Chapter 29
“May I borrow a carriage?” Harriet asked over breakfast a few days later.
Her bandages had been removed, and she no longer swayed every time she stood up. Since her conversation with Theodore, she had managed to eat and her strength was returning.
It was the right thing to do.
Her anger at him had faded, and all that was left was sadness. Perhaps in time, they would be able to be friends, but until then, separate lives would keep them both safe.
Though Harriet had come to terms with the decision, as she had grown healthier, her mind had fixed on Phoebe. She had not been away from the little girl for so long since meeting her, and she missed her fiercely. She wanted to hug her, to hear about her day and to just spend time together.
“Of course.” Catherine put her cutlery down on her plate. “Though, you may want to take a substantial one if you are planning on going far.”
“A phaeton will be fine. I will not be gone long. A day at most. The weather is good and…” Harriet trailed off when she saw the smile spreading across Catherine’s face.
She gestured to the Eastern window. “And you want to go home.”
“I want to see Phoebe. I miss her and I worry about her and… I am not going to resume any sort of connection with Theodore, so stop looking at me like that, Kitty.” Harriet frowned as Catherine’s smile broadened.
“I told you, we will live our separate lives. I will move into the Dowager Duchess’s cottage and he will stay at Irondale.
Phoebe will be the priority, and everything will be as it should. ”
Catherine was wiping her mouth delicately with a handkerchief, but the handkerchief did not hide her grin. “Of course.”
“I mean it.” Harriet flexed her fingers.
“I know you do.” Catherine shrugged and glanced out the window. “Are you sure you do not want to borrow something heavier? You might want to stay longer… Once you see Phoebe, I mean.”
“I… No…” Harriet knew that if she brought her things with her, it would be too tempting to remain. I have to be strong. “I will just ride there and back. I only want to spend some time with her, to make sure she is well and then I will return. That is it.”
Catherine did not look convinced, but to Harriet’s relief she did not push the subject. It did not take long for Harriet to set out, and as the wind whipped at her face, she found her smile returning.
Before long, Irondale loomed in front of her, and Harriet pulled the light carriage to a stop. She looked up at the imposing turrets, and wondered if she should have sent word to Theodore before she made the journey.
“I said separate lives.” She bit her lip. “But I have already made the journey. It would be silly to turn around now.”
She clicked her tongue and steered the phaeton up the winding driveway towards the entrance. At her approach, two footmen leapt into action.
“Your Grace.” One of them helped her down, moving swiftly away and bowing.
“Thank you.” Harriet straightened her crumpled skirts.
Mr. Grimsby appeared on the doorstep, and as he saw her, his face twitched. “Your Grace. It is good to see you. I am glad you are on the mend. When Mrs. Fairfax told us what happened, we feared the worst. Though, His Grace made it clear you would make a full recovery.”
They were worried about me? It had not occurred to Harriet that anyone would have worried about her, much less the staff. The thought touched her, and she found herself oddly breathless.
Mr. Grimsby smiled at her. “I am afraid that if you were looking for His Grace, he is out for the morning. He and Lady Phoebe have gone for a ride together, her pony arrived yesterday.”
“Oh.” Harriet paused with her foot halfway across the threshold. “I see.”
Her heart sank and she chided herself. It was good that Theodore and Phoebe were spending time together, it would make it easier to live separate lives. But she wished she did not feel the small stab of disappointment.
She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she should leave and go back to Coldmere castle. She looked back at Mr. Grimsby.
“You have journeyed a long way already, Your Grace. Lady Phoebe and the Duke will be back in a matter of hours. I am sure they would both be delighted to see you.” Mr. Grimsby had his hands behind his back.
“I suppose I could wait a few hours. And it seems silly to ride all the way here just to turn around immediately,” Harriet said.
“Shall I arrange some refreshments while you wait? A lemonade or perhaps tea?” Mr. Grimsby asked.
Harriet hesitated. “I… Yes, a lemonade would be nice.”
“And shall I have your horse rubbed down?” Mr. Grimsby gestured to the horse being handled by the footmen.
“If you would not mind.” Harriet nodded.
“It would be no bother.” Mr. Grimsby bowed low. “I shall see it is done.”
He slipped out of sight, leaving Harriet standing alone in the hallway of Irondale hall. She looked around, the skin on her back and neck tingling as she stepped further into the house.
It was quiet, still. The servants were nowhere to be seen – no doubt busy with various tasks. There was no sound of Phoebe’s laughter, no gentle murmuring as Theodore worked on paperwork.
Perhaps this was a bad idea. Her eyes fell on a book that was sitting on a sideboard.
“That is not supposed to be there.” She frowned and picked it up. “You belong in the Eastern Library if I do not miss my guess.”
A loose sheet of paper slipped from the pages and floated softly to the ground. The furrow in Harriet’s brow deepened as she stooped to pick it up.
She turned the paper over in her hand and her heart tumbled into her stomach. It was a sketch, but it was not hers. Nor was it Phoebe’s. It was more skillful than a child’s drawing, though there was a hesitancy in the lines that made Harriet suspect the artist was not used to drawing.
These thoughts were in the back of her mind as she focused on the image in front of her. It was of her and Phoebe playing in the garden. Phoebe was laughing, a shy smile on her face but Harriet…
“I look beautiful.” Whoever had drawn her face had managed to capture the fine lines of her face, though the smile seemed softer than any she’d ever worn.
Her mouth was dry as she took another step into the hall and saw another book. Like the first, it was not where it belonged. She moved towards it, opening the covers and leafing through until she found another sketch.
This one showed Harriet and Phoebe sitting together at breakfast. Their heads were bent close together, whispering as though they were plotting. Her stomach knotted itself tightly. Her eyes saw a flash of green.
Another book was waiting for her in the drawing room. She drew in a breath, moving towards it, not daring to release the ones she had already found.
There was another drawing in the pages. This one showed Harriet alone, leaning against the trunk of an oak tree. Her eyes were closed, and she looked so peaceful it made her heart ache.
“TL.” Her fingers brushed against the initials. “Theodore Langford.”
She found another book, and another. Books dotted all around the house. Each with a sketch hidden within the pages. There were moments of her laughter. Moments between her and Phoebe.
Sketches of her curled up in the window with a book, sketches of her making silly faces with Phoebe. Tiny moments, that could only have been captured by someone who was watching her closely.
“Not just watching. He was seeing me. Really seeing me.” She placed the tips of her fingers against her lips. The sketches captured details she had never seen in the mirror, but the care in each line showed her the truth of Theodore’s perceptions.
Theodore’s drawings had grown more confident and expressive which each one Harriet had found. She could feel the emotion in the scenes that he had drawn, and each one pulled her back into the memory of the moment.
She steadied herself against a wall as her head swum. She had to keep reminding herself to breathe. A part of her wondered if she should stop, and take a rest, but she could not.
She moved from room to room. Sometimes she found only one book, others she found several. Each contained a drawing, some tiny piece of the life she had carved out for herself at Irondale.
There was one of her staring down at a wad of paper, her brow creased and a print on the side of her face where she had leaned too hard against her fist. “I was trying to work through the taxes and the rent we were owed.”
It had been mind numbingly boring work, but somehow, even in what she knew had been a very disheveled state, Theodore had made her look endearingly pretty.
“Is this how he sees me?” Harriet touched the skin of her cheeks.
His dark blue eyes filled her mind, dark with intensity. She swallowed. She had caught his attention, she knew that, but she had thought it only an occasional sort of thing.
“When did he do this?” Her hands were shaking as she walked into his study.
Two books lay on the table. One open, and one closed. “Is this the final one?”
She had been all over the house, and this was the last room left. With trembling fingers, she picked up the closed book, and a single sketch slipped from its pages.
A charcoal drawing of her, Phoebe and Theodore. He had his arms around them both, a smile across his face that was so broad it made her heart break. They had mud spattered across their faces, and Theodore had a grass stain visible on his shirt.
Behind them, were discarded pall mall mallets and a collection of balls. Harriet traced the lines of the drawing, closing her eyes. She could smell the air, the crispness of it, the grass and the mud. She could hear Phoebe’s giggles, feel the deep boom of Theodore’s laugh in her chest.
She opened her eyes, drinking in the face she knew so well. Theodore’s sharp jaw line, his smile that pulled at her heart like a magnet.
It was her family. The family she had always wanted, her and Theodore and Phoebe. He wanted a family. But not more than that.
She stared at the sketch, her mind racing. What does this mean? She reached for the book lying open and discarded on Theodore’s desk. It was more to distract herself than anything else, but when she recognized the cover, her confusion deepened.
It was her copy of Much Ado About Nothing. The cover needed replacing, she could see signs of wear and tear all over it. She picked up the book, her breath catching. There was nothing beneath it.
She shook it gently, but nothing fell from it. “Why is it here?”
Disappointment mingled with confusion and something sharper and brighter. She tried to puzzle out the meaning of everything as her eyes skimmed the page.
“Perhaps he was just reading.” She turned the play over, wondering where he had got to. “But why read my copy? I suppose he may not have his own, it is not one of the more serious plays after all.”
Though she had filled the libraries with more interesting works since coming to Irondale hall, it felt like a lifetime ago. Her eyes scanned the page and she blinked.
She recognized the scene as soon as she saw it. It was one of her favorites. It was right before Benedick went to duel Claudio to prove his love for Beatrice, towards the end of the play. She smiled as she read it, her fingers lingering over the note she had scribbled many years before.
Flaws not perfection.
How wonderful to be loved for your imperfections, not in spite of them. Harriet still held the sketches in her hand, her eyes drifting to them.
She had read the entire play so often, she could recite it from memory.
She looked back at the page. The scene played out in her mind, and as she reached the part where she had made the note, she spoke the lines aloud.
“And I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me.”
“For them all together.” A deep voice said from behind her as the smell of cedar and musk filled the room.
She whirled around, the play falling from her grip as she clutched the sketches she had found to her chest. Theodore stood in the doorway, his face flushed and his hair windswept.
He was still wearing his riding clothes, with mud spattered across him. He paused, his eyes searching her face as though he could not really believe she was standing there.
Harriet realized that her own mouth was open, and snapped it shut. “I did not know you were an artist.”
Theodore took a step towards her. “I am not.”
“These would say otherwise.” Harriet waved the sheets she was clutching. “They are… They are beautiful. All of them.”
“There is one missing.” Theodore took another step towards her. “I did not get a chance to put it in a book – I heard you were hurt and well… After our conversation… But I kept it, and I could not bear to put the others away.”
He tapped his left breast pocket, his fingers reaching in and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He held it out to her. She took it from him, the brush of her fingers against his barely registering through the haze in her mind.
She could barely hear over the sound of her heart and blood thundering around her body. She was surprised her fingers were not shaking as she unfolded the paper.
It was another drawing of a family, but this time, it was not just Theodore, Phoebe and Harriet. There were children beside them, and a baby in her arms. Her heart beat once. Twice. She could not look away.
“It is our family.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it pulled her attention to him as though he had reached over and cupped her chin in his hand.
“I do not understand.” She was not sure if she had spoken or only thought the words, until he shrugged off his coat and answered. “Let me explain.”