“A positive result,” encouraged Letitia.
Lights from Ridlington began to twinkle through the murk, and Letitia paused once again. “I must ask one thing, Harry,” she said. “You’ve lived in London. Do you know that woman?”
“Not personally, no.” Harriet racked her brains for information. “I had heard of her, though. Mostly gossip, but a few mentions in the newspapers now and again. She is notorious for her fleeting interest in many men. She’s a wealthy widow —inherited a massive fortune from her late husband, I believe—and strange as it may seem, she’s of good breeding, both of which facts allow her to run much closer to the line between acceptable behaviour and outright scandal.”
“Ah.” Letitia absorbed this information. “A titled whore. Probably a lackwit as well.”
Harriet frowned. “No, I cannot say either with certainty.” She put her hand on Letitia’s arm. “In fact, I distinctly remember my uncle mentioning her during one of our…conversations. He asked my aunt why I couldn’t be more like Lady Augusta, and she answered that I wasn’t smart enough.”
Letitia’s countenance crumbled. “Oh my dear girl.” She hugged Harriet. “I’m so sorry to bring up a memory so unpleasant.”
“Oddly enough, I can recall things like that now without pain,” answered Harriet, returning the hug. “Entirely thanks to you.”
“Well we’re helping each other out, which is exactly how a good friendship should be conducted.” Letitia squared her shoulders. “I am going to take what happened today and add it to my store of useful experiences.”
“An excellent notion,” concurred Harriet, not believing a word of it.
“I shall put it to good use. In fact, I think I shall being editing my book this very evening.”
They walked across the terrace and up to the side entrance to Ridlington, where Letitia turned to look at Harriet. “Will you make my excuses for dinner for me? I don’t believe my work will wait another moment.”
In other words, thought Harriet to herself,you can’t deal with family at the moment. He must have really upset your ordered world.
“Of course, Letitia. I’ll make sure they send up a tray. Authors do need sustenance, you know. After all, brilliant minds have to be nourished.”
She was happy to see that her parting comment had brought the first smile to Letitia’s face since that fateful moment on the steps of FitzArden Hall.
Damn you, James FitzArden. You just destroyed something very precious.On that thought, Harriet walked out of the growing darkness and back into Ridlington Chase.
*~~*~~*
Letitia did indeed set herself to work that very night, and more days and nights after that. She worked hard, not only dealing with Lesley’s editorial suggestions, but tightening the story here and there, improving small things, adding and changing and correcting…
After a week, she was tired but still very enthusiastic about the way this book was turning into something even she thought was quite special. Life continued around her, of course, and the weather cooperated by being utterly miserable for most of the next two weeks, condemning everyone to spending the majority of their time under their own roofs.
She spared little thought for FitzArden Hall and its owner—Paul and James had left, but whether they’d takenthat womanwith them, she didn’t know. She told herself she didn’t care.
Harriet was at loose ends, and found herself assisting Rosaline now and again. The two women grew to know each other a little better, and Rosaline declared herself delighted with Harriet’s ability to entertain baby Hugh long enough for his Mama to enjoy an excellent restorative nap. She was also well-read, so occasionally the two of them would have quite unlikely conversations about matters ranging from Shakespeare to Sheridan. Politics wasn’t high on either women’s list of interests, but Sheridan’s history, colourful as it had been, provided meat for several afternoons of discussion.
Letitia was pleased that Harriet was getting along so well with her sister-in-law. It gave her chance to do what she needed to do, and not feel obligated to pay attention to the rest of the Ridlington household.
As far as James was concerned…well, there was no James to be concerned about anymore.
Letitia had done her best to shut that door, to wall off those emotions he might have aroused at various times during their acquaintance. He had returned from town, and visited a few times, but she’d managed to avoid him without it seeming too overt.
Of course, her avoidance was noted, but since she had her editing work as an excuse, and her ink stained fingers as evidence, the comments were few and made only in passing. At least to her.
They heard not long afterward that he’d left for London again. Autumn was fast giving way to what promised to be a cold winter, and speculation was rife that James might spend the bitter months in the metropolis. Letitia contributed little to that conversation, merely agreeing that for a man with active business interests, it was probably a logical move, given the difficulties of winter travel.
She refused to even consider that he might seek warmth in the arms of his mistress. She was afraid of the lurking pain such a notion would bring to that odd little area around her heart.
So the days passed, and it wasn’t until early November that word arrived from London as to James’s whereabouts. And even then, indirectly.
“’Tis news from Kitty,” said Edmund that morning. He held up a letter. “It only took me an hour to decipher it. Kitty’s penmanship leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense, my dear,” said Rosaline. “How are they going on in town?”
“Do tell,” added Letitia.
