Chapter 13
“This arrived for you, Your Grace.” Mrs. Fairfax entered Harriet’s study holding a wrapped package.
Harriet looked up from the household accounts, her brow creased. It had been several days since her argument with Theodore, several days since she had convinced him to allow Phoebe an hour to play every day, and in that time, she had scarcely seen him.
He took most of his meals in his study, which the staff assured her was his habit and dinners were often silent, uncomfortable affairs. Something inside Harriet squirmed.
If I did not know better, I would think he was avoiding me.
Her eyes drifted to the package in Mrs. Fairfax’s hands, as she tried to think what it might be. “Does it say who it is from?”
“Mr. Scrivener a cloud passed over head and Harriet shivered. “Your art is a part of those duties, Harriet.”
“Besides, it is important to Phoebe, and though you are talented, all great things require consistency and practice.” Theodore ran a hand through his hair. “May I see it?”
Harriet hesitated and nodded, handing over the sketch. “It is not finished and only a quick thing really…”
“And yet you have captured Bertie’s essence perfectly.” Theodore focused on the image; Harriet’s skin tingled as though he were looking at her, not her drawing. “You can see his challenging eyes, his protective nature. This is not just any robin, it is him.”
“Bertie?” Harriet asked, the weight of Theodore’s compliments settling across her shoulder like a thick woolen coat.
“It is a pun.”
“I know that. I… I just did not expect you to name him.”
“There is more than one family of robins on the estate. I needed to differentiate between them somehow, and a name was the most logical step.” Theodore shrugged, and for a moment, the tall, stoic duke faded.
It was like watching frost thaw from a grassy meadow, a breeze rustling through it like the world sighing in relief.
Harriet wondered what it would be like to draw Theodore.
“A rather intimate proposal, Harriet.” Theodore handed the sketchbook back to her, his fingers brushing against hers.
Warmth spread through her, and she nearly dropped the book. “Is it?”
“To draw something the way you do is not just watching. It is seeing; it is understanding.” Theodore ran his thumb across his fingertips, the air around them stilled.
And you do not want that. Harriet nodded slowly, but did not say anything. Theodore stepped away from her; a breeze tugged at her skirt.
“I am told Phoebe has started joining you for breakfast.” The words were a door slamming closed.