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They both avoided any mention of Granville. He had declined the invitation for the wedding and had been terribly busy all summer. He was currently in London as parliament was sitting, so he again was busy. Too busy to see her, too busy to attend the wedding. Just too busy.

Harriet had barely seen him since that awful day when he had wanted to propose to her. The memory of it still made her cold. How stupidly she had reacted. How appallingly dramatic she had been. What she told him was the truth, but it was her truth and there had been no need to share it with him. None at all. She had embarrassed herself and him. Now, they were barely speaking, and she missed him horribly. Why he had to spoil things with proposals, she had no idea. It wasn’t as though he had fallen in love with her, so why not stay friends? They had been such good friends.

‘Come,’ she said, standing straight, casting off the dismals. ‘Papa has invited us to take tea with him and his wife, so let us drink that tea and be friendly.’

Hart rolled his eyes but followed her from the room. ‘I feel I should offer a little brotherly advice.’

‘Advice?’

Hart nodded, lips twitching in an incipient smile. ‘Yes. Papa is planning to give you a gift.’

Well, that was a surprise. ‘What sort of gift?’ Papa was not one noted for gift giving.

Hart put a hand to his mouth. ‘I will not ruin his surprise, but might I suggest that when you receive it, you restrain your natural urges? He really is trying to mend bridges.’

Harriet stared at her brother. ‘What? Stop talking in riddles and tell me.’

‘You’ll see.’

They headed to the small family parlour, and Hart stood to allow her to enter first. She walked in to find her father and Lady Liz standing by a roaring fire and saw immediately the gift Hart was referring to. On a rug by their feet were two puppies. Little pudgy balls of dark silky fur with long straggly ears rolling about, trying to bite each other.

‘Dearest Haryo,’ Lady Liz said, rushing over to take her hands.

Harriet swallowed but responded. ‘Your Grace.’ She had thought the title would stick in her throat, but she managed to get the greeting out without sounding sarcastic.

‘Look what your dear Papa has for you.’ She took her by the hand to stand before the pups. Her father’s face was alight with anticipation and the look that he gave her was… hopeful.

Harriet cleared her throat. ‘For me?’

Her father took her hand from Lady Liz and patted it. ‘I wanted to give you something special, so I decided on these precious beauties.’

Harriet wasn’t sure what to say. She glanced at Hart, who grimaced sympathetically.

She squeezed her father’s hand and took a breath. ‘Thank you, Papa. That is kind and most thoughtful of you.’

He bent down and stroked the little creatures on the head, cooing at them, and scratching their ears.

‘They are King Charles Spaniels,’ he said. ‘Not working dogs, family dogs.’

‘Oh,’ Harriet breathed, and went to kneel beside him. ‘Are they from Lilly?’

He beamed at her, pleased that she remembered the name of one of his favourite dogs. Lilly, too, was a lapdog, not a working dog. ‘They are.’

‘Then they will be wonderful dogs.’ She ignored all the fur that instantly clung to her dress and reached out to the nearest puppy. She picked it up and held it close, under her chin, stroking its little head. It nipped at her fingers with needle-sharp teeth, making her laugh. The other tried to clamber onto her lap and, to her surprise, she laughed with genuine amusement at their antics. She recalled a conversation with Granville, what seemed like a lifetime ago, when he had asked why she had never used Lady Liz’s ploy of adoring his dogs to grow closer to him. She looked up and the unalloyed joy on her father’s face made her see how much the dogs meant to him, but in giving her the puppies, she realised he was giving something of himself, something he found difficult to give in other ways. It touched her heart.

‘Do they have names?’ she asked.

Her father shook his head. ‘I’ve left it for you to name them.’ He picked one up and held it to his chest.

‘Are they boys or girls?’ she said.

Her father rolled his eyes but smiled. ‘Boys. Dogs.’

‘Hart, come and see the puppies,’ Harriet said. ‘What should I call them?’

Hart came closer and patted the pup in her arms. ‘They are gorgeous,’ he murmured, tickling it behind the ears. ‘You could give them Greek names. After the great philosophers.’

Harriet laughed as she picked one up, held it in front of her face, and kissed its wet little nose.’