“That’s one way of putting it, yes,” he said with a sigh.
“But she’s such fun. She makes the talk at dinner much more interesting. Well, she does,” she added, laughing as he laughed. “It’s usually so boring—talk of the season and the latest dresses, and such, while she talks about jobs and what it’s like to work—things that matter. It’s fascinating.”
“Is it? Angie,” he added before she could respond, “what do you want for your life?”
“What?” Her voice held lively astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“For your life. What do you want?” He waved a hand to their surroundings. “Do you want all this? To be married and have a husband from the right sort of family and your portrait on the gallery wall?”
She frowned, looking bewildered. “I suppose. I mean, what else is there?”
“I don’t know. But it’s a question, I think, that you should ask yourself, from time to time, and consider seriously. Promise me you’ll do that.”
She still looked puzzled, but she nodded. “All right.”
“Don’t just choose your course because it’s the easy one, or the obvious one. Don’t . . .” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard, appreciating that loosening the reins of his control over those so dear to him was a damned difficult thing to do. “Don’t just choose what I would want for you, or what our friends might think is right. And whatever you choose, you may be sure I’m behind you, and I support you. I will always support you.”
“Thank you, but . . .” She paused, giving him a doubtful look. “Are you . . . are you afraid I’m falling in love with an unsuitable man, or something?”
“No,” he said with a laugh, and then a thought struck him, his laughter faded, and he frowned at her. “You’re not, are you?”
“No, although if I were, I should hardly tell you. You’d hit the ceiling.”
“No, I wouldn’t. All right, maybe I would,” he amended as she gave him a skeptical look. “But I would always want you to be happy. You and your sister, and every other member of our family.” He paused, then added, “Including Mama.”
Angela sighed and jerked her chin, looking away. “She seems to care very deeply for that man, although I don’t know why she has to marry him.” She paused, then burst out, “It’s a hard thing to swallow!”
“I know. But it is her decision, and we’ll not sway her from it. All we can do now is accept it.” He paused, considering the ramifications of what he was about to do, then he took a deep breath and reached for his sister’s hand. “That’s why,” he said, “I’m going back to London. I’ll take the evening train.”
“London?”
“Yes. I’m going to the wedding tomorrow.”
“But why?” she cried, pulling her hand from his. “You can’t possibly approve!”
“No, but it doesn’t matter if I approve.”
“By going, you indicate that you do. That is what everyone will think.”
“I realize that.” He glanced at his father’s portrait, Irene’s words in his ears. “But I don’t ever want to become so wedded to what people think that I fail to do what is right.”
“That won’t happen, Henry,” she said. “You always do what’s right.”
“Do I?” He thought of Elena, and of Irene, and of his heart, and he grimaced. “Not always.”
“Yes, you do,” she insisted. “Although, that’s sometimes only after you’ve tried everything else.”
He smiled a little. “Yes,” he agreed. “Perhaps that’s true.”
He sobered. “And in this case, I feel that the right thing for me to do is to stand by Mama.”
“But only a few weeks ago, you were adamantly opposed to the marriage.”
“I am still not convinced it is the right thing, but that does not matter, for it is not my decision to make. I am going to the wedding not because I approve, but because I must stand by Mama, as I would stand by any member of our family who needs my support.”
“Don’t Sarah and I need your support, too?”
“Yes, and afterward, I will do all I can to mitigate any damage Mama’s wedding or my attendance there may cause you and your sister.”
