manners, and it showed.
Whenever Edward was with her, Henrietta was fashionably and flatteringly dressed, friendly, yet restrained in her conversation, and modest and demure
in her actions. A dainty English flower, with pale
blond hair, deep blue eyes and a steady temperament.
The ideal wife for an earl.
Yet as he reminisced, Edward recalled several
times after their engagement was announced when
Henrietta's face was shuttered and unreadable, her
manner distracted and withdrawn. He had not
been able to spend a great deal of time with her
before the wedding and he attributed this occasional behavior to her natural shyness. He thought
it would pass once they were married.
Oh, hell, the truth was he had barely thought about her at all. Certainly not as a woman. She was
merely a means to an end, the reward of an excellently negotiated business deal. As he searched
within himself, taking responsibility for his part in
this fiasco, Edward admitted his biggest mistake was
not bothering to take into account Henrietta's feelings and desires.
Edward was looking for contentment and friendship in a marriage. Apparently Henrietta had been
searching for something entirely different: love.
And she had been smart enough to realize that he
would never love her, at least not the way that some
men loved their wives.
Perhaps she had done them both a favor by finding a way out of the marriage. But did she have to
do so in such a public, humiliating manner?
The sound of thunder growling and clapping,
and the bursts of intermittent rain drew Edward's
attention away from his melancholy thoughts. He
returned to the small mahogany table and picked
up his whiskey glass, then went to the windows,
opening the center window a few inches, hoping
the clean smell of the winter rain would help clear
his head.
Alas, it did not, but the cold felt invigorating.
The hesitant knock on his office door was followed by a timid murmur.
"My lord, I do beg your pardon-"
"I said no visitors, Mr. Crenshaw," Edward barked
out in a forceful tone. "And I meant it."
"Don't bite the poor man's head off," a familiar
masculine voice exclaimed. "He tried valiantly to
stop me, but I was having none of it. I told him repeatedly I am not a visitor. I am family."
Despite his mood, which could be described as a
miserable mix of despair, anger and misgivings,
Edward found himself smiling.
"Hello, Jonathan." He went forward to grasp his
brother's outstretched hand and let himself be
pulled into a fierce hug.
"I came the moment f heard," Jonathan whispered.
Edward pulled back and gave his brother another
muted smile. "So, it's all over Town?"
"More or less. "Jonathan removed his coat and a
shower of cold droplets spattered on the floor.
Though it was a task far beneath his duties, Mr. Crenshaw took the sopping wet garment and hung it on
a nearby brass coat rack. Then he wisely disappeared.
"I imagine my enemies are celebrating and toasting with glee over my recent misfortune?" Edward
asked, though he was uncertain if he really wanted
to hear a truthful answer.
Jonathan drew back a pace. "You have far fewer enemies than you may think," he replied. "Those who
truly know you are genuinely concerned about your
well-being, and as for the rest. . ."Jonathan's voice
trailed off, then he shrugged. "They can all rot."
Edward gave his brother a wry smile. The gossip
must indeed be scathing if Jonathan was making
light of it. Still, it was a relief to hear the truth from
someone he could trust. It was also a relief not to
have to pretend to be stoic and uncaring over the
matter.
"I have learned these past few years that men in
business as well as men who enjoy the life of an idle
aristocrat share many traits, among them the ability to find great pleasure at a colleague's misfortune," Edward said with a trace of bitterness.
"You are hardly the first man in the world to have
misjudged a woman," Jonathan insisted. "Nor will
you
Whenever Edward was with her, Henrietta was fashionably and flatteringly dressed, friendly, yet restrained in her conversation, and modest and demure
in her actions. A dainty English flower, with pale
blond hair, deep blue eyes and a steady temperament.
The ideal wife for an earl.
Yet as he reminisced, Edward recalled several
times after their engagement was announced when
Henrietta's face was shuttered and unreadable, her
manner distracted and withdrawn. He had not
been able to spend a great deal of time with her
before the wedding and he attributed this occasional behavior to her natural shyness. He thought
it would pass once they were married.
Oh, hell, the truth was he had barely thought about her at all. Certainly not as a woman. She was
merely a means to an end, the reward of an excellently negotiated business deal. As he searched
within himself, taking responsibility for his part in
this fiasco, Edward admitted his biggest mistake was
not bothering to take into account Henrietta's feelings and desires.
Edward was looking for contentment and friendship in a marriage. Apparently Henrietta had been
searching for something entirely different: love.
And she had been smart enough to realize that he
would never love her, at least not the way that some
men loved their wives.
Perhaps she had done them both a favor by finding a way out of the marriage. But did she have to
do so in such a public, humiliating manner?
The sound of thunder growling and clapping,
and the bursts of intermittent rain drew Edward's
attention away from his melancholy thoughts. He
returned to the small mahogany table and picked
up his whiskey glass, then went to the windows,
opening the center window a few inches, hoping
the clean smell of the winter rain would help clear
his head.
Alas, it did not, but the cold felt invigorating.
The hesitant knock on his office door was followed by a timid murmur.
"My lord, I do beg your pardon-"
"I said no visitors, Mr. Crenshaw," Edward barked
out in a forceful tone. "And I meant it."
"Don't bite the poor man's head off," a familiar
masculine voice exclaimed. "He tried valiantly to
stop me, but I was having none of it. I told him repeatedly I am not a visitor. I am family."
Despite his mood, which could be described as a
miserable mix of despair, anger and misgivings,
Edward found himself smiling.
"Hello, Jonathan." He went forward to grasp his
brother's outstretched hand and let himself be
pulled into a fierce hug.
"I came the moment f heard," Jonathan whispered.
Edward pulled back and gave his brother another
muted smile. "So, it's all over Town?"
"More or less. "Jonathan removed his coat and a
shower of cold droplets spattered on the floor.
Though it was a task far beneath his duties, Mr. Crenshaw took the sopping wet garment and hung it on
a nearby brass coat rack. Then he wisely disappeared.
"I imagine my enemies are celebrating and toasting with glee over my recent misfortune?" Edward
asked, though he was uncertain if he really wanted
to hear a truthful answer.
Jonathan drew back a pace. "You have far fewer enemies than you may think," he replied. "Those who
truly know you are genuinely concerned about your
well-being, and as for the rest. . ."Jonathan's voice
trailed off, then he shrugged. "They can all rot."
Edward gave his brother a wry smile. The gossip
must indeed be scathing if Jonathan was making
light of it. Still, it was a relief to hear the truth from
someone he could trust. It was also a relief not to
have to pretend to be stoic and uncaring over the
matter.
"I have learned these past few years that men in
business as well as men who enjoy the life of an idle
aristocrat share many traits, among them the ability to find great pleasure at a colleague's misfortune," Edward said with a trace of bitterness.
"You are hardly the first man in the world to have
misjudged a woman," Jonathan insisted. "Nor will
you
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