Chapter Eight
Harriet’s heart felt as if it lurked somewhere close to her back teeth as she crept into Letitia’s room that evening.
Dinner was ongoing, the family were gathered in one place, and it was indeed the ideal moment for a maid to straighten her mistress’s boudoir for the night ahead. There weren’t many other maids, but one was doing the same thing for Lady Rosaline. They would all meet later downstairs in the servants’ hall for their supper.
So, ever conscientious, Harriet laid out Letitia’s nightgown and wrapper, made sure there was fresh water in the ewer, and that the items on her bureau were all in order.
Then she scurried to the chest at the foot of the bed, which was where Harriet knew she secreted her most precious possessions. Although she’d not spoken of this to Harriet, Letitia had unknowingly revealed the hideaway one day when retrieving one of her few pieces of precious jewellery…a small pearl pendant that had belonged to her grandmother, she’d said.
It was at that point that Harriet had seen the false bottom inside the trunk. And had glimpsed many sheets of paper. She was almost positive that on this evening, she would find the manuscripts of Letitia’s book within.
She was right. There were three boxes, which matched what she knew about the number of copies. Although when she’d met Letitia, only one larger packet had been visible. Removing one of them and gently untying the ribbon, she guessed that Letitia herself had sorted and boxed them. It was the sort of thing she’d do and the contents of the trunk validated that assumption, since they were in neat piles that were easily moved for access to the hidden layers beneath.
A brief glance at the cover page reassured her. It was indeed the book, and the word “COPY” was inscribed in red ink across the top. Perfect.
Carefully, Harriet removed the contents and replaced the empty box at the very bottom of the pile, hoping that if Letitia took out her book to work on it, she would remove the one on top and not notice that one box was empty.
Thus left with a sheaf of papers, she put them gently on the bed, and then restored the trunk to its customary position.
The next step would be to go to the library; this would be problematic, since it was on the ground floor, too near the dining room for her liking. But she had no other options. Thus she crept silently from Letitia’s rooms along the corridor and down the servant’s staircase, hearing conversation from their quarters, but silence from the rest of the house.
Which was just what she’d hoped.
Emerging into the hall, she heard laughter; this time from the dinner guests. All was as it should be and she hurried to the library, praying the door didn’t squeak too much.
Inside, she went straight to the shelf where older books were stored, along with some that were about to lose their contents due to neglect. There were several boards lying on that shelf; covers that no longer contained the pages they once so carefully protected. And two of these were ideal for Harriet’s needs.
She selected the nearest in size to the papers she carried, slipped them over the manuscript and tied a small piece of string around the whole. Once assembled, it looked like an ordinary—if battered—volume, and this was how she would treat it as she passed it to Sir James.
Or that was how it was supposed to happen.
She tried to banish the feeling that she was betraying Letitia’s trust. Logically, this was the wisest course, since in all probability he would understand what Letitia’s intentions were and, with luck, step in and offer himself as a volunteer.
Harriet prayed she had not misinterpreted her reading of his interest in Letitia. There were so many things that might go wrong, and if Letitia were hurt in any way—well, Harriet shuddered at the thought she might be responsible.
But the shudders were far worse when she imagined Letitia being seduced by a man she barely knew, just to experience the sensation for her book.
No, that was absolutely not going to happen.
Tucking the volume into the enormous pocket of her maid’s apron, she retraced her steps out into the hall and hurried to the alcove where Chidwell would have placed the guests’ outerwear.
Another unpleasant shock hit her as she realized she might not recognize Sir James’s coat, but her luck still held. There it was, the dark grey with a pale grey trim and silver buttons. The others were quite different, so she was sure it was his. And it also featured large pockets, so beloved of stylish country gentlemen.
So she carefully tucked the book away, knowing that he would sense its presence as soon as he picked up the garment.
It was the best she could do.
With a deep breath she walked away. The die was cast. Now it was up to Sir James. He would not fail to respond to this book, would he?
Dear Lord. Let him be the man I think he is…
*~~*~~*
Dinner was delightful, thought Letitia, as she found herself next to James at the table, with her brother on the other side.
Edmund took the head as always, with Rosaline to his right since this was an informal gathering of family and close friends. Next to Rosaline was Paul, a smile on his face that could probably have lit up the room every bit as well as the candles flickering from the chandelier.
Simon and Tabby would be dining at the Rectory as usual. Their visits were many, but their devotion was to each other. They were setting up their own family traditions, which was—of course—exactly as it should be.
