Chapter 14
“Your Grace.” Mr. Grimsby rushed out into the drive. “I had not expected you until this evening.”
Theodore had just returned from his time away, and though they had made good time, it had taken all of his effort not to push past the driver and steer the carriage himself. The flashes of countryside had stilled his urges, even as it felt like they were moving at a crawl.
“My business was concluded earlier than anticipated.” Theodore took his hat from his head, barely paying attention to the servants hurrying to unload the carriage as he walked towards the open doors of Irondale Hall. “Why are the windows open? And where is Phoebe?”
“Her Grace has instructed that the windows be opened once a day for one hour. Lady Phoebe is not to be left unsupervised when they are open and all the staff have been instructed to check the rooms regularly in case she wanders.” Mr. Grimsby explained as the footman took Theodore’s coat.
“I see.” Theodore looked around the hall, meticulously cataloguing everything Harriet had changed. “And she has bought new carpets as well.”
“Her Grace thought it would reduce distraction.” He could tell that Mr. Grimsby was watching his face closely for any sign of displeasure. “Though we can return them if they are not to your taste.”
“That will not be necessary.” Theodore ran a hand through his hair, taking several experimental steps forwards.
He was so used to the sound of echoing footsteps that the absence of them set his teeth on edge. The muffled sound felt strangely welcoming, as though it were simply a part of the space rather than a reminder of the emptiness around him.
Aside from their function, it was clear that Harriet had chosen the color and design with some care.
They were not so bright that they were overwhelming, but nor were they so dark that they swallowed everything around them.
They filled the space with an inviting air, making it feel cozy but not cramped.
Sunlight streamed through the castle and the smell of fresh flowers filled the air. He spotted several bunches in vases, all in near pristine condition.
“These are from the glasshouse?” He reached a hand towards one, delicately running a finger upon the petal.
“Yes.” Mr. Grimsby replied.
Theodore released the flower and clasped his hands behind his back. “What other changes has my wife enacted?”
He walked through the hallway, taking in everything around him. The suits of armor had been freshly polished, and several mirrors had been hung, making everything even more light.
“Her Grace has not touched your study, Your Grace. Nor your quarters. She felt it would not be appropriate to do so in your absence.” Mr. Grimsby fell into step beside him.
“I suppose that is something.” Theodore ran a hand across his chin, feeling the faint start of stubble beneath his fingers. “I am surprised she managed to do so much in such a short time. This place feels completely different.”
Is this what I married? He had chosen Harriet for her connection to Phoebe. She had changed his home, without discussing it with him – he should be furious, but he was not.
Mr. Grimsby was speaking and Theodore forced himself to pay attention. “She has even kept up with your rounds of the estate. I believe she has been following your route exactly.”
“Really?” Theodore stopped and adjusted a nearby mirror that was not quite straight, frowning as he did so.
“She felt it was important to take on the responsibility while you were away.” Mr. Grimsby explained.
“I am surprised she could fit it all in.” Theodore could not keep the admiration from his voice. I thought she believed my rounds were foolish.
What did it mean that Harriet had thought them important enough to maintain in her absence? “And what about Phoebe? How has she been?”
Mr. Grimsby brightened, his entire body straightening. “She has been happier than I have ever believed possible. She has joined the Duchess on her rounds, and Mrs. Morton tells me that her enthusiasm for her lessons appears to have increased.”
“That is good.” Theodore massaged the back of his neck, his heart skipping in a merry circle in his chest. “Has she been involved in this project?”
“A little. Her Grace has allowed Phoebe to suggest changes to her chambers and to pick flowers for the vases around the house. Though she has taken some pains to keep to Lady Phoebe’s schedule.” Mr. Grimsby gave Theodore what he suspected was supposed to be a reassuring smile.
Theodore nodded. “And where is my wife now?”
“I believe she and Lady Phoebe have gone to the stables. The Duchess’s riding tack arrived a few days ago, and Lady Phoebe expressed an interest in learning to ride.” Mr. Grimsby checked his pocket watch. “They should return soon.”
“We shall have to get a pony for Phoebe if she is serious. We do not currently have anything suitable.” Riding? How much more has she convinced Phoebe to do? His heart felt lighter with each step as he took in the changes around him.
“I shall instruct the stablemaster to find something suitable for her.” Mr. Grimsby said.
“Tell him not to finalize anything until I have seen them myself. I want to make sure they are the right temperament.” Theodore would not risk anyone else choosing something unsuitable for his niece.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. Grimsby bowed his head low.
“And have some coffee brought up to my study. Once I have looked around the estate, I wish to return to my work.” Theodore stopped working and waved his hand in dismissal.
“I shall see to it at once.” Mr. Grimsby swept into a low bow and scurried down the corridor in the direction of the kitchens.
The sound of his footsteps was muffled by the carpet, and Theodore felt himself smile. A part of him was surprised that he was not irritated by Harriet’s actions. It is probably because the changes she has made are sensible.
It was clear that she had not only made changes that would improve the overall aesthetic of Irondale Hall, but that would serve a function as well. Her changes were not grand, sweeping gestures, even though they felt huge.
“She put a lot of care into this.” Theodore murmured as he looked into one of the drawing rooms.
The chairs had been shifted, bringing them closer together to create a more intimate space. There were several vases of flowers dotted around the room, and a new rug beneath the coffee table.
The dark velvet curtains had been replaced by lighter, more flowing fabric. It had the effect of making the room feel warm, welcoming – like a summer afternoon. He could imagine Harriet and her friends sitting, laughing over steaming cups of tea.
His eyes drifted across the room, his mouth curving into a smile as he took in all of her work. Until he saw something on the far wall that stopped his heart.
He felt as though several buckets of icy water had been thrown onto him, the cold seeping into the very marrow of his bones. His feet were heavy as though they were glued to the floor.
“It cannot be.” His mouth was bone dry as he forced his leaden feet towards the painting on the wall.
He recognized it at once. He remembered when he had first seen it. He had been twenty-three, and had just returned from his trip abroad. Rose had come to find him in the garden.
She had been shy, and nervous as she had led Theodore to her rooms and shown her the painting she had done. It had taken his breath away, though he had not known how to say it to her.
“I should have told you it was beautiful.” He ran a thumb against the gilded frame.
His back felt far too hot, his clothes too tight. He wanted to tear at them, to rip them off. He settled for tugging loose his cravat, but it did nothing to ease his discomfort.
He had left the painting in a room in the Eastern Wing. It had been one of the few things of hers he had managed to find that his father had not destroyed. He wanted to love the painting, but every time he looked at it, it was like a knife in his gut.
The colors of the Peak District faded and swam before his eyes. The figures blurring into smudges. He could hear the sound of wet, rattling breaths. He clutched a hand to his stomach as the contents threatened to re-emerge.
He was back in that moment, by his sister’s bed. She was dying. No. The painting drew him in, again.
He was twenty-three. He could feel Rose’s eyes on him, the expectation in her face. She took a step closer. His eyes fell on the figures. “They seem happy.” He gestured.
“I like to think so.” Rose’s lip trembled. “Theodore, there is something I need to tell you. Something important.”
The sound of footsteps filled the corridor, heavy, thunderous footsteps. Rose’s eyes widened. Theodore cast a blanket over the art – they both knew what their father would do if he saw it.
“Later.” Theodore hissed.
“Theodore please.” Rose’s fingers gripped his wrist but he shook her off.
“Later.” Theodore shook his head, sure whatever it was could wait.
He strode out to meet his father. The next day, Rose was gone. His father told him she had gone to study in France. There is something I need to tell you.
Theodore. He could hear the excitement in Rose’s voice, the way her eyes had lit up when he walked in the room. Her voice echoed in his head as he stared at the painting – her painting.
“Theodore?” This was a different voice.
He could barely hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears.
“It is good to see you.” Footsteps behind him. “Did you have a good business trip?”
He did not answer, could not make his tongue form words. He sensed someone behind him and a dim part of his brain, he realized that the voice he was hearing was Harriet’s.
“The robin’s nest is still safe. I have been checking on it regularly.
I found a starling’s nest the other day – I showed Phoebe and she was delighted.
” His mind felt as though it were rusted gears grinding against each other.
“She asked if we could go back to draw it once the eggs are hatched. It actually inspired her to learn a little more Latin which thrilled Mrs. Morton.”
He felt Harriet move closer to him. “I know it is not much, but I did not want to do anything too drastic until you returned. I think it has made the place feel rather different. In a good way, I hope.”
He saw her fingers touch the edge of his sister’s painting. It broke the spell around him, the waves of panic that threatened to drown him faded into cold, empty numbness. “What have you done?”