Page 47 of Playing the Scoundrel

Chapter Twenty

Henry swirled an amber drink in his glass, letting his gaze lose focus over the flickering fire in the hearth. Thankfully, the billiard room at White’s was rather empty, leaving Henry to his thoughts, which were more tumultuous than he seemed to be able to manage. Between everything happening with his father, and with Miss Follett, Henry found himself lost on how to proceed. He was riding the line between what he needed to do, and what he wanted to do.

No one would ever know the difference if he never spoke to his father again, but Henry would know, and he liked to believe he was a decent enough chap, despite what his father said. He knew he needed to not abandon his father in his final days, but he wanted to. It would be a satisfying justice. And with Miss Follett, Henry was at a loss. He wanted… too many things. He somehow wanted to make her feel the same pain he’d felt, but in the same moment, he also wanted to smother her in kisses.

Letting out a sigh, Henry took a swallow of the liquor in his glass.

“Is that you, Henry?”

He looked up to see James in the doorway.

“Beg your pardon, Your Grace, but when was the last time the Duke of Norland was seen inside White’s?”

James scowled at him for the use of his title but entered the room and sat across from him. “Lord Havisham asked that we meet to discuss his proposal for Parliament. I can’t say I’m inclined to his idea, but I suppose it’s my duty to hear the man out.”

Henry wrinkled his nose. Lord Havisham was a heartless rake and a dastardly man. Henry was certain James did not take any joy in the acquaintance, but such was the life of nobility.

“What brings you in?” James asked, pouring himself a drink from the decanter. “You appear to have much on your mind.”

“Do I?” Henry looked down at his drink and wondered how much he should confide in his oldest friend. This wasn’t trying to find a moment alone with a widow; it was something unique and he was certain James would not approve. “Lady troubles.”

“Why so troublesome?” James asked, leaning back in his seat. “Isn’t that the norm for ladies you frequent?”

“This one is… different.”

“Still the young Miss Follett that we had over for dinner?”

Henry wanted to snort. Calling her a young miss implied kindness and innocence, when Miss Follett was anything but. She was intelligent and conniving, passionate and ambitious. He would have admired her for such things, had she not used them to wound him so.

“The very same.” Henry pressed a hand over his face and sighed. “There have been so many ups and downs, it’s hard to know where to start to explain.”

“You… you’ve not bedded her, have you?” James asked hesitantly.

“Of course not, James. Mrs. Dunn would never speak to me again if I had.” Henry smirked. That was the least of his worries. “No, little Miss Follett has done a number on me, I’m afraid. We’d grown… close, and I may have let it slip that I’d developed… feelings of an attached nature.” Henry paused, not meeting James’s eye to avoid any gloat he might witness. “But then she confessed it had all been a ruse to break my heart, some notion of misguided revenge.”

“Revenge?” James looked incredulous, eyes wide. “How so?”

“She accused me of toying with Laura Roberts, though you can attest that I did my damndest to avoid the girl.” Henry took a sip of his drink. “Then she compared me to the type of man who would leave a ruined woman and a fatherless child in my wake. Now I know I may not meet all of society’s requirements and expectations, but I’m certainly not that heartless and cruel.”

“I know you’re not,” James said quietly.

But the burn of disappointment still lingered in his heart. “She had me eating out of her hand. I was willing to give up anything and everything to be with her. Found myself worried about her wellbeing more than my own. Only to discover she had been leading me along, teasing me like a cat with a string, ready to crush my heart when I finally succumbed to her charms. She’s the one that’s heartless and cruel, not me.”

James nodded, leaning back in his seat, and remained quiet for a moment before speaking. “It sounds like she’s reacting poorly to something very personal to her, but maybe she didn’t know well enough to recognize her prejudices don’t apply in this situation. You may be set in your ways, but you’re no Lord Havisham.”

Henry snorted. “I should think not.”

“Though maybe you’re not so set in your ways, after all, for I’ve noticed a change in you these few weeks, as well. Would that have something to do with this young woman?” James asked with a raised eyebrow.

Everything inside Henry wanted to contradict him, but he’d felt the change in himself, and he knew it to be true. “Perhaps,” he mumbled. “Though she hasn’t apologized directly, she has shown some remorse. But I’m hesitant to forgive such willful deceit. Part of me would much rather return her revenge and see her ruined for all the pain she’s caused me.”

James chuckled. “If she’s already shown some regrets, then maybe don’t lash out just yet. She may need time to fully understand and repent, and I think it would be good to give your own heart time to heal before confronting her.” He paused to sip his drink. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short time being married, it’s the constant need for patience and forgiveness.”

Henry sat back, taking in the words. He knew he could be a patient man; it was a requirement in the game of seduction. But to forgive… he wasn’t sure if he had that in him. His pride demanded satisfaction. He didn’t care what society thought of him, but he didn’t appreciate being made a fool. And yet, despite the deep hurt caused by Miss Follett, he could already feel himself softening toward her. He did still want revenge, but only in a small part. Perhaps he would be able to forgive her… in time.

* * *

It was too lovely a day for Henry to feel so miserable. Winter was finally beginning to fade away, the warmth of the March sun turning Hyde Park into a beautiful green haven, despite the dark puddles and budding trees. It seemed the rest of the world was springing back to life, but Henry’s world still felt lost in a shroud of darkness. His father was on the brink of death, and he could not have his one desire, that of Miss Follett. Even the prospect of getting his revenge had become of surprisingly little comfort. So he stood alone on the edge of the Serpentine, trying to sort out his tumultuous thoughts as swans gracefully moved over the waters.

---