Page 13 of Their Wildest Dreams

“That is because I made the arrangement this morning. If you do not wish to come, I will not compel you, but I hope you will. She will need someone in the house whom she trusts and who will always have her best interests at heart. It will ease her way, I think. Don’t you?” He glanced at the open trunk nearest the wall. A small wooden box rested inside, its lid raised to reveal several pieces of modest jewelry. A garnet cross, a strand of pearls and a pair of gold bracelets had been set apart from the rest. “Those belonged to her mother?”

“Yes. Lord Alderley suggested they might be sold with the other unentailed pieces.” Mrs. Mercer's mouth tightened. “Her ladyship refused.”

“Nothing in that box will be sold.” Benedict closed the lid carefully. “Nor will anything else that belongs to Harriet be disposed of without her consent. If Lord Alderley raises the subject again, you may refer him to me.”

Mrs. Mercer studied him for a moment. Some portion of her suspicion eased. “I will see that she knows it.”

“There is no need. I did not make the decision in order to be thanked for it.”

“There may not be a need, my lord, but I expect there is a reason.”

He left before she could say more.

By the time the carriage was brought around, the rain had stopped. Harriet stood on the front steps with her father and sister, attempting not to cry. Benedict remained near the carriage to afford them what privacy could be had before a house full of watching servants and tenants.

Lord Alderley embraced his daughter for a long time. Whatever his failures as an estate holder, his love for Harriet was unmistakable. Benedict could not hear what passed between them, but Harriet shook her head, then took her father's hands and answered with an earnestness that appeared to pain them both.

When she finally came down the steps, her eyes were bright. “If you say anything kind to me,” she murmured as Benedict handed her into the carriage, “I shall disgrace us both by weeping upon your coat.”

“Then I shall be as disagreeable as circumstances require. You have packed enough luggage for a continental siege, and I begin to suspect the horses will resent you before we reach the lower road.”

Her mouth trembled before curving into a reluctant smile. “That will do very well. You may continue.”

He followed her in and took the opposite seat. The distance to Denham Park was less than two miles, but Harriet looked back at Alderley until the house disappeared beyond the trees.

“Mrs. Mercer will follow with the luggage,” he said when at last she turned from the window. “Her rooms are being prepared near yours.”

Harriet's head came around sharply. “Mrs. Mercer is coming to Denham?”

“I offered her a place in your household. She has attended you since childhood, and it seemed unreasonable to separate you solely because you have acquired a husband.”

For once, she appeared to have no ready answer. Her gloved fingers tightened in her lap, and Benedict saw the effort with which she brought her emotions under control. “I had not asked because I assumed your mother would wish me to retain the servants already attached to the house.”

“You should stop assuming what I will deny you. It is a habit which causes you needless distress and encourages me to believe you have a very poor opinion of my character.”

“And you should stop making arrangements which affect me without first speaking to me. However thoughtful the arrangement may be, you cannot cure my dependence by deciding every kindness on my behalf.”

The correction was fairly made. Benedict accepted it with a slight inclination of his head. “You are right. I ought to have asked whether you wanted her to come. I thought only of sparing you the necessity of requesting it.”

She frowned, apparently deprived of the quarrel she had anticipated. Gratitude softened her expression even as she struggled to speak it. “Then thank you. I mean it, Benedict. Whatever objection I have to the manner in which you arranged it, I understand the kindness which compelled you to do so… Whatever squabbles have passed between us in the past, I know that you are always well meaning.”

The simple sincerity affected him more deeply than it should have done. “I am heartened to hear that… And you are welcome.” Benedict looked toward the window before she could read too much in his face.

Silence settled between them, but it was not an uncomfortable one. Harriet removed one glove and looked at the ring upon her finger. Benedict watched her turn it once, testing its unfamiliar weight.

After several moments, Harriet looked down at the ring upon her finger. “And my mother's jewelry? Mrs. Mercer will have told you that Papa wished to sell it.”

“It will remain yours. Nothing from that box is to be sold, and your father no longer has either the necessity nor the right to dispose of it.”

Her gaze lifted. “I fear Papa thought me selfish for refusing when Alderley needed every shilling.”

“I saw the box while she was packing. Your father no longer needs to sell it, and even if he did, the decision would not be his to make. Those items, Harriet, are yours—your inheritance and I daresay your fondest possessions. Tangible memories.”

Her eyes shimmered with tears she would only resent were they to fall. “He could never understand that the pieces were valuable to me for a reason no jeweler could measure.”

“No,” Benedict agreed. “It is not the point at all. Some things ought to be preserved because losing them would cost far more than the selling of them could ever provide.”

The carriage slowed before the lower road. A horseman waited ahead, positioned so they could not pass without acknowledging him. Benedict recognized Selby's steward, a narrow-faced man named Crane.