Stop it.
How had it come to this? He had promised himself he would never marry again and here he was, destroying yet another woman by making her his wife.
It was a disaster wholly of his own making. With an unassailable logic, Oliver Hartwell had come to know he had no business touching a woman. But that cold logic had melted like so much spring snow whenshehad touched him, held him, surrounded him with her generous beauty and wished for his happiness.
In her father’s study, he had been a knave. He had wanted something, and he had taken it, without a thought for her wants or her well-being.
The next day, he had stood in the Bexton rose garden and watched from afar as her sweetheart berated her. Oliver had been unable to hear exactly what was said but knew the young man’s angry words were about what Oliver had done.
In that moment, he had vowed he would always serve those two things first:herwants,herwell-being.
And Nathaniel’s. But he had no idea what to do for his son. At least, Henrietta should be able to tell him what she wanted, what she needed. And he would provide that. He must. His selfishness had already deprived her of so much.
His young bride would become his polestar. He would look to her for guidance. He would let her be his example in the years he had left, showing him what to do and how to navigate this misbegotten marriage.
He stood in the hallway just outside the nursery door and listened to her laugh and cajole and question and his own son’s answering silence. After some minutes, Henrietta’s voice subsided, and he could only hear the clicking of the blocks being moved about on the table and Nurse Witherspoon’s sighs.
Finally, Henrietta bid Nathaniel and the nurse goodbye, saying she hoped Nathaniel would show her all his toys tomorrow.
She came to the door and looked lost for a moment until she saw him standing there.
“Oh, good.” She smiled, but the smile was uncertain. “I thought you had left, and I wouldn’t know which way to turn.”
He could hear a quaver in her voice. Was she missing her home and her family? She had been quite brave so far, coming to an entirely new place with him as her husband. He knew how he must seem to her—a cold, harsh, forbidding curmudgeon who had buried two wives. An ancient villain who had taken advantage of her sweetness and her innocence. Most girls would be petrified to be married to him. But he shouldn’t be surprised Crispin and Georgiana’s daughter had pluck.
“Shall I show you to your bedchamber?”
She nodded.
When they went back down the stairs to the warren of bedchambers, he suddenly realized he had no idea which room had been prepared for her. He had some idea she would stay in one of the many rarely-used guest rooms, but he had conveyed no specific request to Mrs. Liddell, his housekeeper.
With a sinking feeling, he surmised Henrietta’s trunk had likely been put in the bedchamber next to his. The same one Violet and Emily had occupied, in turn.
He opened the door.
“I’m afraid—”youwill be afraid.
He cleared his throat and started again. “You may not like this bedchamber and would prefer another. You may have any room you wish.”
Henrietta walked in and looked around. “This is lovely.” She went to the window. “Oh, the view is perfect. I can see the corner of the stables and off in the distance, I think that’s Woldenmere.” She turned to him, clasping her hands. “I love the room. Thank you, Oliver.”
He must tell her. “You have been put in the bedchamber of the mistress of the house.” He nodded at the connecting door. “Our rooms adjoin.”
Her face went from smiling to crestfallen, and for a moment he thought her courage had finally failed.
But she said, “Would you prefer I be elsewhere? Maybe you want this room to stay as it is? In memory of your wife? Wives?”
She did not know enough about men to be fearful. He must keep her that way. Protect her always, including from himself.
“No, no,” he hastened to assure her. “I only do not want you to be uneasy.”
She tilted her head. “I’m not uneasy if you’re not uneasy.”
He doubted he’d ever rest easy knowing this beauty was sleeping only a few feet away from him, but his own comfort was unimportant.
“If you like the room, it is yours.” He could always change bedchambers himself. He’d often thought he should, if only to quell his nightmares. But he deserved the nightmares.
“Good.” She broke into another smile just as a late afternoon ray of sunshine came from behind a cloud and forced its way into the room, lighting up her hair like a halo, allowing her ample figure to be seen through her muslin dress. She looked so much like an erotic pagan divinity, he had to mumble an excuse and flee the room like the craven piece of filth he was.
