Chapter Twenty-Nine
ALEXANDER STOOD INSIDE TEMPLE OF THE MUSES LATER THAT WEEK, watching people bustle in and out, their arms full of books.
He’d been in a few times before, but now he came almost daily, waiting for the stacks to arrive.
And now it was here: Harriet’s dictionary.
Not that any purchaser might know she was behind it.
No, he’d ruined that for her. Or Mr. Dawkins had. They both had.
Without a single mention of Harriet—he’d checked—here sat a proud, fat stack of Dictionary of Modern Cant and Vulgarities. Privately, he thought the book might have done better with a different title. Although the word vulgarities might entice.
For over an hour, he’d been hovering over the books, almost daring anyone to purchase a copy.
After the fourth bookseller of the day asked him if they could help him find what he was looking for, Alexander decided a more leonine method of circling and stalking might work better.
So he pretended to browse all the thousands of offerings the bookshop boasted, hardly processing a single title as he kept watch over his paper flock.
He was drawing his fingers along a section of German plays, feigning interest as best as possible—but not so much as to get another shop attendant over to offer their services—when he glanced up.
The wind was knocked out of his chest. There, frowning over the stack of Vulgarities, was Harriet.
In a drab, unadorned day dress, with her chestnut hair in a simple bun.
Had he not known her, he likely would have overlooked her.
But he did know her. He knew precisely how her hair felt running through his hands; he knew the soft skin and lush curves hidden under that plain dress.
He knew how she tasted. He knew her sighs and her smiles and her laughs.
Not that she was going to be sharing any of those with him again.
Certainly not now. Indeed, she looked … defeated. Worn down.
The observation gutted him.
She reached out tentatively to flip open the cover of a copy of the dictionary, then swung the cover almost shut, then fanned it open again. It was as if she couldn’t decide whether she ought to look inside or not. He hoped she wouldn’t; he knew well what she’d find: a lack of herself.
Harriet thumbed quickly through the pages, and then, having arrived at her destination, dragged her pointer finger down a page three quarters of the way, scanning for something.
Her finger stopped and she tapped it once, as if to demonstrate to someone what she’d discovered.
Alexander rushed over to be that someone.
He sidled up next to her, nervously, and then cleared his throat. “My lady,” he said simply, to announce his presence without startling her.
Startling her should not have been his concern, as it turned out. Harriet remained still as a pillar of salt. She didn’t betray any surprise at him being next to her; she didn’t even look up. Only her finger moved, to tap at the word again.
“Just wanted to see … if …”
“If he included your words?”
“I suppose. Although they aren’t my words. I know that.” He could hear the lump of sadness in her voice.
“It is your work, however.” She shrugged, to imply she wasn’t bothered. Or shouldn’t be.
“It was foolish to expect otherwise,” she said, though he knew she didn’t really believe that.
“No, Harriet, it wasn’t.” He reached a hand out, tempted for some reason to meet hers on the page. He pulled back instead. Watching her was painful enough, and he was certain his touch would not be appreciated.
After a moment, she pulled herself together and glanced up at him.
Her eyes were wet with tears. Her nose adorably red—and yes, not to worry, he chastised himself immediately for finding it adorable.
She’d clearly been crying. Though he’d hardly missed an opportunity for self-recrimination in the past few weeks, the evidence of the pain he’d caused made him feel impossibly worse.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and clearly they were to be done talking about the dictionary. She looked over to where he’d been standing before and his foolish heart told him this was a good sign—she’d known of his presence and she hadn’t fled!
“Looking for … Lessing,” he lied, glancing over at the shelf he’d been perusing for a name.
“You speak German?”
“No. But perhaps this might improve it.” He was a fool, and more to the point, he was ruining their interaction with his bizarre desperation for conversation.
“I won’t keep you.” The shortness of the sentence saddened him.
“I approached you.”
Harriet looked back up at him, as if surprised he was still there.
“Oh yes, you did, didn’t you?” She returned her eyes to the book.
“Still, you needn’t dwell on my account.
” The stiffness and formality of her tone felt like someone had taken a sharp sword and sliced through his sternum.
It was the pain that gave him the push he needed to say what he did next.
“I’m sorry, Harriet, for ruining your dictionary.” She betrayed no astonishment or appreciation for his contrition. In fact, she appeared indifferent.
“You didn’t,” she offered, gesturing toward the pile of books.
“I did. I am so sorry Harriet. So deeply sorry. I should never have confronted Mr. Dawkins. Only he—Well, no. It is all my doing. I won’t make an excuse. I regret immensely that you are not in the book.”
Harriet didn’t say anything for a moment, which was deuced awkward, and he thought he’d better take his leave. As he was about to, she bit her lip. The first sign of Harriet-ness he’d witnessed in this meeting.
“What did you confront him about?” she asked, not looking up from her reading. Surely she knew? Surely that was the reason she had left, no? Had he done something else?
“He—” Alexander was about to say He didn’t want to marry you. Except Alexander hadn’t wanted to marry her either. But now … now everything was different. Besides, she had no need for that information. “He was beneath you.”
She let out a small sigh that he couldn’t read, as her gaze was still locked on the dictionary.
“He was never going to credit me,” she whispered, the words sticking in her throat. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh, I assure you, it was.” Yet again, he wanted to reach for her. He felt overcome with the desire to gather her in his arms. To comfort her.
“Not entirely,” she said, finally looking up at him.
His heart lurched, and he attempted to remain as still as possible, as if movement might break the moment.
“He’d already submitted the manuscript to the publisher a while back.
That’s why it’s out so soon. My name wasn’t ever going to be mentioned, though my contributions are …
present.” Alexander’s thoughts were too fixed on her eyes to work out precisely what this information meant for him.
For her. For them. He knew he shouldn’t let his gaze wander down to her lips—he had been good about it for the duration of this meeting.
But then the remaining threads of his discipline snapped, and he looked. A grave mistake indeed.
Though, had he not been watching her mouth form the words, he would have missed what she said entirely.
“By chance, do you plan to attend the Courtenays’ ball next Thursday?”
He had not considered going even for a second. “Yes, I do,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound overeager but knowing he had.
“Perhaps I will see you there,” she said simply.
Alexander swallowed, unsure what to say or do next. He tried to stop his heart from leaping giddily around his chest. She hadn’t asked to attend with him, only if he was attending. But he would see her again. In eight days’ time.
Perhaps.
He had arrangements to make. He might not be able to make matters with the dictionary right—he dearly regretted not killing Mr. Dawkins when he had the chance—but he could do something.
He excused himself, bowing his head.
Once outside, he glanced back into the window and saw her still there, still flipping through the dictionary, so solitary, so subdued.
Despite her suggestion to the contrary, this was his fault.
He may not have taken the dictionary from her, but he certainly had not given her enough to stay with him.
He needed to fix this. He needed to do as Giuliana instructed.
Alexander crossed the street, found a tea shop, and waited until he saw her leave the store—two books in hand, neither the dictionary—and then he settled his bill and headed back to the bookstore.
Both the draw of and the problem with Temple of the Muses was that books could not be purchased on credit.
One had to pay upfront. It kept the claims of being “the cheapest bookstore in the world” true enough for Londoners.
It also meant that with the money he had on him, Alexander could only purchase twelve copies of Dictionary of Modern Cant and Vulgarities.
It was a start. He’d come back for the rest.
And he did.
The next day he came back with his carriage and had a footman cart the rest of the books out for him.
It was only on his return home from this frivolous journey that he realized the error in his thinking: the book seller would surely now buy more.
Alexander sat in his study, surrounded by thirty-seven copies of the stupid book, trying to figure out what to do.
He lit a cheroot and hoped it would help.
It did not. He drank a brandy, and it did.
A little. He was supposed to be offering Harriet everything she wanted. Wasn’t that Giuliana’s instruction?
He flipped open a copy of the dictionary that was stacked next to him, as if it might give him the answer. And there, on the first page, he found it. At least it was a start.
Harriet left the Temple of the Muses in quite a state. Instead of rushing home, she walked all the way to Philippa’s house, at a much faster pace than was necessary or ladylike.
“Philippa,” Harriet panted, when she arrived, “do you remember the thing you said about the leg behind the head?”
“Of course.”
“I need your help.” Philippa grinned, looking as if she’d been waiting her entire life for this moment. She stood, and Harriet held up a hand. “Before you get too delighted. This is more metaphorical.”
“Drat. It always is with you.”
“I need to become undeniable. You must teach me everything you know.”
Philippa’s eyes narrowed.
“May I ask why you have suddenly taken interest in matters of seduction? Did you meet someone?” A footman arrived then with tea, and Philippa began pouring.
“I saw Alexander at Temple of the Muses. I asked if he planned to attend the Courtenays’ ball, since I intend to bring John. And he said he did.”
“That is only a few days away.”
“Quite.”
“Mr. Monroe has his work quite cut out for him if you’re to dance by then.”
“Yes, and I need to retrieve one of the ball gowns Alexander had made for me. And perhaps we’d better speak with Clothilde about my hair.”
“As I said before, I don’t think you need to do anything to make him fall in love with you. Certainly, you don’t need to alter your appearance or learn a new skill.”
“I don’t intend to make him fall in love with me. I intend to spend the evening with him … if you understand my meaning. Just once. I thought I could live my life and not know what it was like with him. But I can’t. I wonder all the time about how it would be. And I loathe not knowing things.”
“Yes, I am quite aware.”
“When I saw him today it was agony. I expected our separation not to be so painful after a while but seeing him hurt almost as much as not seeing him. Then it occurred to me: I had refrained from consummating our marriage because I suspected it might make me fall in love with him, only I’m already in love with him. So, there’s no harm to be done.”
Philippa gave her a dubious look, which Harriet ignored. She wasn’t going to be talked out of this.
“Philippa, I’m going to ask you something deeply humiliating.”
“I am positively aquiver with anticipation.”
“Do you know what a godemiche is? More importantly, do you know how I might procure one?”