Chapter 4 #2
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.
“Remain here until I know what he wants,” Benedict said, reaching for the door. The words left him with the crispness of an order before he could soften them.
Harriet's expression hardened at once. “That sounded remarkably like an order, and we have been married less than three hours. If this is an indication of the authority you intend to exercise, our first quarrel as husband and wife may be regrettably public.”
“It was a request made badly. I would prefer not to have Selby's man use the public road as an opportunity to insult you.”
“Then you should allow me to hear the insult. It is exceedingly difficult to answer words one has been protected from hearing.” She reached for the door before the footman could open it from outside. “You promised I would know anything that concerned the estate.”
Benedict descended first and turned to help her. Crane removed his hat, though there was little respect in the gesture.
“Viscount Everton… Viscountess.” His use of her new title sounded pointed. “Sir Thomas instructed me to deliver this to Lord Alderley. As I was informed he is still entertaining guests, I hoped you might see it placed in his hands.”
He offered a sealed paper. Benedict took it but did not open it. Harriet watched the exchange, waiting. He could have told her it was nothing and sent her into the carriage. He could have read it first and decided what portion she ought to know.
He handed it to her.
Crane's brows rose. Harriet broke the seal.
“This acknowledges receipt of payment,” Harriet said after reading, “while reserving Sir Thomas's right to challenge the transfer if any defect is discovered in the discharge. As his solicitor accepted the funds and surrendered the notes, I cannot imagine what defect he expects to find.”
“Sir Thomas believes the transaction was concluded with unseemly haste,” Crane replied. “He wishes only to ensure that every requirement of the original agreement has been honored.”
“Then Sir Thomas may instruct his solicitor to search for one.” Harriet folded the paper. “You may also tell him that all future communication regarding the eastern acreage is to be addressed jointly to my husband and to myself—jointly.”
Crane looked to Benedict, plainly expecting correction. Benedict met the man's gaze. “My wife has given you our answer. If Sir Thomas requires it repeated in a gentleman's hand before he is capable of understanding it, I will oblige him, but I cannot promise the wording will be as courteous.”
The man bowed and rode away.
Harriet remained beside the carriage, the paper held in her bare hand. “You gave it to me. You did not even break the seal first.” Surprise, not gratitude, gave the statement its weight.
“The paper concerns your land, and we agreed there would be no convenient omissions between us. I assumed that included notices delivered on public roads by unpleasant men.”
Something in her face softened. Benedict was not certain whether it was gratitude or simple surprise. Either affected him more than it should have.
“Come,” he said, offering his hand. “Let us go home.”
Harriet looked toward Denham Park. She’d been a guest there many times, but that was not how she would enter it that day. Then she placed her hand in his. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Let us.”