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’tmywords. I know that.” He could hear the lump of sadness in her voice.
“Itisyour 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.
“Iapproachedyou.”
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.
“Idid. I am so sorry Harriet.Sodeeply 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 somethingelse?
“He—” Alexander was about to sayHe 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. Forthem. 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?”
