Chapter 19
“Just a moment,” Harriet called as she pulled on her dressing gown, covering her thin night shift.
She was sitting in the antechamber of her bedroom, drawing in her sketchbook. Her conversation with Theodore kept playing in her head, and she could still feel the steady beat of his heart against her fingertips.
She had sketched her thoughts over the last few hours. A rose, held gently in large, scarred hands. Fresh-turned earth and figures in morning. A vengeful angel. Plants growing, searching for light. Dark woods, with snaking paths and people walking towards each other.
She shook herself back to the present as she made her way to the door. She had no idea what time it was, but suspected from the darkness around her it must be late. Phoebe probably had another bad dream. Now that she knew more of the girl’s past, she understood what likely kept her up at night.
“Come on, let us get you a – oh.” The words died on Harriet’s lips as she found herself looking not at Phoebe but Theodore.
“I take it you were expecting someone else?” Theodore had his hands clasped behind his back.
“I thought you might be Phoebe.” Harriet tightened the dressing gown around her, deeply thankful that she had put the thing on. “She has bad dreams sometimes and… um… yes…”
She trailed off, shivering slightly at the rush of cold air from the corridor. Theodore twitched and for a moment, she could have sworn she saw his right hand move towards her.
“You are cold.” He nodded to the gooseflesh on her arms.
“A little.” Harriet gestured to the room behind her. “Would you like to come in? We could continue this conversation in the warmth.”
Theodore hesitated and then nodded. Harriet beckoned for Theodore to follow her and listened as he closed the door behind them. She felt her skin prickle as she moved towards the fire.
“I was not expecting visitors, and the tea is rather cold or I would offer you something to drink. I think there are a few biscuits left. You are welcome to one. I suppose I ought to keep something for light entertaining in here, but we do not really have guests and well… Um… Yes…” Harriet fidgeted from foot to foot as Theodore made his slow way towards the fire.
She saw him look at the drawings and cursed inwardly, darting forward so suddenly her dressing gown nearly came undone. Thankfully, it appeared that Theodore had been too distracted by the drawings.
“I see my story stayed with you. ” He gestured to them as Harriet moved to tidy them into her journal.
There was no reproach or anger in his voice, it was softer, sadder and she drew towards him, as though pulled by an invisible rope.
Theodore touched the edges of the rose, his fingers shifting the pictures.
He stopped when he found an oak tree, alone and on a hill, a small figure curled against its trunk.
“Is this you?” He pointed at the tree. “It is often the way you curl around Phoebe when you are worried for her, and the way the leaves are moving in the breeze reminds me of your eyes. You are strong too, like an oak.”
“It is you.” Harriet’s voice was soft; Theodore’s eyes widened and he turned to her, confusion and surprise so clear on his face she nearly laughed. “You protect Phoebe, you are steady and strong. Rigid in someways, but not unyielding.”
“Kind words.” Theodore swallowed.
There was a moment of silence and then she gestured to the chaise longue and the armchairs. “Please, have a seat.”
“I would rather stand, if that is acceptable to you.” Theodore’s hands were clasped behind his back once more. “Though you need not remain on your feet.”
“Thank you.” Harriet sat on the chaise longue, crossing and uncrossing her legs, eventually placing a pillow on her lap and fiddling with the tassels.
Theodore was looking at the fire, tugging the collar of his shirt. There were several beats of silence.
“What are you doing here?” The question came out more clumsily than she had meant, and for a moment, she worried that Theodore would take offence.
He shifted his weight and looked at her, his expression serious. “I wanted to thank you.”
Harriet blinked. “What?”
“For everything you have done with Phoebe.” He gestured to the wall that separated her chambers from Phoebe’s. “When I asked you to join us here, I had hoped your presence would make a difference in her life. But I had not anticipated just how much of an impact you would have on her life.”
He was pacing now, his fingers tapping rapidly against his thigh. With a start, Harriet realized he was nervous. She touched a hand to her chest, and felt an odd sense of endearment as she followed his movement across her room.
“You do not need to thank me, I did not want to disappoint you.”
“I do not think you could.” His admission stopped him in his tracks and stole Harriet’s breath away. “At every opportunity, you exceed my expectations. You have brought this place back to life, and you… You have given my niece back her life.”
Harriet wondered what had prompted this and only realized she had spoken aloud when Theodore flashed her a small, crooked grin that made her very grateful she was already sitting down.
“I did as you suggested. I gave Phoebe the painting, and she hugged me. She hugged me, Harriet, and she thanked me.”
Theodore’s entire face lit up as he told her, and it was nothing short of transformational. His smile radiated through the room, warming it more than even the fiercest fire. Harriet was on her feet, a smile just as broad on her own face.
“Oh! Theodore, that is wonderful!” She took a step towards him.
His eyes were feverish as he nodded, moving towards her, his hands outstretched as though he was going to grab her hands in his. “It is why I had to see you, I needed you to know what you have achieved, and what it means to me.”
What you mean to me. He did not say the words, and Harriet did not know if he meant to. But they hung in the air between them all the same.
His gaze lingered on her face, his lips slightly parted as though he was going to say more. Harriet’s heart was beating so loudly, she could not hear anything over the sound of it.
They were standing so close that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest brushing against her. A tremble went through her. Her eyes went to his lips, his face, drinking in every part of him. The moment stretched like a thread drawn taught.
He moved, the motion bringing more of him into contact with her. Her skin felt like it was on fire. And then he stepped away, shaking himself and drawing in a deep breath.
Harriet steadied herself against the arm of the chaise longue, her head spinning. The air around her seemed impossibly thin.
“We have a long journey tomorrow.” Theodore clasped his hands behind his back and bowed to her. “Good night, Duchess.”
“Good night.” Her voice was breathless.
He hesitated, or perhaps she thought he did, she could not be sure. Her mind was still reeling as the sound of the door shutting echoed through her antechamber.
Slowly, she lowered herself onto the chaise, one hand on her chest and an ache she could not explain spreading through her body, mingling with disappointment.
Sleep did not come easily, and as she curled beneath her bedcovers, she felt the stirrings of a hope she could not quite quash.
* * *
“Are you coming?” Harriet asked a few days later as she and Theodore hovered on the step of the modiste.
They had arrived in London the day before. Over breakfast, Harriet had mentioned that she was a little nervous about picking up her dress as Fiona, Louisa and Catherine could not join her and she was used to having their opinions on such things.
To her surprise, Theodore had offered to accompany her and she had accepted without thinking, but now that they stood at the dressmakers, her nerves had started to take hold.
Theodore hesitated, looked at her and then nodded. “If you would still like me to, I will. Though I appreciate I may not know as much about fashion as your friends.”
For a moment, Harriet considered asking him to leave. What if he thinks I look foolish? The ballgown was nothing like the sort of thing she had ever worn before and it was Fiona who had convinced her to be so daring.
What if he hates it? She looked into his face. Over the last few days, his face had lost some of its hardness. He was still just as serious, but there was a warmth beneath it, an openness that tugged at her spirit. As she hesitated, she saw some of it fade.
“Please come.” She realized she was reaching towards his hand and hastily curled her fingers back, gesturing towards the modiste. “I would like your opinion.”
“Very well.” Theodore followed her into the shop.
“Ah! Duke and Duchess Irondale.” The modiste swept into a deep curtsey as soon as they entered the shop. “How wonderful to see you both! My girls are waiting in the fitting room for you to try on the gown. Would you care for tea while you wait, Your Grace?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Theodore nodded stiffly.
“If you will follow me, Duke. Annabelle, escort the Duchess to the fitting room.” The modiste snapped her fingers at one of her assistants.
“The waiting area is this way, I have arranged a little privacy for you both. Just a courtesy of course, someone of your station deserves the best. I am afraid I only have Darjeeling – I hope that is acceptable?”
As Harriet was led away, she caught Theodore’s eye and had to suppress a small smile at the look on his face. It was too subtle for anyone else to notice, but she knew what it meant. There was a tightness in his jaw and his brows were ever so slightly raised.
“Just nod and agree,” she mouthed to his silent cry for help, disappearing as the attendants whisked her into the changing room.
They chattered as they helped her out of her clothes and into the gown. It was made of a deep, forest green velvet with delicate silver lace trim. The fabric felt like a warm embrace, and as she turned to look into the mirror, Harriet let out a gasp.
She scarcely recognized the woman staring back at her. The dress fit her near perfectly, it would need a minor alteration at the hem, but it clung to her in ways that highlighted the fullness of her figure.
As she turned, the fabric caught the light, making her look almost ethereal. The swooping neckline showed off her collarbone, the sleeves were short, exposing the skin of her arms until the attendants handed her the matching silk gloves.
“Shall we see what your husband thinks?” The attendants were practically vibrating with excitement.
Harriet nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she let them lead her through the curtain into the larger waiting area. As she entered the room, she caught sight of Theodore facing away from her.
The sound of her footstep on the floor drew his attention to her. His eyes widened, darkening. His lips parted and Harriet saw him brush his fingers through his hair, smoothing it as he stepped towards her.
He looked at her in a way that made her feel like he had never seen anything like it. She smiled at him as she turned, showing him the full view. Every part of her skin was covered in gooseflesh, the way he looked at her made her feel like his hand was running across her skin.
“What do you think?” She was more breathless than she expected as she completed her circle and looked up into his face.
He had moved closer as she had turned. He blinked once, shook himself. She watched his mouth open and close. Her fingers moved towards his face, a half-formed quip on her lips. One of the attendants dropped something behind her, the noise making Harriet jump.
When she turned back, Theodore was still drinking her in with his eyes. She smiled at him. “I take it you approve?”
He nodded slowly, and Harriet felt the thrill of it rush through her. She straightened even more, her shoulders back as she turned from and began to walk towards the dressing room.
When she had changed back into her dress, she joined Theodore at the counter. He turned to face her as she approached, the smallest of smiles playing across his lips.
“I have asked the modiste to have several more gowns made in a similar style. You and I will be attending more events, and you mentioned you had not ordered many gowns. You wear blue and yellow rather often, and some pinks. You also seem drawn to the red though you do not often wear it, but I noticed the way your eyes lingered on the red fabric in the display and I thought it would look striking on you. Though of course, if you do not feel these are suitable, you may change them. The modiste assures me that my selection would suit you well, but I will defer to your judgement.”
Harriet swallowed. “I had not realized that you paid such close attention to me.”
Theodore shrugged, and made a dismissive gesture, his fingers tapping the counter beside him. “I take great care to observe the world around me, to catalogue what is important and save it to memory.”
Does this mean I am important? The question pressed against her lips but she could not bring herself to ask it. “Red is my favorite color.”
Theodore nodded slowly. “Then you should wear it more often.”
Harriet bit her bottom lip. She loved red, but it was the sort of color that drew attention, that made people talk. It was bold and ostentatious and more than a little risqué. Other people wore red dresses, other women were bold and brave. Other women commanded the attention of rooms, not her.
“You should be seen, Harriet.” Theodore moved closer to her, his voice so low that only she could hear. “You do not need to hide who you are.”
Harriet looked up at him, her lip quivering, a lump forming in her throat that she did not understand.
The modiste cut through the moment. “His Grace has a fine eye, Duchess.”
Harriet nodded, the power of speech apparently beyond her.
“I have also ordered Phoebe some new dresses.” Theodore’s voice pulled Harriet somewhat from her stupor as she looked at the drawings he was pointing to.
“I thought these would be more practical than some of her day clothes, and that it would be good to have a riding habit or two. I have requested that they be styled after your own, I thought it might be nice for her.”
It is the sort of thing mothers and daughters do. An ache spread in Harriet’s chest and she reached for Theodore’s hand, catching it in her own. “I think it is perfect.”
The words felt insubstantial. How could she tell him just how much this meant? How could she put what she was feeling into words?
“Thank you.” She squeezed his fingers, and he stilled, his face split into a half smile.
“You do not need to thank me.” His fingers twitched beneath hers. “I am only giving you what you deserve.”