Chapter 22
Harry’s heart fluttered as she made her way about the garden, accepting congratulations from her little sisters and the company that had come to wish them well.
It was a small party. Nothing like she’d always assumed she would have. Since it had all been arranged so quickly, there were perhaps twenty guests including her family. They had decided to make the party alfresco given the limited number of attendees and so, beautiful tents with golden tassels had been set up in the sprawling garden behind the Harley townhome.
The early summer sun beamed down on them gently in the late morning. Cakes, ices, cold salmon, strawberries and champagne flowed. The scent of lilacs and roses wafted on the air and the comfort of it eased her taut nerves.
Every summer that she could remember had been spent in this garden.
The large fountain in the small pond just behind them filled the air with the most delightful sound of water. Several of the children were splashing the surface.
As she gazed at her little sisters, giggling and running in their pale gowns, her heart tightened.
There was something so joyful about seeing them together, playing. She’d always hoped to be around the sound of children laughing.
Well, she wouldn’t think about such a thing now.
So, instead, she turned, squared her shoulders and leveled her gaze on the set of men surrounding her husband.
It was rare to see so many dukes in one place and at such a small party.
But here they were and they all seemed extremely handsome and friendly. . . or friendly in that way men had with each other which was to say they were giving each other a good deal of trouble and enjoying it immensely.
She narrowed her gaze looking for her brother but he was not to be seen. Now that she thought of it, nor did she see Eglantine.
Pursing her lips, she set across the lawn to find her dearest friend.
She passed her mother and mother-in-law in deep discussion about some matter or other. Smiling at them as she passed, she wondered what it would be like to have a mother-in-law.
Rob’s mother had always seemed quite pleasant so she had good hopes.
As she approached an elaborately shaped topiary, she heard whispers.
Harry pulled herself to a halt and tucked herself behind the bushes just in time to see Eglantine march out from the shrubs in high dungeon.
Eglantine let out a loud Hmmph as she tugged on her frock and fussed with her hair as she made a quick departure.
Just as she was about to step out and go after her friend, her brother slipped out of the shrubbery, too, looking as if someone had forced him to take a good dose of cod liver oil.
She bit down on her lip, contemplating remaining unseen. Instead, she leapt out and said quite cheerfully, “Why, hello, brother.”
Her brother jumped a foot and whipped towards her. “Harry,” he yelped.
“Yes, it is I.” She folded her hands behind her back and asked playfully, “Whatever were you doing just now?”
“I?” he coughed and looked around desperately. “I was examining the bushes. I do think there is a rather unfortunate infestation of beetles in the dogwood trees.”
“At my wedding breakfast?” she asked, batting her lashes.
“Now is always the best time, is it not?”
“And did Eglantine agree with you?” she asked sweetly.
His face tensed and, for one moment, he looked like a boy caught stealing candy. “Eglantine?”
“Mmm. Wasn’t she in the shrubbery with you?” She peered around his shoulder then glanced back towards the tents. “I saw her head off towards the house.”
“Oh. Oh! Yes.” He cleared his throat then tugged on his cravat. “She did say she knew something about trees and the symptoms of one that was infected. . .”
“With beetles?” she put in helpfully, barely able to contain her laugh at his discomfort.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“I say, you aren’t in love with Eglantine are you?” she asked abruptly.
“Eglantine?” he echoed before squaring his shoulders. “The very idea. Why she and I. . .”
“Yes?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“It was nothing,” he scoffed with too much conviction. “She merely wished my advice, given my superior years and experience.”
“I see. But mind you keep it that way and no more shrubberies.” She arched a brow. “One forced marriage is enough for this family. Don’t you agree?”
He made no reply but gave a quick nod. “Where’s your husband.”
“With your friends, I believe.”
A more relaxed smile softened his face. “They’re your friends, too, now. I think you’ll find that to be the truth.”
“I’m surrounded by dukes,” she said with exaggerated woe.
“There are worse things.”
“Indeed.” She grinned. “I could have no dukes at all.”
Harley laughed. “Oh, Harry. Never change.”
“That, dear brother, is impossible as well you know it.”
Her brother swept her up in a quick hug. “I’m sorry about all this.”
“I’m not,” she said softly. “I like Rob.”
“I’ve been an absolute bear,” he sighed.
“You have.” She punched him lightly. “Typical man, don’t you know. Buy you are a duke, so I’m not surprised you were so determined that we be married.”
“I only wish what is best for you,” he said gently.
She nodded. “I know.”
“All will be well,” he said. “You’ll see. Despite his idiocy, Rob has always been a splendid fellow. He’ll come up to snuff.”
“I hope so,” she said. But this time she could scarce keep the worry from her voice as she heard him assuring her that he was not a good man. At least not in the way she thought. What had he meant?
“Now,” he squeezed her. “Let’s get him back on the proper path.”
She laughed. “You are so concerned with the proper path.”
“It is the only one worth being on,” he replied.
“I suppose,” she replied then walked back towards the house, determined to find her husband and finally be alone with him.
After all, they had a whole life to start. And she, for one, was ready to begin it now.
The coach rolled to a stop before Rob’s London house and he felt a wave of trepidation. Perhaps this was, in fact, a terrible idea. He’d allowed his new wife to convince him that they should stay in London for the summer and not go away together to the country at all. She’d been most insistent that she wished to become close to his family and that they had a great deal to accomplish in the city before they even bothered with his estates.
The reason of her request was inescapable. Most of his houses were in various states of repair. . . including the London one. It was probably best not to throw her into one of the molding piles with grass uncut and angry tenants about. Though, given the sparkle of determination in his new wife’s eyes, he had a strong feeling that all of that would be righted within months with her at the helm.
He wondered what his mother would think of that. In truth, he felt certain she’d be pleased and he was eager for them all to get along. Family strife was the best way to find oneself in permanent hell or so at least the last few years had proved.
Still, bringing Harriet to one of his houses, in theory, was suddenly different than the reality. Harriet was about to see firsthand the state that his family had fallen to.
“I should warn you,” he began, but before he could finish, the footman he could barely afford until now, opened the door.
She gave him a winning smile and said pertly, “Never fear, I like surprises.”
He suppressed a snort. Well, she was going to be very pleased then.
He stepped down to the pavement and watched her as she took in the facade.
The house had been built in the late sixteen hundreds and had seen the political drama of the Stuarts, William of Orange, and the transition to the Hanovers. Once, the house had been one of the grandest in existence because his great-great grandfather had been one of the men who had orchestrated the Glorious Revolution, thereby altering the shape of the monarchy in England forever.
Those had been the glory days, indeed, of his family and the house reflected that. It was a beautiful butter yellow stone structure which overlooked the river, with gardens that had now lost their immaculately groomed shape and had instead taken on, not through planning but lack of care, the current a la mode of nature.
A smile turned her lips as she mounted the sweeping granite steps and headed for the doors.
The butler, Stevenson, who had been with the family time out of mind, and who had refused to leave when most of the other staff had fled for jobs which actually paid them the wages they were owed, bowed to his new mistress, his wiry, grey hair barely tamed into place.
Rob smiled fondly, intent on Harry understanding the importance of the older man. “Stevenson saved me from many a scrape as a boy and as a man, I dare say.”
Harry inclined her head. “It is a pleasure, Stevenson.” She smiled broadly. “No doubt, you shall save me, too, as I learn to manage the household of His Grace.”
Stevenson beamed at the acknowledgment of his abilities and that his new mistress clearly saw a place for him. “We are so very happy to have you, Your Grace.”
Quickly, Rob led her over the threshold into the foyer with its inlaid wood floor which had been polished with beeswax the previous day. An ornate rug which had been woven in Persia decorated the intricately patterned wood. A rug they’d kept to at least appear in funds. Overhead, a glorious painting of Zeus atop Mount Olympus surrounded by his immortal court, blazed with colors that made the English grey light bearable.
It needed little furniture to keep it splendid.
Candelabras lit the tapestry-covered walls. It was already quite late and he was grateful. He did not particularly wish to lead his new wife through a host of empty rooms.
“Shall we go up?” he asked.
“That would be wonderful,” she said, smiling with relief. “Has my lady’s maid brought my trunks?”
He shifted uncomfortably, wondering what her lady’s maid thought of this situation. “She has and has been found a place amidst the servant’s quarters.”
“Splendid.” Her eyes sparkled. “I find I am quite tired.”
“Then we must find you a place to rest.”
She cocked her head to the side, obviously surprised by his turn of phrase. For surely, she thought as any reasonable person would, that her own room should have a bed.
It did not.
Quietly, he took a taper from the only table in the foyer, a beautiful Italian affair, and began the ascent.
She followed without question though he could swear her mind was bursting with questions.
Once they had climbed to the second story and turned down the west corridor, his sense of discomfort increased. It was obvious that most of the paintings had been taken down. Some spots on the wall hangings bore slight discolorations from where the works of great masters had once hung.
He kept silent until, finally, he stopped in front of a door. “This is your room.”
She nodded but when he did not move to admit her she quirked a smile. “Is something amiss?”
“I—” He paused. “You know of our troubles.”
“Yes.”
He pressed his lips together. Really there was nothing for it. Opening the door, he allowed her to walk in.
A fire burned in the hearth, bathing the empty room in a warm glow. The empty room.
“My goodness,” she said cheerfully as she turned slowly about, eyeing the walls covered in a simple blue silk. “I am very lucky.”
“How do you mean?” he asked carefully.
“I shall be able to make this room exactly as I please.” She turned to face him. “Though I do have one question.”
“Name it.”
“Where am I to sleep? I’ve never slept on the floor,” she said brightly. “I suppose it could be an adventure.”
“I thought. . .” He swallowed, stunned that such a proposal would give him pause. He was no innocent boy, by any means, but the truth was, he had never shared a bed with a woman. Not for a whole night.
“Yes?” she prompted.
“That we could share a room.” He blinked, wondering why he felt like such a green youth. “For now.”
Her eyes widened then she laughed happily. “How scandalous. I think that is a wonderful idea.”
He smiled back, thankful that she was unlike so many aristocratic women who would have been insulted by what they might have deemed a slight.
“Where is your room then?” She turned then pointed to a door on the far side of her own room. “Through there?”
He nodded.
“Please, will you do me the honor?” she gestured forward. “I find I should like to remove my shoes.”
Her shoes. And her stockings. And her gown. . . his mind went blank as the reality that she was his entirely set in. If he had anything to do with it, she’d be sleeping sans clothing but he had to recall that she was quite new to carnal affairs though her enthusiasm had been clear.
Leading the way, he slipped into his room.
It, too, was simple. A four-poster bed stood near the fire. There were no paintings, except for one he had done years ago of a copse of trees he had admired. Stacks of books lined the floors and windowsill.
“Heaven,” she breathed.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“I see what you value,” she said simply.
He studied her, marveling at Harry’s mind. “Do you?”
“Why yes,” she said. “Everything is gone but the essentials.”
“Which are?” he prompted, stunned by her lack of concern about material things.
“Books, bed,” she smiled studying the canvas upon the wall, “and something interesting to look at.”
“I don’t need the painting, now that I have you.”
She gave him a wry smile. “That is a lovely thing to say, but not true. We all need art in our lives.”
He shifted on his boots, surprised by the wave of pleasure he felt at her words. “I’m not certain you can truly call it art, but rather a few dabs of paint.”
She strode towards the painting, her rich skirts a contrast to the plain floor. She folded her arms under her breasts and eyed the painting. “It tells me a good deal about you.”
“And what does it say?” he asked, shocked to find he was genuinely curious as to her reply.
“That you are vibrant,” she said softly. “That you care about the wind.”
He gaped down at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you see the leaves dancing here and here?” She pointed to the trees and the rich grass beneath. “You clearly love the wind.”
He laughed. “I do.”
“So do I,” she said. “It has a life of its own.”
“With many moods.”
“Exactly,” she agreed, turning as she brought a hand to the tie of her cloak. “Just like you and me.”
“Am I so changeable?” he asked, bemused by her. He felt so free with her.
She arched a brow. “Yes.”
“I don’t know if I should be insulted,” he teased.
“If I had called you boring, that would be an insult. To be changeable says that you embrace life, for it never stays the same. Now does it?”
“No.” He gazed down at her, marveling at their strange journey. “You are quite the lady, Harry.”
“Why, thank you, sir.” She dipped a playful curtsey. “Now, where should I put my things?”
“For now?”
She nodded.
He strode towards her and feeling the affinity he’d felt for her deepen, he said, unable to hide the hunger from his voice, “The floor.”
Her eyes flashed with excitement and surprise. “You please me more and more, Rob.”
“Do I?” he asked, tugging her cloak from her shoulders and letting it fall to her feet.
She nodded. “You are not one to do things by the book, are you?”
“I think you know the answer.”
She bit her lower lip then tilted her head back. “Indeed, I do. Highwayman.”
He groaned. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?”
“Why would I wish to?” she challenged happily. “You found a quite uncommon solution to your problem.”
Holding her close, letting his hands trail over her back, he said, “I would not call it a solution but a mad attempt to stave off the inevitable.”
“It worked,” she replied. “For now, you have your solution, do you not?”
“You,” he breathed and he realized in that moment that it was true. Harry was the solution to all his ills. He only wished he could be the solution to hers.
“What a fascinating woman you are,” he said softly.
“I hope to be,” she replied sliding her hands up to his shoulders. “Are we to be friends again?”
He frowned. “I thought we already were.”
“You did leave me wondering,” she said, the first hint of doubt deepening her voice. “I’m not sure I should forgive you, truly.”
He winced. “Forgive me for being so abrupt. . . so—”
“Unkind.”
“Unkind, yes.” He drew in a long breath. “I was very angry with myself.”
“And me?” she asked, tilting her head back.
“How could I be angry with you?” he asked, astonished she could think such a thing.
“You’re not?”
He shook his head. “You are everything I could ever want. And it was I who made the decision to make love to you in that coach. It is I who is lacking, not you.”
She eyed him carefully. “For a duke, you have a tremendous amount of criticism for yourself.”
“Being a duke does not make a man good,” he felt compelled to point out.
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “But you are.”
The value of arguing with her was greatly diminished under the desire to kiss her. Besides, he had a feeling that arguing with Harry would be largely pointless if her opinion was fixed. So, he stroked his knuckles gently over her cheekbones then cupped her chin. “Will you share my bed?”
“Happily. You make me feel things I never knew could be.”
“As you do me.”
“Truly?” she asked, her eyes widening with surprise. “Even with all your experience?”
He groaned then laughed. “Oh, Harry, you are going to surprise me every day, aren’t you?”
“I should hope so,” she teased. “One mustn’t become predictable, you know.”
He grinned. “I do have experience, but I am in earnest when I tell you that you have evoked something in me I did not know was there. Of course, I find your body to be exquisite, but it is your soul, your heart, your mind which pulls me. Not just your beauty.”
She blushed.
“You make me feel at ease Harry, and that is something I never expected to feel again.”
“I’m glad,” she whispered. “Now, kiss me.”
And he did.