And she had indulged desires within herself that she had not known even existed. Had allowed her brother's closest friend to... She closed her eyes, but the memory of Jeremy's face, his touch, and even his scent were far too strong in the darkness behind her eyelids.
A knock came at the door. Harriet knew the sound of her lady's maid.
“Come in, Marianne,” she called out.
The bedroom door clicked open, and Marianne hurried into the room and over to the window. She was petite with hair of dark bronze and a round, pretty face that made her look younger than her years. She peeked around the edges of the curtains.
“Whatever is the matter, Marianne?” Harriet frowned in befuddlement.
“Begging your pardon, Lady Harriet,” Marianne whispered in her strong country accent, which dropped theHsound at the beginning of words, “but a carriage has just arrived. It is Master Ralph and another gentleman. I thought you would want to know.”
Harriet jerked bolt upright in bed, throwing back the bedclothes. She dashed to the window, looking down into the courtyard of Oaksgrove. Her brother's carriage had rolled up, and he was just alighting.
“I did not expect him back so soon!” she squeaked, panicked.
“You don't think he found out about you slipping out last week, do you? I swear that Mr. Beecham never knew you wasn't in your room. I made sure!”
Harriet was no longer listening. Another man had stepped out of the carriage and was standing in the courtyard while Ralph pointed out some facet of the architecture, talking animatedly. The man was Jeremy Cavendish. As Ralph talked, Jeremy glanced around as though he could feel Harriet watching him. Moments later, their eyes met, and Harriet felt as though they were the only two people in the world. She found herself leaning on the window frame, knees trembling under that cold, blue-eyed gaze.
This is what it feels like to be a sparrow fixed in the gaze of a hunting hawk. I feel like prey, and I do not know that it is a sensation I dislike…
She was dressed in her shift, a thin slip of cotton that exposed a little more than the ankles of her bare feet. Perhaps Jeremy could see that she was not fully proper, but even if he could not, Harriet felt a shivering thrill at the knowledge that he might. She dug her toes into the carpet, tensing her thigh muscles as a wave of delirious excitement swept through her. Then, Ralph was looking around, and Jeremy's eyes tore from hers.
The spell shattered, Harriet let the curtains fall back across the window, and turned to Marianne.
“I do not think he has found out, or he would not be so amenable. He looked like he was enjoying showing off the house to his friend. I need to dress quickly and go down to greet them. Please lay out a morning dress for me.”
Marianne hurried to the wardrobe, flinging open the doors and selecting a garment. Harriet's selection of garments were plain and uninspiring. The gown that Ralph had commissioned for her to wear at the Chelmsford's ball was the finest she had ever owned. Suddenly, Harriet felt resentment that she would stand before Jeremy in a drab dress, wanting to appear before him as she had at the ball.
I must stop this! He is not a man I can ever have, nor can he have me. Oh my, what a thought! If he is going to insist on his mad plan, I would be better looking as drab and plain as I can!
“My letter to the Duke of Penhaligon definitely went with the first post on Wednesday last week?” Harriet hastened to ask as Marianne helped her button up a dress of navy blue that covered Harriet from chin to toe.
“It did. I took it to the post office in Danbury myself and handed it over to the post master,” the maid nodded.
Harriet breathed slightly easier. The letter had been the first bit of business she had attended to after speaking with Jane during their walk on Danbury Common the previous Tuesday. Precisely a week ago now. In it, she had told Jeremy in no uncertain terms that she wished the rumor that they were engaged to be quashed and that she would have no part of his plan.
I should have written it the moment I returned from the ball. Why did I not? Still, it has been a week since Jane and I encountered that terrible de Rouvroy woman. Plenty of time for Jeremy to receive the letter and make other plans for his business. Whatever they may be.
Harriet hurried downstairs as Ralph's brash voice echoed through the foyer. She slowed as she reached the entrance hall, with the breakfast room just off it to the left as one entered the house. Men's voices resounded from that room. By the time Harriet reached the door, she had composed herself… mostly. She feared that she would be scarlet within moments of seeing the Duke.
“Ah, there she is! See, old chap, hair as black as coal,” Ralph chortled.
He and Jeremy were seated at the breakfast table. Ralph was speaking around a mouthful of toast while Jeremy merely stirred a cup of tea.
“Yes… I see. I was certainly mistaken. I do not think I would make that mistake again. No other woman quite captures the essence of Lady Harriet Tisdale.”
“Indeed not. Black hair with light eyes is unusual enough. Green, even rarer. Do sit down, dear sister, no need to stand on ceremony. You remember my old school friend Jeremy Cavendish?”
Harriet took a seat opposite Jeremy. The only other place setting at the table was her grandmother's customary seat. The width of the table did not seem enough to separate her from the Duke. He felt very close…tooclose.
“Vaguely,” she answered. “I think it has been a long time, has it not?”
“Some years since I was last here,” the Duke harrumphed in response. Then, he narrowed his eyes, “But have I not seen you socially? In the Chelmsford Assembly Rooms, perhaps?”
“Hardly,” her brother scoffed while pointing his fork, “I do not frequent such places and would not dream of allowing Harriet to go alone.”
“No, I do not attend such events, Your Grace,” Harriet said primly.
