“I did carve one much later, though it was not as good as his. He has a real knack for it.” Harriet stroked the little horse fondly.
“Years of practice.” Lady Davenport added several small wooden blocks to the growing pile of toys beside them. “He carved me a wooden flower when we were first courting.”
“I remember you telling me.” Harriet felt an odd twinge in her chest as she fingered the new bracelet around her wrist; a gift from Theodore. “Perhaps when you and Father come to visit, I should ask him to teach Phoebe about such things. Or to take her into the garden and talk to her about plants. Though she may be a little shy at first.”
“I suspect your father will talk enough for the both of them.” Her mother shook her head, a fond smile on her face. “You know that he adores children.”
“I cannot wait for you to meet her. She is really starting to come out of her shell, and she is on her way to being a talented artist.” Harriet took out a small painting drawing Phoebe had given her before they left of three people walking through rolling hills. “She is still young, but she has so much potential.”
Her mother looked at the drawing, her smile broadening. “I have a set of oils if you would like to take them with you. I rarely find the time to paint these days, and they may as well go to good use.”
“Oh that would be wonderful!” Harriet exclaimed. “She has been through so much and when she is given the chance, she is such a bright and bubbly little thing. She is so full of love and laughter.”
“You care for her a great deal.” Lady Devonmere’s fingers curled around the doll she was holding.
“I do.” Harriet leaned against the toy chest. “It has been so wonderful seeing her confidence grow. She has started talking more, and I feel so proud of her. To be honest, I still cannot quite believe it.”
“Why ever not? I have aways thought you would make a wonderful mother.” Her mother arched an eyebrow at her, forehead wrinkling as she did. “You have always loved children; you used to beg me for a sibling so that you could lookafter them. Even though you insisted you wanted a life of spinsterhood, you always sought out children.”
Mother.Harriet’s fingers felt at her corset, wondering if it was too tight. She was suddenly horribly aware of it against her skin, of the pressure against her with each breath.
“When I saw you with young Oliver, I used to imagine you with children of you own.” Her mother continued, still pulling toys out of the toy box. “And I will admit, I am rather looking forward to being a grandmother to little Phoebe. And you are still young, I suppose, plenty of time to have children of your own if you decide you want that.”
Children of my own.
Harriet’s hand went to her belly as the muscles in her abdomen contracted. Did she want children of her own? She loved Phoebe with all her heart, more than she had thought possible, and she thought of her as a daughter.But that does not mean anything.
Before she had met Theodore, she had wanted to be a spinster for goodness’ sake. But as her mother continued to chatter, her thoughts wandered far from the room. She let her mind drift back through the past, all the times she had played with Phoebe and Oliver before her. Young children of cousins.
The tiny part of her, the part that she had shoved deep inside a box and buried deep within her, rattled in its cage.Do I want children?
Her lips tingled, and she thought of Theodore. His blue eyes flashed in her mind, but the face was an infant’s. A baby with her cheekbones, a tiny nose that looked a little like hers. Her stomach gave a jolt.
She had her answer. B was she brave enough to ask for his?
CHAPTER 22
“It is good to be home.” Theodore shrugged off his coat, helping Harriet out of hers as they walked through the heavy doors of Irondale estate.
The tips of his fingers brushed against the nape of her neck, and he could not tell if the sharp inhale was hers or his. He stepped back, nearly colliding with a footman who was carrying in their gifts for Phoebe.
The pile teetered dangerously, and Theodore grabbed a few boxes as the man walked past. He had discovered just how wonderful it could be to give someone gifts. He had never been stingy before, but he had chosen practical, sensible things.
When he had found a simple bracelet, it had made him think of Harriet. It was a delicate work of silver with small rubies embedded in it. He had given it to her, watching her face anxiously as his heart threatened to leap out of his throat or stomach – it did not seem particularly concerned with which.
The expression on her face had stayed with him, and as he and Harriet looked at each other, he felt the faintest prickle of nerves. He tried to hide it as he shifted the parcels in his arms, but Harriet put a gentle hand on his arm.
“She is going to love them.” She gestured towards the drawing room. “Come on, we do not want to keep her waiting.”
Theodore nodded, but did not trust himself to speak. He felt a trickle of sweat creep down the back of his neck into his shirt. He fell into step beside Harriet, the pressure on his shoulders and upper back mounting as they drew closer to the drawing room.
Inside, Phoebe was waiting. She was staring slack-jawed at the small mountain of presents, shaking her head and blinking.
He felt as though there was a balloon expanding in his chest as Phoebe spotted Harriet and leapt to her feet, running to her and wrapping her arms around her.
“Ooof.” Harriet laughed, stroking Phoebe’s head. “It is good to see you too.”
Theodore moved past them, carefully lowering the presents on the pile, checking that nothing would topple. He caught Harriet’s eye and saw the amused expression on her face. She had teased him, saying that there would be nothing left in London for anyone else to buy.
