Charleston was waiting downstairs, cap in hand, shyly shuffling from foot to foot. At Harriet’s arrival, he stood at attention. Harriet felt glad to see the driver. It was always much easier to put on a happy face for the sake of others.
“Charleston, good morning.”
Charleston blushed at her direct attention. “My lady, should you like to break your fast before we leave?”
“I already have, thank you. I’m ready if you are.”
“I’ll pull the carriage around, my lady,” Charleston said, taking her valise and handing over a heavy leather pouch. “Won’t be but a moment.”
“Thank you, Charleston,” she said, bewildered by the exchange. But he was already out the door, buzzing with frantic, nervous energy. Confused, Harriet opened the bag. Then swiftly closed it and tucked it against her. Inside was at least thirty pounds. Maybe fifty. It was more coin than Harriet had ever seen. It would have changed her and her sisters’ lives. And Lord Alexander left it in a purse with a driver.
Harriet stepped out of the inn and Charleston—seeming far less nervous now, perhaps because he was around horses or not in possession of the moneybag—deftly handed her into the carriage. Then she was alone.
Truly alone.
As they pulled away from the inn, Harriet had the peculiar feeling that she had left something behind.
Upon his arrival in London, Alexander was hit with a sense of unfamiliarity. Obviously, the city hadn’t been altered by his weeklong absence; the change must lie within himself. The notion was probably worth examining, and therefore, like any reasonable man, Alexander quickly dismissed it.
Nothing was changing. Not him, not his ways, not the company he kept. That was the agreement he’d made with Harriet. Theirs was not a love match. Life would continue as it had been. Those werehisconditions.
He grunted as he passed his hat and gloves to Presley, hoping it seemed like a greeting and didn’t betray his inner turmoil.
“Ahh, Lady Harriet found you then, did she?” Presley intoned in a singsong voice, the one he used when he was filled to the brim with satisfaction. Alexander gritted his teeth and spun to face his butler. He was about to explain something—why he was back without said lady, how the marriage came to be, the proper deference to be shown to one’s employer—although the effort would be lost on Presley, who knew things about people before they knew them about themselves.
“She was here?” Alexander asked, the implication of Presley’s words dawning on him.
“Indeed. I almost sent her up to your room, my lord. I assumed she was one of your appointments.”
“Good Lord, Presley, she’s a lady!”
“I shouldn’t send the ladies up to you in the future, then? Why, the widows of London will wear black!”
“Presley.”
“Only trying to learn my place, my lord.”
“You have absolutely no interest in your place and we both know it.”
“Yes, but one always must pretend for the sake of one’s employer,” Presley said, bowing his head solemnly.
Alexander settled a warning look on the butler and stormed off to his study. He spent the rest of the day with his man of business, Hawthorne, going over everything he’d missed.
Hawthorne was small and twitchy and had the terrible habit of starting sentences with “Yes, yes” or—when he was really excited—“Yes, yes, yes.” Still, Alexander trusted him implicitly.
After a few quick hours of minor crises about sheep and some vital decision-making about crops, Hawthorne began fiddling with his mustache, a sign Alexander understood to mean there was a topic he wanted to broach.
“What is it, Hawthorne? Something wrong?” Alexander sighed, even as he found their familiarity comforting.
“Yes, yes, oh no. No. Nothing, nothing of concern.”
“Better to tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Yes, yes, it’s about the land … up near Applethwaite.”
“What about it?”
“I dine with Lord Holden’s man of business from time to time. Nothing too extravagant, Mr. Pottingale is uncommonly dyspeptic.He revealed to me, however, that Lord Holden has some reservations about working with you … as you are …”
