“No,” Henry said. “Because my parents have chosen to pretend she does not exist.”
Edward leaned forward, grateful, almost shamefully, for the distraction.
Not that I need the excuse. He is my closest friend and he is in need. Honor dictates my actions. Just as honor dictated my actions in the stables. At least Henry will not take advantage of my honor.
“Explain.”
Henry exhaled. “Libby is … she is clever. Kind. A friend of my sister. She is no heiress. No titled lady. No fortune. She is a school mistress. Daughter of a greengrocer.” He broke off, swallowing hard. “She is the one. And now my father has decided I am to marry the Earl of Wrexham’s daughter.”
“A respectable match,” Edward said, without much conviction.
“A dead one,” Henry corrected. “No affection. No hope for it. Merely duty. The Earl of Doncaster believes I owe duty my entire life.”
Edward grimaced. “He must enjoy punching the word into the air like a cudgel.”
Henry huffed. “He told me last night, if I refuse the marriage he and my mother have arranged, I may consider myself cut off. No allowance. No inheritance until he dies. And even that he might tie with enough strings to strangle a man.”
Edward felt something in him soften. Of all the men he knew, Henry deserved straightforward happiness. He had fought for his country, served with honor, taken no glory in the doing of it. He had earned, more than most, the right to choose one good thing for himself.
“What does Libby want?” Edward asked.
“She wants …” Henry stared into the middle distance. “Me. Damn it all, she wants me. Does that not seem astonishing? And I …” His voice broke. “I cannot lose her. But I cannot bear to be severed from my family either.”
Edward reached for his glass, then set it down again untasted. “You must follow your heart.”
Henry blinked. “You? Saying that?”
“If one of us is to be happy,” Edward said, “it ought to be you.”
“And you?” Henry asked quietly.
Edward looked down at the folded statement on the table, the damning names inside. “I must follow my head.”
Henry followed his gaze. “This is about your wife.”
Edward tensed. “It is about her brother. She is …”
He stopped. Isla’s face rose before him, lighting candles in a cold kitchen, telling stories of the glens with starry eyes. Her head on the table as she fell asleep. The warmth of her breath near his skin.
“She is not the woman described here,” he said, low. “She cannot be.”
Henry nodded slowly. “Then do not judge her by it.”
“I must,” Edward said. “I cannot ignore what is in front of me.”
Henry reached across the table and covered Edward’s hand briefly. “Then at least speak to her before you hang the verdict.”
Edward withdrew his hand, gently. “I cannot, not until I know what I am asking.”
Henry watched him with sober understanding. “Do what you must. But remember that you have a heart too. Use it, or it will rot.”
Is that what happened to my father. Lying there in that bed while sickness hollowed him out. Did I do the right thing, running away? Did I abandon him? Abandon my duty?
Edward pushed back his chair. “I must go.”
“To her?”
“To the truth,” Edward said, though the words stung.
