Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
By the time Harriet mounted her mare the following morning, she had managed to avoid asking Benedict what he had meant by renegotiating the terms of their marriage.
There had been little opportunity before they retired, and none after his declaration had silenced them both.
At breakfast, Lord and Lady Denham had occupied the table, while servants carried the last of their belongings into the drive.
Now there was no one to prevent her from asking except herself.
It was a cowardly arrangement, and Harriet had been grateful for it.
Now there was nowhere else to go. They rode side by side along the eastern road while two carts followed at a distance with their trunks, books and the small pieces of furniture Harriet had been permitted to take from Alderley.
Mrs. Mercer had gone ahead in the carriage with Benedict's valet and the servants selected from Denham.
For the first time since their wedding night, Harriet and Benedict were entirely alone.
The morning was cool without being unpleasant.
Fallen leaves lay in drifts beneath the hedgerows, and the horses' hooves struck a steady rhythm upon the packed earth.
Benedict had matched his pace to hers without comment.
He had also maintained a distance between their mounts which was perfectly proper and somehow more noticeable because of it.
Harriet told herself that his conduct required no interpretation.
He had offered her a choice. She had not accepted it.
His refusal to share the bed had merely been an attempt to honor the agreement she had demanded before their marriage.
Yet no amount of sensible reasoning could erase the strain in his voice when he had spoken or the implication beneath his words.
Unless you're willing to renegotiate the terms of our marriage.
She understood what he had meant in the broadest sense.
It was the particulars that troubled her.
Had Benedict wanted only the ordinary rights of a husband, or had he wanted her?
The distinction should not have mattered.
She had insisted upon a marriage in name only because she would not exchange possession of Alderley for possession of herself.
Nothing had altered that principle between yesterday and this morning.
Unfortunately, principles were less orderly than they appeared when considered from the safe distance of her father's study.
They did not account for Benedict standing before the fire with his shirt open at the throat.
They did not account for the knowledge that he had lain awake only a few feet from her because the prospect of sharing a bed had tested a restraint she had not truly imagined would be required.
“Has my horse done something to stir your displeasure? You are certainly staring at him as though that were the case.”
Harriet looked up. Benedict watched her with an expression of studied innocence. He wore a dark riding coat and buff breeches, and the wind had disturbed the hair beneath the brim of his hat. It was unfair that he should appear so entirely himself after introducing such confusion into her life.
“Your horse has done nothing to offend me,” she replied. “Indeed, I have always thought him the more agreeable of the pair.”
“Then I am relieved his feelings will be spared. Mine have grown accustomed to injury.” Benedict glanced behind them. The carts remained visible beyond the bend, moving slowly beneath the weight of their possessions. “We may ride ahead if you wish. Everton is less than a mile from here.”
“You have said so twice already. I begin to suspect you fear I shall turn back if the house does not soon appear.”
His amusement faded. “Do you wish to turn back?”
The question held no mockery. Harriet looked toward the open fields, where the last of the morning mist clung to the low ground.
Alderley lay behind them, near enough that she might reach it before noon if she chose.
Ahead waited a house she had never occupied, a husband she did not understand and a marriage whose boundaries had already begun to shift beneath her feet.
“No,” she said. “I would rather go on.”
Benedict inclined his head, accepting the answer without pressing for more.
“Then you shall see Everton before the carts overtake us. My grandmother considered haste evidence of inferior breeding, so the drive approaches the house by the least direct route possible. We may avoid it by taking the lane beyond those trees.”
He pointed toward a narrow opening in the hedgerow.
Harriet followed him through it and onto a lane dappled with the shadows of bare branches swaying with the light breeze.
The woods marked the edge of the older Everton property.
Some of the boundary stones remained, though the land had belonged to Denham for more than a century.
Beyond the trees, the ground rose toward Selby's estate.
The thought cast a dark pall over her, to that point, reasonably benign mood.
With it came a frisson of unease. They would be closer to him, closer to Selford Grange and his watchful eye.
It was instinct more than anything, a prickling of unease that prompted Harriet to turn in the saddle and look back along the lane.
Nothing moved except the denuded branches overhead. Still, the skin between her shoulders tightened. The sensation was distinct and unpleasant—the certainty of being observed by someone who had no wish to make his presence known.
She drew rein. Her mare tossed her head at the sudden check, and Harriet steadied her with one hand while scanning the trees.
Sunlight struck the upper branches, but beneath them the wood remained dim.
For several moments she saw nothing. Then a figure separated itself from the shadow of a broad oak upon the rise.
Selby sat motionless upon a dark horse.
The distance between them was too great for Harriet to make out his expression, but she had no difficulty recognizing the rigid line of his shoulders or the angle at which he held his head. He was not passing by. He was watching them. And he was seething.
“Benedict.”
Her voice emerged more sharply than she intended. Benedict stopped at once and turned his mount toward her. His gaze moved over her face before following the direction of hers. “What is it?”
Harriet lifted her hand. “There, near the—”
The space beside the oak was empty.
She searched beyond it, catching only the movement of branches and a brief confusion of shadows between the trunks. No hoofbeats reached them. No rider appeared upon the higher path. Selby had vanished so completely that Harriet might have doubted anyone had stood there at all.
Benedict guided his horse nearer. “Near what?”
Harriet let her hand fall. If she named Selby, Benedict would ride into the wood.
She knew it with the same certainty that had made her call to him.
He would search the boundary, question every laborer upon the road and delay their arrival at Everton until he had satisfied himself that no threat remained.
Perhaps that was precisely what should be done.
But Selby had been too far away to approach her, and she possessed no proof beyond a glimpse caught between shifting shadows.
The last time Benedict had intervened on her behalf, Selby's steward had delivered a warning upon the public road. Harriet had no wish to provoke another response because imagination had supplied a familiar face where none existed.
“It was nothing,” she said. “I thought I saw someone among the trees.”
Benedict did not look away from her. “Who?”
“I could not tell. Whoever it was has gone.” She gathered the reins more firmly and urged her mare forward. “The carts will overtake us while we stand here, and I was promised a view of Everton before they arrive.”
He rode beside her, though his attention remained upon the wood. Harriet felt the question he had chosen not to repeat. It accompanied them along the lane, as persistent as the sense of eyes upon her back.
When they emerged from the trees, Everton House appeared across a broad stretch of lawn, dull with the coming winter.
The pale stone had darkened with age, and ivy climbed one end of the house nearly to the roof.
It was smaller than Denham Park and less imposing than Alderley, but the long windows reflected the morning light and smoke rose from three chimneys.
Servants crossed the drive in preparation for their arrival. The sight ought to have reassured her.
Instead, Harriet looked back once more.
The lane behind them was empty. Yet the feeling remained, cold and insistent, that Selby had watched her ride toward her new home and had not done so from idle curiosity.