“Straight back to Penhaligon, then change horses, and we will leave as soon as possible for Oaksgrove.”
He sat back in the carriage, thoughts already full of Harriet. He smiled, already thinking of how he would like to arrange her for a portrait. He felt alive and more awake than he had felt in a very long time. Reaching beneath the seat, he withdrew his great-grandfather’s box, containing the basic utensils for creating art.
Taking out a sheet of paper and balancing it against the lid of the box, he began to draw with a charcoal pencil, sketching out the first image that came to his mind.
As London fell away, the floor of the carriage became carpeted in paper. Each bore the same image, presented in many different forms. Some were complete pictures, carefully shaded. Somewere sketches, bare lines that had been abandoned before the image they were intended to depict could take shape.
That image was of Harriet.
Jeremy had run out of supplies before the journey to Penhaligon was complete. He watched the countryside roll by, recognizing familiar landmarks as he drew closer to home. More than once, he lifted his hand to rap the roof to order his driver to head directly for Oaksgrove. Each time, though, he thought better of it, lowering his hand and deciding it would be preferable by far to arrive at Oaksgrove refreshed.
Besides, the very anticipation of seeing Harriet and finally being able to be completely open about his feelings for her was almost as pleasurable as seeing her would be.
When the carriage arrived before Penhaligon, Jeremy bounded from it and strode to the house, through the front door, and halfway across the entrance hall before he stopped. Atkins was walking towards him, a serious expression on his face. Jeremy felt a frisson of disquiet, seeing in the old retainer the signs of news that he knew his master would not like.
“Your Grace, you have a visitor,” Atkins said.
“Who?” Jeremy asked.
“One who is known to you, Your Grace,” the butler answered, looking uncomfortable by the second.
“Enough with the riddles, Atkins. Who?” Jeremy demanded.
“Hullo, Jeremy.”
It was a woman’s voice, and it came from above Atkins, where the stairs turned. Jeremy looked up. Two women were descending towards him. Atkins stepped aside to let them pass by.
“Florence?” Jeremy exclaimed, recognizing the first.
She had lustrous brown hair, worked in curls, and a heart-shaped face with full lips and a button nose. Her beauty was marred by a frown of anxiety across her brow, worry alive in her eyes. The other woman carried a bundle in her arms and was dressed in plain black. The bundle stirred, and the sound of a fretful child reached Jeremy.
“I am sorry to come back into your life in this manner. There is someone I would like you to meet,” Florence said, gesturing to the woman who carried the bundle.
It was a child, of course. The nursemaid handed it to Florence, who beamed down at it, parting swaddling clothes as she descended the remainder of the stairs and approached Jeremy.
“Your son, Jeremy,” she smiled widely, “ourson.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Harriet stirred from a fitful sleep, fully dressed on her bed. Jane had departed some hours earlier, and Harriet had wandered Oaksgrove, disconsolate and unsettled. It would be easy enough to simply walk out of the house and the grounds. Beecham would not pick her up bodily, would not manhandle her. His hold over her on behalf of her brother was based on her respecting Ralph's authority. If she chose to openly flout it, there would be consequences, for certain, but there was no barrier to her committing the act that flouted it in the first place.
So what is stopping me? Is going openly to Penhaligon Manor a Rubicon I am unwilling to cross? Because crossing it will set me on a path of confrontation with Ralph and Grandmama...
It was not out of any indecision over who she wanted. Henri de Rouvroy might be handsome, cultured, and wealthy, but he was a candle next to the sun that was Jeremy. The Frenchman was a poor substitute for her fierce barbarian prince. A pitiful prince,who needed her as much as she wanted him. Her feelings were clear, but so were her fears.
I have pinned my heart to Jeremy's sleeve and would have it known to all. But what if I am wrong about him? What if our marriage, if it even comes to be, is a failure? Can I face my friends and family and see their sympathy for me, knowing that I chose wrongly and disgraced my loved ones as a result?
She stared at the foggy window, wanting to go to Jeremy and fearing it at the same time.
Jane's advice is hang it all and everyone's thoughts and feelings. Go to him and suit yourself. Easy advice to give when you are not the one living with the risk of such a gamble...
From outside came the faint rattle of a carriage. Harriet's head lifted from the pillow, suddenly alert. The front door of the house opened, she heard the creak of its ancient hinges and the rattle of its latch. Her heart pounded as she visualized Jeremy leaping from the carriage and striding purposefully into the house. Then up the stairs to Harriet's room, brushing aside Beecham, flinging the door wide without even knocking.
There came the sound of boots in the hall downstairs, quick, confident striding steps. Harriet swung her legs off the bed, sitting up and pulling at her hair, desperately trying to straighten it from the tangle of sleep. She listened to the striding step crossing the hall, a man's voice dismissing Beecham. She couldn't make out words or even a voice. Just that it was a man,and he was abrupt. She found herself smiling, heart pounding, mouth dry.
He has come for me! It will be as it was meant to be, as I wanted it to be. He does love me!
The footsteps were taking the stairs two-at-a-time. Then they were muffled by the carpet outside Harriet's room, before the door was flung wide.
