Page 91 of When She Was a Governess
Henry walked him to the door, exchanging another embrace. “Thank you for coming and offering your support.”
“It is my pleasure. I will see you tomorrow.”
Henry nodded and then waited for his brother to be guided to the front door by the butler before turning back to his bride. She was standing by the fire, her head bowed as if in prayer. But she looked over at him as he approached. “I didn’t expect him to be so warm and welcoming,” Sophia said.
“He is a kind-hearted man. One who has felt alone, I think, in this fight against our parents. I escaped by inheriting everythingfrom my Uncle George. He has not been so lucky. And now he’s being forced to marry.”
“As you were.” Sophia’s eyes twinkled. “Which means perhaps the woman of his dreams awaits.”
Henry pulled her against him, kissing her. “I do hope you’re right.”
“I often am.”
They both laughed, smiling at each other as only those in love can do.
*
Over the nextweek, Charlotte’s prediction proved accurate. The guests from Lady Pembridge’s tea became vocal advocates, and invitations began arriving from families eager to demonstrate their support. They attended a musicale, dined with the Duke of Devonshire, and Charlotte hosted a dinner party where Edward publicly chose their side, a statement that rippled through society.
At each event, the tide turned a little more in their favor. The sanatorium became “courageous treatment for grief.” Sophia’s work as a governess became “devotion to family duty during hardship.” Their brief courtship became “a love match that couldn’t wait.”
“Your mother has been remarkably quiet,” Sebastian observed one afternoon at his townhouse. “Too quiet, perhaps.”
“She’s planning something,” Edward said grimly. “She always is.”
“Let her plan,” Charlotte said with confidence. “We’ve shifted the gossip to our advantage. Society sees you as you are now. Whatever she tries next will fall on increasingly deaf ears.”
But Henry couldn’t shake the feeling that his mother’s silence meant something worse was coming.
*
A few nightslater, Henry and Sophia attended the theater. They arrived to find their box had become something of a destination—friends stopping by to greet them, acquaintances making a point of being seen speaking warmly with them.
During the interval, as they stood in the theater lobby, Henry spotted a familiar figure across the room. His mother, dressed in red, which he found humorous given his brother’s insistence on calling her the devil. She stood with his father and a small cluster of their oldest friends. It may have been his imagination, but she looked diminished—still elegant, still proud, but isolated.
Their eyes met across the crowded space. For a moment, neither moved. Then Constance lifted her chin and turned away deliberately, giving him her back.
It should have hurt. Perhaps it did, somewhere deep inside. But mostly, Henry felt relief. She’d made her choice. He’d made his. They would never be a loving mother and son. He might never see her again except in situations such as this. The empty place inside him, the hole his mother had created, had filled. Because of Sophia.
His mother had chosen hatred and it ruled her life. He had chosen love and he was determined it would rule his.
“She is cold,” Sophia said with a shiver. “To turn from her own child.”
“Yes.” He turned his attention back to his wife. “But I am all right anyway. You, my lovely wife, have made me whole again. I do not need her approval or her love as long as I have yours.”
“You will always have that, for as long as I live.”
“When do you want to return to Montrose Manor?” Henry asked.
“Although our time here has been wonderful, I would like to return home soon. I miss Amelia. Like an ache in my bones. This is motherhood, I suppose.”
“Not all mothers feel that way, obviously. But I am certainly glad you do. Rebecca is up there, smiling down on us.”
“I do hope she is. I feel guilt sometimes—that I’m the one who got to stay and be Amelia’s mother.”
“What happened was a tragedy. However, we are here and we have stepped up to do what is required of us. There should be no guilt in that.”
“You are a wise man, Lord Montrose,” Sophia said, eyes shining. “And I love you with all my heart.”
