He stood. “I need to ask that you not repeat the information I told you tonight.”
“You needn’t ask. I shall never breathe a word of it, I promise.”
“Thank you.” Henry gazed down at her, and sadness washed over him. “Well, it’s likely I shall return at Christmas. Until then.” He gave a slight bow, turned, and strode out of the room.
Henry went to the drawing room and found his cousin sitting in an easy chair beside the fire. She sat with her feet elevated by an ottoman and an open book in her hands. Henry sank into a chair beside her.
She lowered her book and smiled at him.
“I’ve decided to return to Sevenoaks tomorrow, but I will be back at Christmas.”
Ottilie straightened in her chair. “You’re not upset with me, are you?”
“Upset?”
“For making Jack give me your manuscript instead of letting him destroy it? You seemed aggravated when we brought it up at dinner.”
Henry smiled. “How could I be upset when I know you acted out of love for me? In fact, I wanted to ask if you’d return it to me.”
“So you can destroy it?” His cousin’s forehead creased with apparent disappointment.
He took a deep breath, then admitted, “I want to read it again and perhaps make a few improvements.”
Ottilie’s face brightened. “You mean to publish it?”
Henry shrugged. “I’m willing to reconsider publishing—if they’re still interested.”
“If who is still interested?” Bastin entered the drawing room and strode toward his wife.
“Chilton & Hancock. Henry wants to reconsider their offer.”
Bastin kissed his wife’s forehead before pouring himself a whiskey. “What brought this on?”
“You did. Wasn’t that part of your master plan? Inviting me to stay and volunteering my services at the college?” He shrugged. “It’s as you said, helping others has a way of healing one.”
Bastin carried his whisky to his seat and sank into his easy chair. “Does this sudden change of heart have anything to do with Alice’s new nanny?”
Henry shifted in his chair, discomforted by the notion that Bastin suspected he’d been courting Alice’s nanny. “I can’t think why you’d say that.”
“Come now, Hudsyn, I’m a writer, same as you. We observe things in others.”
“I’ve observed it too,” Ottilie said.
“Well, you are both wrong,” he said abruptly. “We’re friends, nothing more.” Henry pretended not to notice the look his cousin exchanged with her husband. He gazed at the dancing flames in the hearth, thinking of his walk with Anne that had ended everything that day. His chest tightened. He hadn’t even left, yet he missed her already.
*
Leaning back inhis leather chair, Henry put his clasped hands behind his head and grinned. He’d been in Sevenoaks four days, and the peace had done him good. He’d revised his manuscript, and it had provided some distraction from his constant thoughts about Anne. Now he was ready to hand it over to Chilton & Hancock. It was time to go to London.
“Sir,” Bales interrupted Henry’s thoughts. He glanced up to see that concerned lines creased his butler’s forehead.
“What is it?” Henry asked.
“Mr. Hobsworth is here to see you, my lord.”
“Hobsworth? Are you sure? I’m not expecting anyone.”
“He says he needs to speak with you urgently.”
