Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Harriet had slept at Denham Park many times as a child.
She had occupied a cheerful bedchamber in the west wing, shared blankets with her sister during winter visits and once hidden beneath Benedict's bed after breaking a drawing room window with a cricket ball.
But this was not the room Benedict had occupied as a child.
These were most definitely the chambers of a man and not a boy.
Deep blue damask covered the bed and the walls.
An Aubusson carpet of blue and gold covered the cool wooden floor.
And all of the furniture was a deeply polished mahogany with only the barest hint of gilding.
It was definitely a masculine space and one that immediately created an awareness of how out of place she was.
A fire burned in the grate. Her trunks were all stacked in a corner waiting to be unpacked by the bevy of maids who scurried about the room.
Not wishing to be in their way, Harriet moved toward the far side of the room, far from the wardrobes and the door to Benedict’s dressing chamber.
She found herself at a writing desk which stood near the windows overlooking the eastern fields.
Through the window, she could just see the wisps of smoke rising from Alderley’s chimneys.
Maps of Alderley and Denham had been placed in a cabinet beneath it.
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a heavily wrapped frame. Lifting the thick padding that covered it, her breath caught at the sight of her mother’s face. The portrait had been hidden away since her mother’s demise, her father unable to look at it.
Mrs. Mercer glanced over from the dressing table, where she was arranging Harriet's brushes. “His lordship had it sent ahead along with the maps and the books you were forever carrying into the estate room. He reckoned it would make you feel more at home to have it here.”
Harriet traced the worn wood with her fingertips.
She wished Benedict had not said anything so thoughtful.
Gratitude was difficult enough to manage when he was not present; when she faced him later, it would leave her dangerously undefended.
“He notices too much. I had always believed him indifferent to anything that did not involve a horse, a ledger or his own opinion.”
“That is not generally considered a failing in a husband. But a few thoughtful gestures in the first bloom of a marriage is not a guarantee of happiness, my child. Be cautious with your heart, my lady. It is more tender than you realize,” Mrs. Mercer closed the jewelry box and regarded Harriet in the mirror.
Harriet was stunned at Mrs. Mercer’s cynicism. And her insightfulness. “You have known him for less than one day as my husband. You cannot possibly have formed a reliable judgment of him in the role.”
“I have known him since he was a boy, and I knew you before you learned to climb out of your cradle. That entitles me to an opinion upon both of you, although neither of you has ever shown the sense to ask for it. He’s a fine man, and you are a wonderful girl whose sharp tongue does little to conceal your soft heart…
But men, even the best of them, can often disappoint, ” Mrs. Mercer warned as she went to the dressing room door.
“Lady Denham sent word that dinner may be served here if you prefer a quiet evening after the wedding.”
“Lady Denham is still mistress of this house. I would not have her think I mean to hide in my apartments on my first evening beneath her roof.”
“Then I shall tell her ladyship that you will join the family.” Mrs. Mercer looked toward the trunks, only one of which had been opened.
The maids had removed Harriet's evening gown and the few articles she would require upon waking, but the remaining cases stood untouched.
“Though it seems there was little need to bring half of Alderley across the fields in such haste. Mrs. Grieves says she was instructed by Lord and Lady Denham to unpack only what you would require tonight and tomorrow morning.”
Harriet turned from the portrait. The maids had been moving with such purpose that she had not noticed how little they had actually accomplished. One was even now folding linen back over the contents of an open trunk rather than carrying them to the wardrobe. “For what possible reason?”
“Mrs. Grieves either does not know or has been told not to say. With her, it is difficult to distinguish ignorance from loyalty.” Mrs. Mercer waited until the maids had finished securing the trunk and withdrawn before lowering her voice.
“Whatever Lord and Lady Denham have arranged, it appears they mean to tell you themselves.”
The concealment irritated Harriet, though she could hardly object to it without confessing how quickly Benedict's habit of withholding information had made her suspicious of everyone around him.
“Then the trunks may remain where they are until after dinner. I am in no mood to extract secrets from servants who are only obeying their orders.”
Mrs. Mercer busied herself with tidying the few unpacked items. “Well enough, my lady. I shall inform Mr. Pritchard of your agreement.”
When Mrs. Mercer left, Harriet eyed the trunks with a feeling of uncertainty.
Things were changing far beyond what she had imagined and she found herself overwhelmed with uncertainty.
Still, the unopened trunks remained stacked in the corner while the light beyond the windows faded to the pale gray of an autumn evening.
Harriet exchanged her wedding dress for the dark green silk the servants had laid out, less formal than the one she had worn to the church but sufficiently elegant that Lady Denham could not mistake her attendance for an obligation grudgingly fulfilled.
Mrs. Mercer dressed her hair simply and fastened her mother's pearls about her throat.
Then Harriet descended to the family dining room carrying her unanswered questions with her.