Chapter Sixteen #2
“What the devil did she persuade him to—” Alexander began, before realizing something. “Charleston told you? He’s back? Back here?”
“He arrived four days ago.”
Alexander leapt to his feet.
“Where is she?” he bit out, frothing with worry, which—like many men—he masked with anger.
“I assumed she returned to your house.”
“She did not. Where is Charleston?” he demanded, feeling crazed.
“I’ll fetch him; wait here,” Giuliana instructed, not seeming to grasp the magnitude of the situation. Alexander tried his best to regain his composure before they returned, to little avail.
Before Charleston was able to cross the threshold into the room, Alexander barked out, “Where did you leave her?”
“The lady gave me an address near Soho Square. I can find the place again for you, if you’d like, sir.”
“Take me there at once.” Alexander had no idea what he intended to say to her upon his arrival, but he could consider that on the ride over.
While she might not have enjoyed all, or even most, of the benefits of matrimony, Harriet was delighted to discover one very special perquisite: unchaperoned travel.
She hadn’t been able to avail herself of the privilege yet as she’d been traveling with a driver.
But now, she could gad about town at will.
And there was one place she needed to go first.
Mr. Dawkins had mentioned in his last letter that he was taking rooms at a lodging house near Bond Street.
The next morning, Harriet sneaked out of her father’s house before either of her sisters woke, left a note assuring them of her safety, and walked over to meet him.
She did her best not to think too much of what it might be like to meet the man she’d been writing to for so long.
Or to worry about how he might receive an unexpected visitor.
Nevertheless, she hadn’t much of a choice.
When she arrived, a spry older landlady let her in, fizzing with energy.
She happily led Harriet to a small sitting room on the main floor where she could wait for Mr. Dawkins.
Harriet sat and tried not to fidget or fret, only she could feel herself starting to perspire a little.
The room was stuffy and overwarm after her walk.
Eventually, she heard footsteps on the stairs and the landlady’s singsong tones, and she stood as a man rounded the corner.
It is always difficult to recall what precisely one has imagined once one is presented with reality.
Though, upon laying eyes on Mr. Dawkins for the first time, Harriet felt something akin to what she felt when she opened the cupboard only to discover that Frances had eaten her entire stash of nonpareils. A small fit of disenchantment.
He was looking at her oddly, which made sense.
Harriet, gather yourself, she scolded herself.
“Good morning, sir, I’m—I’m Lady Alexander Stirling, although I’ve been …
Well, you’re perhaps in for a bit of a surprise here: I’m the one who has been writing to you.
As H. M. Bancroft.” For the first time since she’d begun speaking, a flicker of expression crossed the man’s face, though he didn’t say anything. “I presume you’re Mr. Dawkins?”
“I am,” he said simply. His voice was rather …
ordinary. Indeed, everything about the man was rather ordinary.
His dress was simple, his hair halfway between fair and dark.
His eyes between green and blue. His shoes brown.
His shirt nice but worn. Harriet had the fleeting thought that the portrait of him had in some ways done him favors in making him appear more distinct than he actually was. His nose was entirely unremarkable.
“I’ve come here to introduce myself. Which, of course, I’ve done. And to see how I might be of assistance with the dictionary. I had intended to meet you at Lady Dunley’s ball the other evening, only, I was … waylaid and I … Well, I ended up getting married, although that’s neither here nor there.”
“You were married at a ball?” he asked. The lack of inflection in his voice, and the absence of a smile or a twinkle in his eye made it unclear whether he was teasing or not. Surely the question was in jest. Although most men were not Alexander. They were not usually teasing, were they?
“Well, no. Not at the ball. Right afterward. Er, shortly afterward. Anyway, I’ve come to introduce myself now that my marriage is … settled. To see about the dictionary.”
“I see.” What did he see? What did that mean? Was he disappointed to find out her gender? He didn’t appear to possess any emotions whatsoever. If he did, he kept them quite in check.
Oh heavens! Why was she getting tied in knots over this man and his lack of signals? Wasn’t marriage supposed to end forever the need to know what men thought of you? At least non-husband men?
“I thought—I thought we might work on it together. However much is left. I know it’s due to the publisher soon. And I have quite a few entries with me that I was unable to send to you. Due to … well … travel. Plus revisions of a few phrases from my earlier letters.”
Mr. Dawkins seemed to be taking this all in very slowly. He studied her for a moment, then nodded.
“All right. I could use another set of eyes on the manuscript before it is to go off.”
“Oh, really?” Harriet said, surprised he’d acquiesced to her offer.
Mr. Dawkins raised an eyebrow. Harriet presumed it was at her, but nothing about the man felt knowable. Her insides were knotted with nerves. “I’m to go to an appointment soon, but why don’t you bring your words back tomorrow and we can start then?”
“Would you—I hope this isn’t too forward of me, only I have a study we could avail ourselves of.
It might be a bit … more private than the rooms here.
It’s not far. If you’d like, I can give you the address.
” Anything would be better than poring over words in this stuffy, cramped sitting room.
Unless he meant for her to go up to his rooms?
Surely not. She was being crackbrained. Why was this man making her feel so stupid?
“That would be appreciated.”
Harriet reached into her reticule and pulled out a pencil and a scrap of paper. After checking that it wasn’t one with a word on it—especially not godemiche—Harriet wrote down her father’s address and handed it over with a shy smile.
Mr. Dawkins took it then and offered, for the first time, a small smile of his own. There was something almost handsome about the man when he did so. Harriet knocked the thought over as soon as she had it. His handsomeness did not signify.
Still, she left the lodging rooms feeling as if she were floating.
The dictionary was due soon, and now she’d gotten in touch with Mr. Dawkins.
And he hadn’t minded that she was a woman!
She had not ascertained when they might receive payment for the book, but surely they were close.
Her problems were not in the past, but the solutions were on the horizon.
She walked back home feeling peaceful for the first time since before Lady Dunley’s ball.
After a brief confrontation at the front door—and numerable assurances that he was Harriet’s husband—Alexander had been let into an unadorned sitting room in the Earl of Tidewell’s home.
He hadn’t been formally introduced to Harriet’s youngest sister, but he had the impression that she was quite formidable.
She stood watch over him, eyeing him with suspicion; since she did not sit, he did not, which left them both standing awkwardly in the small room.
Had he not already known the man lacked funds, the house would have informed him.
The earl was obviously cleaned out based on the sparse and worn furniture.
Nearly a quarter of an hour later, the sister finally sat. Apparently, that was sufficient time to surmise that he was not a threat.
“I’m Frances,” she offered.
“Lord Alexander, although you may call me Alexander as we are family now.”
“You didn’t offer for Harriet,” she said, making clear her feelings on the matter. Alexander winced. Like Harriet, she seemed both unafraid of and unimpressed by him. Why hadn’t they sent the Bancroft sisters after Napoleon? He would have been taken care of in weeks.
Alexander decided a white lie wouldn’t be out of place here. “I am remiss to say that I did not that evening; however, I intended to the next morning.”
Frances looked him over with discernment.