him like a knife. “Forgive me, my lady.”
Her mouth worked as she wrung her fingers. “Ashby doesn’t like when I’m not by his side for long.”
Dread crept into Henry’s core as he watched the shell of his friend shift on her feet, as though desperate to be away from him. The woman he knew was gone, lost to her marriage and her new life, leaving him behind.
“You never wrote to me after last Christmas.” Ellie spoke in a rush, keeping her gaze just above his shoulder.
He flinched, guilt flooding his gut. “I didn’t and I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say.”I was also drunk to the point of unconsciousness for most of the past year.
“You could have congratulated me,” she replied, finally meeting his eyes. “Or asked how I was.” She hesitated, then dropped her voice. “I’ve been lonely.”
“I tried,” he hedged, “but it’s difficult, El.”
“How did you write to me so often, then? The first winter we met?”
His cheeks heated. “My valet helped. I dictated the words and he wrote them. Did you notice how the quality of my penmanship took a dip after the Knollwood house party?”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “You wrote for yourself after that?”
“Not by choice.” He released a low chuckle. “But it was worth the effort for you.”
Ellie lifted her hand as though she wanted to touch his arm, but let it fall. He hated the pity written in her posture, legible in her eyes.Always a disappointment.
“They were lovely letters, Henry. They meant the world to me.”
A bubble of joy burst through his melancholy. “They would take me hours. I’m certain I toiled more on those than I ever did at Eton.” He smirked. “I wasted quite a bit of paper and nearly tore the dictionary to shreds from overuse.”
“You did all that for me?”
“Of course, El. Your letters helped me when...” He sighed and pressed his lips together. “When I needed them.”
Ellie relented and took his hand, squeezing it. “Henry, what do you mean?”
He had gone too far, revealed too much. He pushed his mouth into a smile. “I’ll call on you after the holiday.” He would make it up to her, repair what he got wrong—
“No.” She shook her head. “Ashby won’t take callers, but… would you write?”
He wanted to ask her why her fire had been extinguished, wanted to make her smile, feed her until she lost the circles below her eyes and the dimples returned to her cheeks. But he had no idea how to nurture a soul when his own was wasting away. “Ellie,” Henry said, his voice low, “come have a quick drink with me. He won’t know.”
Ellie pressed her eyes closed before meeting his gaze. “I can’t, Henry,” she whispered, placing her palm over her lower abdomen. “Ashby consulted a doctor who said I should only drink tea and water since we’re trying…” She trailed off with a wince.
His eyes widened at images of his sweet Ellie suffering the attentions of that man. “Oh—I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“I’m hoping this will work,” she interrupted, a tremor in her voice. “The doctor said I should be increasing by now, but something may be wrong—” Her voice cut out on a whimper.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Ellie.” He wanted to gather her into his arms and wipe all the pain from her face, from her entire existence.
“I’ve wanted a child for so long, so I keep hoping I’m…” Ellie trailed off, looking at her slippers. Henry wanted to scream, to rage at the unfair universe denying her a child.
“It will happen, El, I’m certain,” he assured her, as though he had some sway with a higher power controlling such things instead of a direct connection to hell. No matter whom Ellie had married, she wanted a family of her own. She deserved this. “You’ll be a wonderful mother.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I hope to be.” She looked at him for a moment longer. “You’ll write though?”
He nodded solemnly, making a promise he hoped he could keep. “I swear I will.”
The ceiling above the library was perfectly still, the shepherds clear as day and sheep blissfully unaware of their observer’s increasing disdain for their happiness. Henry’s eyelids drooped shut for a long moment, and he wished for sleep to take him. The half-empty bottle of brandy by his side should have been enough to toss him into a restless sleep, but nothing seemed to dull the pain sitting in his chest, consuming him from within.
