Chapter Twenty-Five
HARRIET RETURNED HOME. SHE NEEDED TO WRITE A MISSIVE TO MR. Dawkins and apologize for today.
And then she needed to make a plan. She couldn’t think of Alexander, and his visit to Philippa, or the fact that he’d granted her free use of his wealth, when he hadn’t offered the same to Harriet.
He hadn’t offered anything, really. He’d only asked her to come live with him for a short while for the sake of appearances.
Well, they’d appeared. The ton had seen them.
Not as much as he may have liked, although that was why one didn’t marry a wallflower, wasn’t it?
After penning her note, she rang for Anne and then went to her wardrobe.
She’d stay with her sisters for a while, at least until she felt certain her father was gone and she had the money from the dictionary.
She began packing a few simple day dresses into her valise; she would hardly need the ball gowns Alexander had ordered for her.
The door opened behind her as she continued packing.
“The letter on the desk—will you post it, please?”
“Are you packing?”
Alexander? Harriet whipped around to see him leaning against the doorframe.
He looked haggard and tired. As if he’d been awake all night.
Lord knew where he’d been before he arrived at Philippa’s that morning.
For all she knew he was tired because he’d been out all night tupping the entire cast of Le Nozze di Figaro.
“I am. My—” Alexander had picked up her letter addressed to Mr. Dawkins and was examining it with an odd expression. “My sisters need me.”
“I’ve told you, I will provide them with anything they might require.”
Harriet tilted her head. “I think you may have the wrong sister,” she bit out, wishing she didn’t sound as waspish as she knew she did. He’d made the offer to Philippa. Could he really not keep them apart?
His eyes shot to her. “What does that mean?”
“Never mind.” She continued dumping items into her valise, only now she was paying little attention to what they were.
“Harriet, I’m afraid I have to admit something to you.” He set down the letter and came closer to her. She stiffened and scolded her stomach for fluttering with excitement.
“I believe I already know, my lord.” He flinched at the honorific, which wasn’t as gratifying as Harriet had hoped. “You need not confess.”
“Harriet, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I couldn’t help myself—I—”
“I believe you,” she said, cutting him off.
The odd part was: She did. She believed he was sorry.
Still, she couldn’t continue to live like this.
Watching him bed other women, offering nothing to her.
It might make her a ninny and a fool, and it unquestionably would make her lonely, but she wanted to be chosen.
“I simply think we’ve run our course. We wanted to keep up appearances for the sake of reputation, and we have.
If there is any other event you’ve a need for me to attend, please write to me at my father’s and I will happily acquiesce.
I see no reason for us to live as husband and wife.
I believe we’d both be happier returning to our old lives. ”
“Do you really think that?” He looked hurt, which surprised her, although she knew he was used to having every single woman available to him.
Perhaps he’d convinced himself that he had won her over, that she had fallen under his spell.
He was correct, in a way; she had offered herself to him.
He probably had assumed he had longer to avail himself. It was good she was leaving now.
“Yes,” Harriet said, sadly. “I’m sure it’s a relief to hear.”
Alexander scrubbed a hand over his face, not looking at all relieved. He glanced down at the letter once more. “I know you don’t want to hear any more on the topic, so I’ll only say this, Harriet: that man—Mr. Dawkins—he doesn’t care for you.”
What an odd thing to say!
“And you do?” she challenged, her packing arrested. For a moment it looked like he might admit that he did, in some way, care for her.
“Did you want me to?” Harriet wanted to let out a deep and loud and long guttural yell at the man. Now? Now he was asking her if he ought to have tried to care for her? “I seem to remember you repeating many times that you did not want to marry me.”
“And I seem to remember that you had to be kidnapped to offer for me. Not to worry, my lord. I am not holding out for some display of affection or promise of fidelity. We both know how constancy chafes you.”
“We agreed—Harriet … I didn’t … you know. I never wanted—”
“I know you didn’t,” Harriet said, rather sadly. She did not need to hear him explain yet again that he didn’t want a wife. They both were silent for a moment, until an odd emotion crossed his face. Harriet followed his gaze down to her hands.
“Your ring” was all he said.
“Oh, yes,” Harriet gulped. She hadn’t for a second considered he might notice or care. Although it was, she supposed, his property. She winced before admitting, “I sold it.”
It was close to the truth and she didn’t relish admitting she’d given it to her father. The fewer people entangled with the Earl of Tidewell the better.
“It wasn’t to your tastes?”
Harriet lied then. The first lie she’d ever told him.
If you didn’t count all the times she’d neglected to tell him precisely how much she wanted him to kiss her.
Those were lies of omission. “Not exactly. And I suppose I’ll no longer be needing it.
” Harriet felt tears stinging the back of her eyes.
“I can … I can repay you.” If she had to figure out how to recoup the cost of the ring, she could. She hoped.
“Don’t trouble yourself over it. You can keep the money from the sale,” he bit out, sounding almost … angry. Presumably he thought her careless with his funds. Or thieving. Still, she thought it a bit crass that he seemed so upset about a symbol of their vows.
Harriet finally tore her gaze from her hand to meet his eyes, and the emotion there almost knocked her over.
He seemed to be as much in pain as she was, although she couldn’t muddle through why.
She’d had to watch him with other women.
She’d agreed they wouldn’t have children.
She’d moved in for the sake of appearances and fallen in love with him.
Oh, bloody hell.
She needed to leave before she did something idiotic like telling him as much.
She threw more things into her valise at random and clasped it, then turned to see Alexander still waiting.
Waiting for … something. His jaw clenched and unclenched in apparent frustration.
She didn’t want to think about his emotions; she was too exhausted.
“If you permit me, I’ll take a carriage to my father’s and then have the driver return here.” He looked like he was about to say something; instead, he nodded and turned out of the room. Only, a moment later he returned.
“Since you’ll be going, I thought I might tell you something,” he offered.
Harriet looked around the room to avoid eye contact with him, which she felt certain would lead to tears on her part.
“If you’d like to make yourself come, Giuliana recommended you being on top of something and rubbing your …
self on it. A pillow. A blanket. The arm of a chair, even”—he cleared his throat uncomfortably—“is what she said.”
“I—Thank you,” Harriet choked out. It dawned on her then that this confirmed her assumption that he’d still been seeing his mistress. It also dawned on her that he was telling her this because he was no longer going to be helping her with that matter. “Give her my best,” Harriet added, meaning it.
Neither of them seemed to know what to do with that. A disconcerting silence settled between them. He nodded and left, blessedly.
Harriet walked out of the house on the verge of tears.
She was entirely unsure of what she’d packed in her valise.
She wouldn’t be surprised to find a bar of soap and a single slipper when she opened it.
The rest could be sent for later. At least she didn’t have to suffer Alexander’s company any longer, and with it the reminders of all the women whose company he preferred.
Harriet was halfway to her father’s house when she remembered she hadn’t posted the letter to Mr. Dawkins apologizing for missing their appointment today.
She tapped on the roof of the vehicle and requested the driver take her to Bond Street.
She was going to need the dictionary income now more than ever.
She could have—should have—asked Alexander for an allowance before she left.
Only, he’d offered money to Philippa, so perhaps that would be enough.
Or would he revoke that offer now that she’d gone? Bugger.
Once again, Harriet was shown into the sitting room to wait. She didn’t relish having to move their work to the lodging house, but needs must. When Mr. Dawkins appeared this time, he looked even more disoriented than the first time she’d been here. Peculiar.
“Mr. Dawkins, good day. I am here because—”
“Because of your husband, I presume?” What does he know? How?
“It’s only that, well … I thought we might work here now.”
“Lady Alexander, I have no intention of working with you anywhere in this city. In this country. I have no intention of you being anywhere near my dictionary. Your husband made clear, in no uncertain terms, that you and I are not to work together.”
Harriet couldn’t breathe. There was not enough air in all of England.
“He did?” she eked out. Mr. Dawkins responded with a harsh, bitter laugh.
“He hasn’t told you, then? Yes, I met your husband, and he was quite unequivocal. I am not to utilize your services anymore. Which is quite all right, as the book was sent to the publisher two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks ago? But we’ve been … I’ve been working with you.” Harriet felt the world spinning off its axis.
“On the second edition, yes. Should the book sell well enough, the publisher would like to release an updated version next year. That is what you have been assisting me with. Although, no longer.”
“Please, Mr. Dawkins, I need this dictionary. I am no longer in residence with my husband, thus his opinion no longer signifies. Please, I beg you. I need the money. I know it’s unseemly to speak of such things, but it’s all I have.”
“To what money do you refer?” Harriet’s eyebrows snapped together in confusion.
The only practice Harriet had talking about money was with the bill collectors who came to her father’s residence.
She’d always been the one who owed someone, never the one asking to be paid.
She swallowed and reminded herself of Caroline and Frances.
“The money you promised me for the first dictionary. Twenty-five percent of the profits is what we agreed upon. The same ought to hold true for the second edition as well, if I have been contributing to it, which I will gladly continue. I vow there will be no interference from my husband.”
Mr. Dawkins looked down at her unkindly.
As if she were a puddle he was trying not to step in.
“Even if I had promised such a sum—which I assure you I did not—I entered into that arrangement with the understanding I was exchanging letters with a man. You are not a man, therefore the agreement is null. And after I discovered you were a woman, you were married and thus unable to enter into a contract with me of any kind. I have no agreement with you. I have never had any agreement with you.”
“No, no, that’s not—that’s not …”
“Lady Alexander, I have no further business here, so I must ask you to leave. I hardly wish to spend my day comforting someone else’s sniveling wife.”
Harriet’s eyes grew wide with shock at the insult.
He turned and absented the room, leaving her feeling entirely …
Well, in fact she felt almost nothing at all.
She felt as if someone had scooped out all her insides with a big soup spoon.
In lieu of anything better to do or say, she quietly whispered, “I wasn’t sniveling, you clodpate. ”
She left the lodging house in a daze and continued to her father’s.
Her entire life had collapsed, and it had only taken a single day.
By the time Alexander’s carriage reached her father’s house, Harriet was sniveling.
She hadn’t cried so hard in ages, and she did her best to stop before her sisters saw her.
To halt the tears, Harriet bit her tongue and dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to breathe only through her nose for the last few minutes of the ride.
Her plan worked, her tears gone when she entered her father’s house, valise in hand. Unfortunately, that lasted only about seven seconds before Caroline took one look at her and asked, “Oh, Harriet, what has happened?” At which point, Harriet fell to pieces.