The Bad Luck Bride for comp Read online

  Now, sitting in the carriage after her third failed wedding, that hollowness grew until there was no room for anything else. The giddy feeling she used to get when Henderson walked in the room was missing. Everything was missing.

  Henderson tilted his head and studied her as if he were trying to determine whether or not she was joking, wondering, perhaps, how it was possible a woman who’d just been jilted could sit in a carriage dry-eyed and perfectly calm. Had he thought she’d be in hysterics?

  “I suppose I’m a romantic,” Henderson said finally, off-handedly. “I actually thought girls liked to be in love when they married.”

  Alice gave him a stare, then turned to look out the window again just as the carriage stopped in front of their home. As soon as the step was lowered and the door opened, Alice stood and offered her hand to the footman. Christina followed, but turned to Henderson and said, “She may not show her emotions, sir, but I know she is terribly hurt.”

  Alice heard her sister and stifled the retort that hung on the tip of her tongue. Oddly, she was not hurt. She knew she should be…something. Outraged, angered, distraught. But the only emotion she seemed to feel at the moment was humiliation. Her pride had been hurt, not her heart. And as her grandmamma always said, pride goeth before a fall.

  * * *

  Henderson hated that look in Alice’s eyes, that cool emptiness. As illogical as it was, he blamed himself for everything that had befallen her, including her brother’s death. That night, that terrible night when everything in his life stopped and irrevocably changed, Joseph had wanted him to join their Oxford friends for a house party. Henderson had been at their home in St. Ives, where he spent nearly all his free time. So much so, that he seemed a part of the family. As an only child, Henderson, especially when he was younger, had imagined he was part of the family. To a boy who lived alone with a mother who rarely spoke to him directly and a father of unknown origins, the Hubbard household seemed perfect.

  “My God, Joseph, have you seen Mrs. Patterson?” Henderson had said to Joseph that night. Mrs. Patterson was a willing widow, and in Henderson’s experience, nothing trumped that.

  Joseph had given him a look of disgust. “It’ll be a lark, Southie. Plus, he’s got one of the finest race horses in all of England and I’d like to see it. Come on, you can see your widow any old night. I really want you there.”

  No one called him Southie, short for Southwell, except Joseph. They’d gone to Eton together, and by the time Henderson had got there, Joseph was already well-liked with a solid group of chaps and welcomed him into their fold quickly. Alone among all the men he’d ever known, Joseph had never judged him, never faulted him for who he was. Until Henderson had looked a little too long at Alice.

  He still remembered that night, every detail, vivid and awful. They’d been bantering about whether Henderson should join Joseph’s friends when what Henderson truly wanted to do was climb between the legs of Mrs. Patterson. Of course Joseph knew what Henderson’s plans had been that night, and Joseph didn’t mind telling Henderson he was rather disgusted with his seemingly indiscriminate taste in women. Henderson was unapologetic about his affairs. He never seduced an innocent, never made promises he had no intention of keeping, never allowed his emotions to enter into his encounters. Pure pleasure and plenty of it.

  “Just because you’re afraid of women doesn’t mean I have to pretend to be,” Henderson had teased. That’s when Alice had walked by. He hadn’t meant to look at her overlong, hadn’t thought to school his features. He’d been more than a bit in love with her for about two years now, but he’d never been stupid enough to let his emotions show. But in that moment, she was purely beautiful, with womanly curves, and by God, she was glorious. Walking past the pair as they talked in the library, she smiled at him and that smile, well, it did something to his heart. It always had, even though she was far too young for him to even contemplate.

  “Southie.” His name, low and hard, and Henderson inwardly shook himself and tore his gaze away from Alice. “Do not ever look that way at my sister again.”

  Henderson could feel his cheeks heat. He found he couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes and was deeply hurt that Joseph would get so angry over a simple gaze. “I wasn’t—”

  “You were,” Joseph said, his tone sharp. “Promise me you will never touch my sister. Promise.”

  “God, Joseph, of course. Of course, I promise on my life. I will never touch your sister.” He hadn’t meant that promise, though his words had been spoken fervently. He thought he’d have years to court Alice properly, to get Joseph to understand that he was more than a little in love with her, that she would never be like those other women he only used to ease the ache in his body. Henderson knew when Joseph realized how much he loved Alice, he’d come around. He may not have known who his father was, but he was an Oxford man now with a promising future. Alice was far too young, wouldn’t even come out for another year. He’d be patient and in the meantime, could see her any time he wanted. Could dance with her and laugh with her and make her love him as much as he loved her. He’d thought he’d have all the time in the world to convince Joseph to allow him to break that promise.

  But that night, Joseph died.

  Chapter 2

  Alice tried to ignore Mr. Owens’s shocked face when she entered the front door, still in her bride’s dress.

  “Miss?”

  “My groom was absent,” she said, and was touched when he flinched, as if her words had caused him pain.

  “I am very sorry, miss.” Dear Mr. Owens had volunteered to stay behind whilst the rest of the staff had attended the wedding. He was likely glad he had.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Owens. I shall live. My only regret is that you all will likely be stuck with me in perpetuity.”

  “Hardly a sacrifice, miss.”

  She gave him a tight smile and stiffened when she heard her sister and Henderson come up behind her. Giving Henderson a pointed look, she pulled off her gloves and handed them to Mr. Owens, who took them and bowed. “Tea in the parlor, miss?”

  “That would be perfect. For two.”

  “Three, Mr. Owens. There’s a good man. Miss Hubbard is so upset, she forgot I was here.”

  Alice narrowed her eyes at him and for some reason found herself suppressing a smile. It wouldn’t do to give him any encouragement. It was difficult enough to maintain her dignity when he was grinning at her like a fool. The thing was, it was wonderful to see Henderson, and had it been any other occasion, she might have forgotten herself and fallen into his arms. Knowing he had witnessed this ultimate humiliation was, well, humiliating. Why, after being absent for four years, had he decided to come to her wedding, of all things?

  He had changed a bit, grown older, of course, but though he smiled and acted as he always had, she sensed an underlying seriousness. Perhaps it was his eyes. His smile didn’t seem to completely fill his features as it had once. He was still tall, of course, and impossibly handsome. Debonair, one might say, with his carefully tamed dark hair and well-cut jacket, though she did notice his shoes were quite dusty, as if he’d been running in a field.

  They settled, all three of them, in the parlor and waited for tea. Alice supposed she should be up in her room sobbing. Perhaps after she’d had some tea that’s exactly what she would do.

  “So. Three.”

  Christina gasped, but Alice waved her outrage away.

  “Yes. Three. First Baron Livingston. Then a scoundrel. Then—”

  “—another scoundrel,” he finished for her. “You really do have the worst taste in men.”

  “Says a man who is known as one of the worst rakes in all of England.”

  He looked shocked and hurt. Mockingly so. “Rake? Hardly. Well, perhaps in my younger years. You have noticed, haven’t you, that I’ve been gone out of the country these last four years.”

  “Were you?” She pretended to think. “Yes, I do believe I haven’t seen your name in
the Tattler in quite some time.”

  The look he gave her nearly made Alice shiver. For just a moment, he seemed genuinely angry with her.

  Christina sat silently, but it was never an easy thing for her to do, and apparently her sister also saw that glimmer of irritation. “Alice isn’t the only one who thinks you’re a rake. Since your return to London, you’ve been in the Tattler several times.”

  Henderson raised one dark brow. Slowly. It really was quite fascinating to watch the control the man had over that muscle.

  Turning to Christina, Alice said, “Has he really?”

  Christina’s cheeks tinged a bit pink. Their mother had forbidden the girls from reading the gossip column, but they did manage to sneak a peek at friends’ houses now and then. Apparently Christina had been sneaking a peek more frequently than Alice. “Yes. Just last week there was something about a Mr. S, back from his travels, being seen with Madame L. That must mean Mr. Southwell and Madame Lavigne. She’s appearing at the Vauxhall Theater, you know.”

  “You are mistaken,” Henderson said, his voice oddly flat, and Alice gave him a sharp look.

  “It must have been Thomas Southwick, Christina. Or any other number of men who’ve been traveling and whose last names begin with s. Really, you should not listen to such gossip nor spread it.”

  Christina looked horrified and her cheeks flamed even brighter. “I do apologize, Mr. Southwell. It’s just that—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “Please do not distress, Miss Hubbard. Not too long ago, that Mr. S could very well have been I. But I am a reformed man, these days. I haven’t been to the theater in years.”

  A maid entered the room at that moment, and not far behind her came Alice’s mother and father, both looking weary and worried. Hurrying over to her as if she were about to drop off a cliff, when it seemed perfectly obvious to Alice that she was handling the whole jilting thing rather well, they each clutched one of her hands.

  “I shall file a breach of promise immediately,” her father said.

  “Papa, you’ll do no such thing. I don’t want to bring more attention to this.”

  “You have been terribly wronged, Alice. If we do not file a petition, you will appear an even more tragic figure.”

  Alice shook her head. “I find such actions crass, and endorsed mostly by women seeking money. I have no need for money, thanks to you and grandmamma, and no stomach for the proceeding.”

  “I agree,” Henderson said, causing her parents to turn toward him.

  “By God, Henderson,” her father said. “I didn’t realize you were back in England.” Richard strode over to Henderson and clasped his hand warmly. “It is so good to see you.”

  Alice felt her throat close painfully. Her parents had loved Henderson like a son; everyone had loved Henderson in their family and everyone had felt his loss, paired as it was with Joseph’s death. It was almost like getting a tiny bit of Joseph back, bittersweet as it was.

  Her mother also went over to Henderson, who had stood upon their entering, and gave him a warm embrace. “Where have you been? We have all missed you. Haven’t we, Alice?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve been in India working with a physician, a Dr. Cornish. The famine, you see.”

  “Oh, yes, those poor people. Florence Nightingale has written several passionate letters to the Times about it.” Alice was not a regular reader of the Times, but she read it frequently enough to have known about a famine. “The drought must have been terrible.”

  Henderson gave her a tight smile. “It was. I only wish the drought was the worst of it.”

  Alice looked to her father, who shook his head. Apparently he wasn’t certain what Henderson meant either.

  “I hope to return there soon,” Henderson said. “I’m here to gather support for relief.”

  “Of course we should help, shouldn’t we, Papa?”

  “Yes. But I’m afraid my influence with the politicians is not particularly widespread. We can talk later about this and see what I can do to rally support.”

  Henderson seemed hugely relieved. “Thank you, sir. We’ve been getting an astounding amount of resistance, you see. People are dying from starvation. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You cannot imagine the horror of it.”

  Richard gave an uncomfortable cough. “Yes, I can see you are passionate about this, Henderson, but I do not think this is a topic to be discussed at the moment.”

  Henderson shot a look to Alice and nodded. “Yes, sir. My apologies. I seem to have lost a bit of my polish in the last few years.”

  “Think nothing of it, my dear boy. India is so far from British society as to be on another planet.”

  “Indeed, India is very different from England,” Henderson said.

  Oliver came into the room at that moment, and her brother was looking thunderous. “I couldn’t find the lout.”

  “Oh, Oliver, please do tell me you haven’t been scouring London looking for Lord Northrup.”

  “Of course I have, I—” He stopped, bringing back his head in shock. “Henderson! By God, we all thought you’d never set foot on English soil again.” Oliver went to his old friend and gave him a hearty handshake.

  “He was just about to tell us about his time in India,” Christina said. She sat forward, looking as if she were near to bursting to involve herself in the conversation, and Alice found herself oddly relieved. It seemed, suddenly, such an effort to converse about anything. Perhaps she should have immediately gone to her room and had herself a good cry. “Please do tell us about India. I’ve heard such wonderful tales about it,” Christina continued.

  Henderson gave her younger sister an indulgent smile before he winked at Oliver. “I’ll fill you in later, shall I?” he said to his old friend before turning back to Christina. “What would you like to know?”

  “Do elephants walk in the streets? Are there truly man-eating tigers roaming about? And I’ve heard it’s dreadfully hot there. Oh, and the palaces. I’ve heard there are the most fantastical palaces, exotic and marvelous. Have you ever been in one? And was there really a party where sixty thousand people were invited?”

  Henderson laughed. “So many questions, Miss Hubbard. Where shall I begin?”

  “With the elephants,” Alice said, finding herself caught up in her sister’s enthusiasm. The only elephant she’d seen, of course, had been in the zoo.

  “Then, yes, there are elephants, though they’re not as big as our Jumbo. The natives use them to help farm and move things. They are highly trained and wonderful creatures. I rode upon one when I first arrived.”

  “Did you?” Christina gushed.

  “I did. And I have to say I’d much rather ride a horse any day of the week. It’s rather disconcerting how very high up you are when on an elephant and they are not nearly as easy to steer. Still, they are magnificent creatures.”

  “And the tigers?”

  “I saw no tigers. Only dogs. Hundreds of them. Very fat and well-fed.”

  Something about the way Henderson said this last gave Alice pause. He seemed very nearly angry about the well-fed canines.

  “If you’d rather not talk about India…” Christina must have heard the same thing in his tone.

  Henderson smiled, and Alice found herself relaxing slightly, for at that moment, he looked like the man she remembered, that teasing, happy-go-lucky boy she’d found herself infatuated with as a girl. Now thinking about how her heart had fluttered when she’d go into the library and see him there, book in hand, reading the sort of novels her mother would never allow her to read, she felt only embarrassment. No doubt Henderson had been annoyed with her constant presence, but he’d never let on. He would always put his book aside, or read a particularly titillating passage (he adored reading adventure novels) so he could laugh at her shocked expression. He once read Robinson Crusoe to her, but the book was far too short. She’d loved listening to him, his soft baritone, the way he mad
e it seem as if he were the narrator. On the evenings she found the library empty, she’d been dearly disappointed. In truth, she’d been devastated the way only a young girl can be when the young man she’s infatuated with is likely with an older, more sophisticated woman.

  “I don’t mind talking about India, but I don’t want to bore you.”

  “Oh, no,” Christina said. “Please, what was it like?”

  “Hot, beautiful. A study in contrasts. I’ve never seen people so wealthy nor so poor. The land is either lush or dead, depending on what part of the country you are in. And the people are wonderful or unbearably cruel.” He stopped. “Actually, I’d rather not talk about India at the moment, if you don’t mind.”

  The room took on a heavy silence.

  “How long have you been in England?” Alice asked before taking a delicate sip of tea.

  “Surely you cannot be ready to have a polite intercourse on my travels when you have just returned from your wedding sans husband.”

  “What else shall we talk about? The weather? I’m already dreadfully bored thinking about what occurred this morning. So, please, sir, do tell us how long you’ve been home.”

  Henderson narrowed his eyes, but his lips turned up in a smile. “As a matter of fact, I arrived in London just this morning and haven’t even been to visit my grandparents.” He laughed aloud at what Alice knew must be a shocked expression.

  “And you hurried over to a wedding, to which you had not been invited, before even going to see your own family? Whatever possessed you?” Alice asked.

  Henderson looked at each person in the room before replying succinctly, “I’d hoped to stop the wedding.”

  Chapter 3

  The Hubbards’ reaction to his pronouncement that he’d arrived that morning hoping to stop the wedding was not at all what Henderson expected. He’d thought perhaps a gasp or two. A shocked look, particularly on Alice’s face. Anger, for suggesting something that would have likely turned into a terrible scandal. But to a one, they all burst out laughing. He supposed the man he’d been four years ago would have been joking about such a thing. There was nothing to do but join in and ignore the little stab in his heart that Alice was nearly in tears from mirth.