Chapter Twenty-Four #2
He swayed and lurched around the room, gathering his things without word.
When he got close to the door, and therefore Harriet, he leaned in close, his hot breath fanning over her.
“You are the worst sort of woman—an evil one. You mean to force me out of my house yet again, but one day your pretty little husband will force you from yours. I’ve heard talk at the clubs.
He’ll be through with you soon. And then your threats will mean nothing.
I will return here, and you—you’ll have nowhere to go.
” He laughed at the idea, which made him wobble a bit.
Harriet remained rooted to the spot until he made it out the front door. As soon as he did, she ran over and bolted it behind him, not that it meant anything. Then she turned and sagged against the door.
She was still leaning against it a few minutes later when it started to pound. Her heart rate matched the banging. He was back.
“I know you’re in there, Father!” came a voice from the other side. Philippa! Philippa? Harriet rushed to open the door and came face to face with her sister, each of them equally surprised to see the other.
“He’s gone,” Harriet explained.
“Oh,” Philippa answered, following her in.
Philippa was looking around curiously. She hadn’t been back in ages.
Maybe since before she’d gotten married.
She’d hated the house, and with good reason.
Harriet yelled up the stairs for Caroline and Frances and then set off for the kitchen. Philippa followed her.
“Why did he leave?”
“I gave him my ring,” Harriet said, not wanting it to be true.
“Harriet! You didn’t have to do that!”
“I had nothing else!”
“Lord Stirling would have given you money! Hell, he offered me money this morning!”
“He did?”
“Yes, he told me I could go to his man of business at any time should I need anything.” Harriet felt like someone had hit her over the head with an andiron.
“You saw him this morning?”
“Yes, he came to my house—you didn’t know?” Before Harriet could answer, or indeed ask any more questions about her husband’s whereabouts, Caroline and Frances descended upon them. And then any hope of communication was over.
Harriet sat in a daze. Why had Alexander gone to her sister to offer her money?
He’d never offered Harriet an allowance of any kind.
In faith, she hadn’t needed one. What did she have to buy?
Surely, Philippa was not doing anything untoward with him.
Philippa would never. But was he attempting it?
She had told him that the estate was reverting to the crown, that Philippa could not agree to a sale.
If he wasn’t there about land, what was he there for?
There were only so many things a man could want from Philippa’s company.
Harriet tried to assure herself there was some other reason Alexander had been there.
What an embarrassment. Harriet had offered herself to him, and not only had he turned her down, he hadn’t brought it back up again. Instead, he was out there begging for favors from her sister. Her sisters’ chatter grew quiet as they noticed her lack of participation in the conversation.
“Harriet?” Caroline asked. “Are you quite all right?”
Harriet shook off the expression on her face and put a smile back on.
She was not going to tell her sisters about her humiliating ordeal.
Philippa knew enough and was clearly trying to prevent her from feeling pain.
Which was kind of her, although she wasn’t sure why Philippa hadn’t simply lied about the entire encounter.
Harriet nodded and stood. “I must be off. I’m supposed to be meeting with Mr. Dawkins. Father should be gone for a while, but I’ll send more money to you soon. I’ll return shortly.”
She dreaded returning home and confronting Alexander about money. And Philippa.
Alexander returned home from Philippa’s, still not feeling altogether himself.
Upon his arrival, he asked after Harriet, and when he was informed she was out, he decided to skip breakfast. If there was no hope of her presence in the breakfast room, then there was no point in trying to choke down rashers.
He ought to go to Hawthorne and see what they could do to help Philippa. He’d been quite neglectful of all his business as of late. Perhaps a day of work would do him good.
Alexander stopped short in the entryway at the most unwelcome sight of Mr. Dawkins. Something about the man made him angry, and it wasn’t just his wife’s admiration.
“Mr. Dawkins,” Alexander greeted him, not meaning for it to come out so gruffly. The man sketched a bow, the manner of which also bothered Alexander, as everything Mr. Dawkins did always would.
“Lord Alexander.”
“Are you here to meet Lady Alexander then?” Alexander asked, gathering his hat and gloves.
“I am.”
“I’m afraid she’s out.”
“Yes, your butler informed me. I was just leaving.”
“You’ve been here quite often these past weeks.”
“The dictionary is almost finished; it’s due to the publisher at the end of the week.”
“How is it coming along?” Alexander was not one to make idle conversation with men, and he couldn’t be sure why it was that he was doing so now, other than the thought of Harriet spending her days with the man. And the way she had saved the man’s letters. And the portrait of him.
“Well enough. Lady Alexander has been quite a help to me. Very organized, although I find ladies usually are, aren’t they? Well suited for this kind of work.” Mr. Dawkins laughed a little uncomfortably, clearly trying to figure out where the conversation was going.
“She’s quite wonderful, indeed,” Alexander replied, not trying all that hard to keep the threat out of his voice. The man hadn’t done anything—at least that he knew of.
“She has proven quite capable of carrying out all the little tasks I give her,” Mr. Dawkins agreed, offhandedly.
“I would like to remind you that she is my wife, Mr. Dawkins. I won’t have you trying anything untoward under my roof. Or under any roof.” Then he added, rather stupidly, “Or out of doors!” Alexander couldn’t help himself. “I don’t care that you two thought to marry. She is mine.”
To Alexander’s eternal shock, Mr. Dawkins let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Marry? You believe I thought to marry her?!” Something twisted inside Alexander, embarrassment perhaps, or defensiveness.
“Don’t do me the discredit of acting as if I’m stupid.
I have seen how many letters were sent between the two of you; she told me of your intention to become engaged after the Dunleys’ ball.
I’m not so worried as to disallow her to be in your company, but I will command you to watch yourself around my wife.
” There. Alexander felt rather satisfied with himself.
“Letters? Between us?” Mr. Dawkins let out that annoyingly sharp laugh again and his face settled into something snider.
Something altogether more natural for the man.
“Evidently, you don’t know your wife as well as you think.
Throughout our heft of correspondence,” he mocked, “I thought her a man.”
At Alexander’s stunned silence, he continued: “I assure you, your wife holds no interest for me romantically and never would have—even if I had known her identity.” The idiotic man laughed again, as if Harriet were beneath him.
“I’m sorry she operated under such delusion for any amount of time, though I hardly encouraged it. ”
Though he was glad to hear it, that most manifestly was insulting. His hands curled into fists and some part of him longed desperately to push the man against the stone entryway wall and pummel him mercilessly. Who wouldn’t want to marry Harriet? This man was supposed to be intelligent?
“You utter blackguard,” Alexander growled, trying his best not to hit the man. Only, Dawkins clearly mistook his meaning.
“Honest. I didn’t even answer her missives at first, but she started sending so many words that I worried she’d write her own dictionary if I didn’t answer.
Of course, come to find out, not only is she a woman, but a peer.
I assumed it would be worse to insult a lady than to allow her to believe she’s helping.
If you’d rather, my lord, I’m happier than I can say to sever ties with your wife. ”
The miscreant. Alexander couldn’t stop himself then.
He grabbed the miserable caitiff by the lapels and hauled him up against the entryway wall.
He pulled his fist back only for Presley to choose that precise moment to clear his throat.
Alexander had the sneaking suspicion his butler had been watching the entire exchange.
“My lord? Your appointment,” Presley intoned. Alexander reluctantly released Dawkins.
“Get out of my house. Do not come back,” Alexander spat at him. “You will not contact my wife again. If you so much as think of her in passing, I will ruin you. And I will make that ruination an exceedingly painful process.”
“Very well, Lord Alexander. I wish you luck informing your wife of this.” The man donned his hat and strolled out of the house so carelessly that Alexander had to fight the urge to run after him and punch him squarely in the jaw for being so cavalier about losing Harriet’s help.
Alexander slammed the door behind the awful man and tried to get his breathing to return to normal. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Don’t say anything, Presley. Don’t you dare.”
“I was only going to thank you. I’ve wanted to strike that milksop for weeks. Never liked him. He never listened to her when she spoke.” Alexander let out a resigned, overwhelmed huff of laughter, and Presley wandered off again, humming to himself.
Alexander was left in the front hall, lost. He couldn’t remember what he’d been setting off to do before Mr. Dawkins waylaid him. All he could think was that the man was correct about one thing: Harriet wouldn’t be happy.