She could count every eyelash. His breath tickled her skin.Is that his heart or mine?His eyes were like an ocean, pulling her deep into their depths. Time stood still.
Theodore stepped away, the warmth of his arms vanishing as he did. “I should go. Wright will be expecting company.”
Harriet let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding as Theodore left the room.
What just happened?
* * *
A few days later, Harriet was in her room as her lady’s maid helped her pack. She felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle, and turned to see Phoebe standing in the doorway.
“Phoebe?” Harriet noticed the downcast look on Phoebe’s face and the way her shoulders sagged. “Is something the matter?”
Phoebe swallowed and stepped into the room, handing Harriet a crumpled drawing as she did. Harriet smoothed out the creases and peered at it.
The drawing showed a figure with long hair sitting in a carriage beside a man while a smaller figure stood behind, watching as the carriage drove away.It is Phoebe watching us leave.
Harriet felt ice spread through her chest as she moved to kneel beside Phoebe. A lump formed in her throat as she tried to think of something to say, some way of comforting her, but everything seemed wrong.
She pulled out her own journal and began to sketch three figures in the gardens of Irondale. She drew her and Theodore walking towards Phoebe, clearly about to launch into a game now that they had returned home.
When she looked up, Phoebe was smiling at her. The ice in Harriet’s chest thawed just a little, and her breath came more easily. Carefully, she tore out the page of the journal and put it in Phoebe’s hands.
“We will always come back.” Harriet nodded to the paper. “I promise.”
Phoebe’s grip on the paper tightened, but her smile did not dim.
“You know, it is customary to bring someone a gift when you return from a trip.” Harriet canted her head towards Phoebe, trying to catch her eye. “What would you like me to bring you from London?”
Phoebe clenched and unclenched her hands, tapping her foot on the floor a few times. Harriet made no move to rush her, she knew that Phoebe needed the time to think . After a moment, Phoebe took her paper and flipped it over, sketching something quickly on the back of it.
As soon as Harriet saw the shapes of the hills, she knew what it would be. Phoebe had inherited plenty of her mother’s skill, and with time, Harriet suspected she would surpass it. The lonesome peaks of the peak district took form, with three figures at the center. It was the painting she had hung, the one Theodore had asked her to take down.
She saw Phoebe’s knuckles whiten as she gripped the paper, not looking at her. Her body shook slightly, and the sight of it broke Harriet’s heart.
“I will take care of it, I promise.” Harriet clasped Phoebe’s hands around the drawing.
“Thank you.” Phoebe’s voice was little more than a whisper, and then she looked up and met Harriet’s eyes, taking a step closer.
Instinctively, Harriet wrapped her arms around the little girl, pulling her into an embrace. Phoebe returned it, and in that moment, Harriet felt something slip into place inside of her.
She is family.
An ache spread through her as the sound of Phoebe and Theodore’s laughter spread through her mind.I want this to be real. I want all of it to be real.
The realization thundered through her like a lightning bolt striking a tree. She released Phoebe, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and strode from the room.
She was done waiting. She barely waited for Theodore’s “enter” before she burst into his study. Theodore arched an eyebrow at her, standing up from his desk and leaning forwards.
“We need to talk.” Harriet met his gaze unflinchingly, speaking before he could in case she lost her nerve.
“Has something happened? Is Phoebe hurt?” Theodore took a step towards her. “Are you?”
Harriet shook her head, but forced herself to remain in place. “Everything is all right. Well, no, that is not entirely true. No one is hurt, but I do need to speak to you about Phoebe.”
“She is struggling with us leaving.” It was not a question, but a statement, and Harriet heard the tinges of disappointment and worry in his voice.
“She is, but that is only one part of it.” She swallowed and took a step towards him. “I think… No, I know, that she longs for more,for family and for comfort. She wants to know about her mother; she has asked for her painting.”
