In truth, even prettier than he had described.
He went to bed thinking of Harriet, and had hardly closed his eyes by the time morning came and his valet strode in to toss the drapes aside and let in the blinding light. “I’m going to have you drawn and quartered, Holt.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” he responded, completely unperturbed.
“And boiled in oil.”
He set out Max’s shaving gear. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Max laughed. “Would you happen to know if anyone else is awake yet?”
“I do believe everyone else is sleeping still. Quite some excitement yesterday.”
“Yes, an understatement. I’ll look in on Lord Covington once he is awake. I’m sure he passed a difficult night.”
“Indeed, the poor man. I’ll ask his valet to alert me once he is up and dressed.”
“Thank you, Holt.” Max got out of bed and readied himself for the day.
The person he really wanted to see was Harriet, but she was not at the breakfast table when he strode into the dining room the next morning.
He had his coffee, thinking she might soon come down. But when she did not, he returned upstairs and knocked lightly at her bedroom door.
Alice opened the door and informed him that Harriet wasn’t there.
“Do you know where she is, Alice?”
“No, Your Grace. She was already up and out of the house when I came in to assist her.”
He spotted his housekeeper bustling down the hall. “Mrs. Watkins, have you seen Miss Comeford this morning?”
“I saw her go out earlier, but I cannot say where she went. Perhaps you will find her in the garden or in the chapel you so excellently scrubbed clean the other day.”
“Ah, yes.” He turned and hurried to the chapel, hoping he would find her there.
The air was warm and laden with moisture, an obvious sign of impending rain. He hurried his pace, hoping to square things with Harriet and get her back to the house before they were both caught in a downpour and drenched.
The chapel door was open, so he quietly walked in.
His heart hitched.
Harriet sat in the first pew, handkerchief in hand and sobbing.
He strode forward and settled beside her. “Why the tears, Harriet?”
She regarded him with trepidation. “I’m so sorry I’ve let you down. I don’t know how to make it up to you.”
He frowned.
Did she believe he was blaming her for Beatrice’s elopement?
“And then to find out Beatrice had been married all along,” she said, her breath hitching as she cried and tried to talk at the same time.
“How can it possibly be your fault?” he asked gently.
“I don’t know. But you were so disappointed in me.”
He saw so much pain in her eyes as she glanced at him.
