"I assure you, if Father had shot you, it would have been the one noble thing he ever did."
Damien continued, as if he hadn't heard. "Your father laughed, then said, 'My wife is a beautiful little whore, isn't she?' in front of all those men. In that moment, I changed, as fast as a flash. I had philosophized and romanticized my pain like a selfish, immature bastard. But Eleanora knew hell, lived it, slept with it. And she had come to me for help, but when I could have saved her, I-I turned her away."
Damien squeezed his eyes shut. His voice was on the verge of cracking. "I challenged your father to a duel over your mother's honor. I could hardly use a pistol. I pulled the trigger, but I wasn't fast enough. This fire burned through me, and I fell. I knew I was dying, that I deserved to die." He swallowed and studied his crinkled hands. "Two months later, I ran out of laudanum on a Spanish beach, not sure how I got there. All those years I wandered, running from myself, telling myself all kinds of lies. Until I couldn't run anymore. I came back to England, thinking that being near your mother was enough." challenged your father to a duel over your mother's honor. I could hardly use a pistol. I pulled the trigger, but I wasn't fast enough. This fire burned through me, and I fell. I knew I was dying, that I deserved to die." He swallowed and studied his crinkled hands. "Two months later, I ran out of laudanum on a Spanish beach, not sure how I got there. All those years I wandered, running from myself, telling myself all kinds of lies. Until I couldn't run anymore. I came back to England, thinking that being near your mother was enough."
"What are you trying to do? Do you want me to absolve you? Forgive you?" Kesseley exploded.
He shook his head. "You don't understand. I'm trying to save you."
Kesseley slammed his hand on the wall. "Get the hell out. Now."
"Don't give in to this anger and hurt. Fight it. Don't live your life in regret."
Kesseley put himself an inch from the man's face and growled, "Did you not hear me?"
Damien didn't move. Wrinkles cut deep grooves into the skin of his face. His eyes were tired, but unwavering. "I'm not afraid of you," he said. He walked past Kesseley and came to stand under the late earl's portrait. "I know how it feels to have anger consume you. You try to inflict it on other people, trying to get it out of your heart. When that doesn't work you run away. Be it in China or a glass of brandy at a gaming hell."
He grew quiet for a moment, then said, "Forgive Henrietta. Don't lose her."
"I have forgiven her," Kesseley cried. He flung himself into his desk chair and ran his hands down his face. So much had happened he couldn't be rational anymore. It felt like his mind had flown loose. "I pushed Henrietta away to spare her. From me. It's me I can't forgive. Don't you see? I can't control myself anymore. I'm afflicted with my father."
"No." He shook his head. "You may be your father's son by birth, but how you live your life is your own choosing."
"You don't think I know that," Kesseley screamed. He gritted his teeth, trying to regain his control. "I'm not..." He swallowed and ran his finger down the chain of Henrietta's necklace. "I'm not strong enough."
"I know it's hard, son." Damien squatted by Kesseley's chair. "I've stumbled in this life more than I've stood. I am a weak man. You are not. Letting yourself love Henrietta and letting her return that love gives you that strength."
"It's too late. I've hurt her too much."
He snorted. "She called me a coward and now I am calling you one." His face grew serious again. "Yes, you are your father's son, but you're also Eleanora's, which, in my opinion, makes you the luckiest man alive. And I wish you had been mine."
Damien stood and laid his hand on Kesseley's shoulder. "You have the strength inside yourself to overcome all the damage your father has wrecked upon your soul. Don't give up on yourself. Don't give up on Henrietta. Not yet."
Henrietta came down to the parlor in the late morning. It was a beautiful day. The light streamed in through the window where residual raindrops from last evening still lingered on the pane. If this weather held, her father could point a telescope into space, straight past the solar system, the galaxy, perhaps into heaven.
She looked beyond the window to the rolling green grass of Greenwich Park, visible just beyond the outbuildings. A peace came over her, one she had not felt in weeks, at least not since coming to London. She felt as if a calm hand lay on her heart, telling her to be still.
She said a small prayer that the man she loved might find the same peace this morning.
The door opened, and Mr. Van Heerlen strode in, crisply dressed in tan doeskins, a pale blue coat and a simple gold pendant on his cravat. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. How easy it was. She didn't have to struggle so hard. She could just let the day and the world come and float on it. Not digging below the surface.
He sat beside her, leaning over his chair, dangling his hand casually over her arm. At first, she felt the urge to move, but didn't. His touch was like the first jolt of coldness when she stepped in the Ouse, gradually getting used to the feel, eventually moving easily in the water.
"You look lovely this morning," he said. "Your eyes aren't so tired, and you're smiling."
He circled his finger, making tiny circles on her arm. "I have some unfortunate news, and I debated if I should tell you. I didn't want to worry you. It is never my intention to cause you a moment of distress. But I located the caricature that upset you last evening." He pulled a folded paper from his coat. "Would you like to see it?"
Somehow, despite his kindness, she had the feeling she couldn't refuse. And she didn't want to. She nodded. He gave it to her.
She wasn't shocked, not even angry, when she examined the spiteful image. Just resentful to have it all come back, like a pile of rubbish onto her beautiful morning.
"London is so hateful." She refolded the paper and set it on her lap. "This isn't true."
"Of course not." He transferred the caricature to the fire. The edges alighted quickly, and the orange flames consumed it. "This isn't your fault, Miss Watson. You weren't properly guided. I assure you, in the future you will be better managed, your honor protected."
"Surely you cannot still desire my-affections-after I have been so disgraced?"
"London is not my world. I find the opinions of other men and society an annoyance I must bear. They are so little, so inconsequential. I am better than they are. The boundaries of my world are beyond their understanding." He knelt before her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to propose.
"Let us not discuss this any longer," he said. "We should not let this small matter blight this historic day." His lips brushed the top of her hand, then he slowly opened her fingers and pressed his lips into her palm. "One day very soon, I will kneel before you again."
Kesseley arrived at the Royal Greenwich Observatory as the last light of the sinking sun lit the road. The silhouette of the old observatory rose above the treetops. From the high perch, Kesseley could see the Thames snaking to London, where the lights of the city blurred in the haze of coal. But up here the air was clean and crisp, fragrant with the sweet scent of flowering trees.
Kesseley touched his breast, making sure the rectangular box was still there. He took several long breaths to try and calm his anxious nerves. He had spent the morning running about the town on errands and then the afternoon being yelled at by the Duke of Houghton. All Kesseley could do was shake his head and agree that he was indeed a disgrace to his name, unworthy of his title, and a callous scoundrel. In the end, he had been ushered to the door and asked never to return.
He wandered into the courtyard, getting in line behind a group of serious men, all in ill-fitting coats and sagging cravats, who seemed to know where they were going. He followed them to a small domed room rising above the trees.
He looked for Henrietta, but neither she nor her father was yet in attendance. He examined the telescope tilted from the floor to an open shutter in the round ceiling. It was a spectacular instrument, at least five feet long, all shiny brass wheels and cylinders. One brave gentleman sat in a reclined chair under the telescope, while another gentleman stood with a foot propped on the small ladder, occasionally pulling a bar or rotating a wheel on the request of his colleague trapped under the equipment. Leaning against the wall, a heavy-set gentleman with wiry curls and a prominent wart-assumedly Mr. Pond, the Royal Astronomer-checked his watch with two owl-like eyes, then looked up at the sky through the ceiling. It was a clear night. Perfect.
Kesseley felt excitement jolt through him like electricity. He couldn't help but feel a part of this great scientific discovery, even though he had done nothing. He had watched this dream progress over his lifetime and understood that now was the moment of realization. He wanted this planet so much for Henrietta.
At the sound of footsteps coming up the narrow stairs outside the domed room, the guests' eyes turned to the door. Mr. Watson entered, holding a folded parchment in his shaking hand. He carried himself reverently, as if in sacred space. Behind him followed Van Heerlen with Henrietta on his arm.
Kesseley stifled a gasp. She had never appeared so beautiful as she did that evening. She wore a plain white gown and a simple knot in her hair like she did back in Norfolk. Kesseley hadn't realized how London had changed Henrietta. A beautiful rosy color that had been absent for several weeks now blushed her ivory skin. A gentle sparkle replaced the overwrought, fearful look that had haunted her eyes.
She seemed tranquil. Happy. She studied the telescope and then smiled at Van Heerlen. He squeezed her fingers, an unspoken communication passing between the two. Kesseley's belly tightened. The little hope he had mustered suddenly faltered.
Van Heerlen and Pond exchanged stiff bows, their history of animosity salient behind their calm composure. Mr. Watson handed the Royal Astronomer a parchment, which Pond transferred to his assistant. Then Pond led Henrietta to the only chair in the room, his stern expression softening under her beautiful, proud smile. She leaned forward in her chair like an excited child, her eyes scanning the room, coming to rest on Kesseley. Her smile wavered, all the hurt he had inflicted returning to her dark eyes.
He shouldn't have come. He had driven all his hurt into her. Poisoning her. Poisoning this moment-perhaps one of the most important of her life-by being here.
Van Heerlen sensed her distress and quickly found the source. Kesseley bowed. Van Heerlen didn't make any attempt to conceal the hatred on his face. His eyes cut to Henrietta, then back to Kesseley, drawing a protective invisible line around her that Kesseley could not cross.
Van Heerlen was the better man. He had cherished her, protected her-everything Kesseley hadn't. What made him think he should have come here tonight? What made him think he could get her back?
He felt stupid for the words contained in that little box resting on his heart. Why had Lord Damien told him to hope? Why had Kesseley believed him?
Mr. Watson spoke with Pond's assistant and pointed to a line on his document. Pond looked at his watch again. The assistant pulled down slowly on the chain altering the focus.
Find the planet, damn it. I want nothing more in this life than that planet to be there.
The man under the telescope leaned back and shook his head. Nothing there.
Kesseley's gaze shot to Henrietta. For a moment they locked eyes, and he could see fear tensing her features.
Van Heerlen took the page from Mr. Watson's hand and spoke to the assistant himself. The poor assistant appealed to Pond. The astronomer nodded his head. An adjustment was made to the telescope and the previous exercise was performed again.
Nothing.
Damn it.
Kesseley was furious. Why did Henrietta have to get hurt again?
She had left her chair and came to stand beside her father. His eyes seemed to lose focus, like he was receding into himself. She was whispering to him, holding his hand so tight her knuckles were white.
Van Heerlen brushed aside the assistant, who flung up his hands and gave Pond a disparaging eye. Van Heerlen used his persuasive powers on the man under the telescope. He flattened his palm at an angle to demonstrate what he needed.
The man removed himself from under the telescope and conferred with Pond. The Royal Astronomer considered.
Do it, man! Kesseley was beginning to share Van Heerlen's view of England's premier astronomer. Kesseley was beginning to share Van Heerlen's view of England's premier astronomer.
Pond flicked his wrist dismissively. The assistant, sensing his superior's disapproval, nervously shifted the angle of the telescope to Van Heerlen's specifications.
Still nothing. For thirty minutes, the beautiful instrument searched the skies.
Mr. Watson peered up beyond the telescope to the night sky, his eyes wide and desperate. Henrietta clung to him, murmuring soothing words. Her gaze drifted across the audience, finding Kesseley. He could see the tears rimming her eyes. She was trying so hard to be strong.
Van Heerlen reached to adjust the telescope himself, but Pond interceded. "That will not be necessary. Might I remind you, the Royal Observatory is for the advancement of His Majesty's science, not the frivolities of amateurs."
Van Heerlen's face whitened with rage. His voice was a constrained whisper. "The planet is there. Our math supports it. Perhaps you English astronomers-"
"Is that what it is? The inferior English astronomers? Perhaps you can use your influence to better effect with the German astronomers. Good night, sir."
Henrietta stepped forward, putting her hand on Mr. Pond's arm. "Please try again. I'm sure the planet is there. I have checked the numbers myself."
Pond smiled condescendingly. "I am sure you have," he said, as if he were talking to a child.
The audience snickered. They didn't know how close they were to being beaten to a bloody pulp.
"But they've worked so hard, perhaps a few more degrees," she begged.
"As much as I like to please a lovely lady, I feel Mr. Van Heerlen has wasted my time, as usual. I beg you would excuse me-we must repair the telescope and close the ceiling." He removed Henrietta's hand and strode from the room, leaving his assistants to do all the said chores.
Mr. Van Heerlen followed him out. Their heated exchange echoed up in the domed ceiling.
Her father's brows furrowed as if he were puzzled. "Where is she?" he asked his daughter.
"Who?"
There was a small pause, then it seemed like her father mentally exploded. Words flew out of his mouth, incoherent numbers, terms, places. He flourished his hand about in the air as if he were writing.
Oh God! She looked for Kesseley, but she couldn't find him. Where was he? Was she alone?
Frantically, she searched inside herself to find some thread of strength, something she could hold to as she had to be the strongest she had ever been in her life.
The audience members began gathering their notebooks and other belongings, silent and embarrassed. Careful not to watch her father go mad.
A firm, warm hand clasped her shoulder. Kesseley's familiar scent of apple and leather filled her nose.
"Come," he whispered.
He took her father's arm, wrapped it around his shoulder and led him to the door. Papa shuffled like a feeble old man, his eyes vacant, as if he had retreated completely into his mind. He continued to mutter, having some fierce debate with an imaginary foe. He looked so old and broken. Would she lose him too?
Kesseley assisted her father through the courtyard to the entrance gate where his footman waited. He whistled to the man and ordered him to bring Henrietta's carriage. A single torchlight burned by the gate and the tree boughs shadowed the drive. He led Henrietta's father to a bench by the stone wall that ran the perimeter of the observatory. She sat next to her father and he slumped against her shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat pounding in his sagging body. His fingers quivered, still trying to write.
"She isn't in her place in heaven," he said.
"Hush, Papa. You'll find that planet," Henrietta quietly assured him, brushing the loose hair from his eyes.
"I charted the entire sky to find Imogen again. She is lost in the heavens."
Her throat tightened. She couldn't talk or cry, stuck in that suspended breathless state before one breaks down.
She felt Kesseley's hand on her shoulder. "Henrietta," he whispered.
"Don't touch her." Mr. Van Heerlen had caught up. She could feel his anger as he glared at Kesseley. Kesseley stepped away, fading into the shadows under the arching branches.
"No-" she began, then fell silent.
Mr. Van Heerlen knelt before Henrietta's father and herself. Finding her hand, he squeezed it. His palm was warm, his voice reassuring. "We will take our case to Germany to real astronomers who will listen to reason, who recognize genius. Don't worry, our work will be heard by the world."
Henrietta embraced Mr. Van Heerlen and cried, so grateful that he believed in her father. She was glad Mr. Van Heerlen had yelled at that contemptible Mr. Pond for calling her father an amateur, for caring so little about his life's work. Mr. Van Heerlen was right-English astronomers such as Mr. Pond were inferior.
"There now, Miss Watson," he said soothingly, running his hand up and down her back. When she had collected herself, he rose.
"Come, Lord Kesseley," he said darkly.
Henrietta interrupted. "Mr. Van Heerlen, I'm indebted that Lord Kesseley came. Don't be angry."
"Hush, dearest, don't upset yourself anymore."
The two men walked a little way down the steep road running along the stone fence. She could just hear their terse voices, but couldn't make out the words for the rattle of their carriage rolling up the hill.
"Come, Papa," she said, helping him into the carriage, then sitting beside him. He leaned his head against hers and curled his fingers in her hair. "You're all I have," he said, over and over.
Mr. Van Heerlen stepped up and swung into the seat. He handed Henrietta a flat rectangular box as the carriage lurched forward. "This is your mother's necklace. Lord Kesseley won't be bothering you again."
Henrietta peered out the window, but she couldn't see Kesseley in the darkness of the park.
Mr. Van Heerlen helped her father to his bed at The Green Man Inn and then procured some laudanum from the innkeeper. Her father drank it without protest, seeking relief from his relentless mind. Mr. Van Heerlen kissed Henrietta's cheek when he left, promising he would make everything better once they arrived in Germany.