Chapter 2
TWO
Twenty-One Years Earlier
There had never been such a lovely night, Hetty thought as she exited the Hartfield ballroom through the large open doors, breathless and laughing after a country reel, her seventh dance of the evening.
There were twelve on the dance card that hung from the end of Hetty’s fan—the Woodhouses knew how to host a country ball—and every dance was claimed by a young man from the village. Hetty, nineteen and in her second year out, was by all accounts a success.
She’d be married by summer, her mother had pronounced in triumph earlier that morning.
And what a triumph it was, with Jane, the youngest Bates sister, out and only weeks from becoming Mrs. Captain John Fairfax.
This was Hetty’s fifth proper dance of the season, and the fifth at which her card was entirely full—a gift horse Hetty knew she should not look in the mouth, but one that was quite tiring if she were being honest, for a full dance card made for very little fresh air.
And so, Hetty had finished her reel and weaved quickly through the throngs of revelers inside, begging Jane to play innocent about her sister’s whereabouts as Hetty made her way to the fresh air beyond the ballroom.
Somehow, miraculously, the balcony was empty, and Hetty stepped to its edge, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a long sigh to the night.
“That sounded glorious.”
Hetty’s spine shot straight at the words, coming bold and deep from the darkness. She turned toward them, peering into the shadows, where she could barely make out the figure of a man.
She should turn away. Head back inside.
Run back inside.
But no one cared less about should than a young woman heady with the power of a full dance card, which was the only explanation for her reply, decidedly un-vicar’s-daughter-like.
She lifted her chin and, practicing her most flirtatious tone, said, “I beg your pardon. We have not been properly introduced.”
He stepped from the shadows at that, and Hetty immediately regretted the words.
This man was not for practice. This man was for a proper hunt.
He was tall and lean, clad in tight fawn breeches and a navy coat, his shirt bright white and his cravat perfectly, artfully tied.
Hetty had never been to the coast, but she imagined his hair was the precise color of sand, falling in waves as though marked by the tide.
And his face—there was a Roman statue in the fountain along the drive of the Knightley estate, and this man could have been cut from the same marble for the angle of his jaw and the line of his nose.
And perhaps Hetty could have resisted the sum of all these handsome parts, but to make it all worse—or better?
She would need some time to consider which—he was smiling, youthful and perfect and disarming and winning and unexpected, and something flipped deep in her chest as he moved toward her, steps long and even and more confident than she’d ever been in her life.
“Edward Harris.” He dipped his chin, a tiny, proper bow, and Hetty bit back a laugh. “Godson to Mrs. Weston. Now we’ve been introduced.”
“On the contrary,” she said. “Now you’ve been impertinent enough to introduce yourself to me. We have not been introduced. We haven’t met.”
He grinned. “Yes, but you don’t require introduction, Miss Bates.”
“I beg your pardon—I absolutely require—” She blinked, surprise flooding her. “How is it that you know my name?”
“Not know the name of the prettiest girl in the room? What kind of gentleman do you think I am?”
She gave a little shocked laugh. “Not any kind of gentleman, if I’m being honest.”
He laughed as well, placing a hand on his chest and smiling broadly.
“I aim to convince you otherwise, Miss Harriet Bates,” he said.
“I know a great many things about you. You are eldest daughter of Silas Bates, Vicar of Highbury. Your sister, Jane, is one year younger and, in one month’s time, will be married to Captain John Fairfax.
And your dance card is tragically full, which is why I had to steal time on the balcony instead of during a quadrille.
” That chin dipped again. “Perhaps it’s not a great deal of things. ”
Warmth flooded Hetty at the words, and she realized she much preferred meeting on the balcony than the to-and-fro and stolen seconds of conversation they would have had during the quadrille.
“It is more than I know of you, Mr. Harris.” She tilted her head to study him. “How long are you with the Westons?”
He tilted a chin toward the ballroom. “Three weeks. They have been kind enough to host me until I leave.”
“Leave for where?”
He smiled. “I’ve a fortune to make, Miss Bates, if I’m to have a hope of winning a girl like you.”
She couldn’t help her laugh even as his bold words sent a blush over her cheeks. “With a tongue as silver as yours, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble winning a girl… like me or otherwise.”
“Is that a promise?”
Oh, he was dangerous, this man—too young to take seriously, and anyway, too handsome for a vicar’s daughter.
This was the kind of man who would hie off to faraway lands and make himself a name before winning himself a wife worthy of it.
The thought made Hetty strangely wistful, as though they’d already lived a life, and now it was gone, lost to a different future. A different woman.
It was an odd flight of fancy after a few stolen minutes on a balcony.
She smiled, and let the fancy continue. “It depends on how long you intend to take to make this fortune of yours and return.”
He nodded, sagely. “You cannot be expected to wait. There are any number of men who would happily take my place.” He reached for the dance card dangling from the end of her fan, glancing down at it. “Twelve, at least.”
Her breath went shallow at his nearness; he was warm and smelled lovely, like cedar and spice. When she replied, it was quiet, like a secret between them. “You should have introduced yourself earlier in the evening.”
His response was nearly a whisper. “And missed our moment on the balcony?”
“Where are you going?” she asked. “In three weeks?”
“I’ve a place on a merchant vessel; we’re headed to America.”
Her eyes went wide. “America!” A world away. “I would not have thought we’d be very welcome there.”
“They’re not so bad, now that the war is over and there is a need for trade on the wind,” he said.
“It’s a long journey.” Long enough that he’d forget her.
“It’s a good one for men like me, looking to buy my own vessel and make my own fortune.”
“Well,” she said, the wistfulness returned. “Sounds like you’re headed for an adventure. I hope someday it brings you back to Highbury.”
He watched her carefully. “Do you?”
“Though, if I may,” she forced a teasing tone she did not feel, “I recommend doing away with this habit of lurking on balconies and startling unsuspecting ladies.”
“It’s been a successful habit tonight, Miss Bates.”
She laughed. “Don’t fret, Mr. Harris. I imagine you’ll have no difficulty whatsoever getting American ladies to speak to you.
” She cast a glance back at the ballroom, the windows bright with golden light, revealing Mrs. Bates searching the crowd—for Hetty, no doubt.
“In fact, I’m afraid if I speak any more to you tonight, your adventure will be cut very short, as my parents will think us more than passing strangers. ”
“Nonsense,” he retorted. “We haven’t even been introduced.”
“My point exactly,” she quipped, knowing she had to leave, because she was enjoying this too much. Enjoying him too much. Turning for the ballroom, she whispered, “It was very nice not to meet you, Mr. Harris.”
Hetty made it only a few steps before he called after her. “Miss Bates.”
She knew she shouldn’t stop. Shouldn’t look. But he was so tall and handsome and alive, and she couldn’t resist.
When she did, it was to find his gaze on hers, steady and dark. “As I did not have a chance to secure a dance tonight…”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Yes?”
“… perhaps you would let me call on you?”
“You’re leaving,” she said, without thinking. Too eager for thinking. “You said three weeks.”
Bright white teeth flashed in the light, dangerous and tempting. “Much can happen in three weeks, Miss Bates.”
Too much, Hetty thought. She should say no. She should forget about this beautiful young man and his beautiful smile and all the promises she already wished he’d make to her.
She was to marry by summer, and he’d be on a boat then, headed across the ocean, to the other side of the world.
But much could happen in three weeks.
And the promise of that was suddenly enough.
“You may call on me,” she said, delighting in the way his lips curved, pure satisfaction. And then she added, “If you can secure a proper introduction.”
Edward did secure a proper introduction, arriving at the vicarage the next morning with Mr. Weston in tow, having no doubt been coerced into fabricating a necessary conversation about the needs of the Highbury church, and adding, “Oh, and may I introduce my wife’s godson, Mr. Harris?”
Reverend Bates was more than happy for the introduction, as were his wife and daughters, the youngest immediately sensing a game afoot and doing what sisters have done for eternity—providing welcome parental distraction while their sibling found reason to head into the gardens with a newly introduced gentleman.
After that afternoon, Edward found his way to the vicarage daily, always with a fresh reason for it.
He offered help in the churchyard, to oil the gears of the bell tower, and at one point even arrived with a parcel of lamb (he’d somehow convinced the butcher that the vicarage was on his way).
But it did not take long for everyone in the Bates family to see that Edward’s motives were not altogether pure.
Indeed, as Jane pointed out one evening while drying a piece of crockery, his motives were Hetty.