“When did he do this?” Her hands were shaking as she walked into his study.
Two books lay on the table. One open, and one closed. “Is this the final one?”
She had been all over the house, and this was the last room left. With trembling fingers, she picked up the closed book, and a single sketch slipped from its pages.
A charcoal drawing of her, Phoebe and Theodore. He had his arms around them both, a smile across his face that was so broad it made her heart break. They had mud spattered across their faces, and Theodore had a grass stain visible on his shirt.
Behind them, were discarded pall mall mallets and a collection of balls. Harriet traced the lines of the drawing, closing her eyes. She could smell the air, the crispness of it, the grass and the mud. She could hear Phoebe’s giggles, feel the deep boom of Theodore’s laugh in her chest.
She opened her eyes, drinking in the face she knew so well. Theodore’s sharp jaw line, his smile that pulled at her heart like a magnet.
It was her family. The family she had always wanted, her and Theodore and Phoebe. He wanted a family.But not more than that.
She stared at the sketch, her mind racing.What does this mean?She reached for the book lying open and discarded on Theodore’s desk. It was more to distract herself than anything else, but when she recognized the cover, her confusion deepened.
It was her copy of Much Ado About Nothing. The cover needed replacing, she could see signs of wear and tear all over it. Shepicked up the book, her breath catching. There was nothing beneath it.
She shook it gently, but nothing fell from it. “Why is it here?”
Disappointment mingled with confusion and something sharper and brighter. She tried to puzzle out the meaning of everything as her eyes skimmed the page.
“Perhaps he was just reading.” She turned the play over, wondering where he had got to. “But why read my copy? I suppose he may not have his own, it is not one of the more serious plays after all.”
Though she had filled the libraries with more interesting works since coming to Irondale hall, it felt like a lifetime ago. Her eyes scanned the page and she blinked.
She recognized the scene as soon as she saw it. It was one of her favorites. It was right before Benedick went to duel Claudio to prove his love for Beatrice, towards the end of the play. She smiled as she read it, her fingers lingering over the note she had scribbled many years before.
Flaws not perfection.
How wonderful to be loved for your imperfections, not in spite of them.Harriet still held the sketches in her hand, her eyes drifting to them.
She had read the entire play so often, she could recite it from memory. She looked back at the page. The scene played out in her mind, and as she reached the part where she had made the note, she spoke the lines aloud. “And I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me.”
“For them all together.” A deep voice said from behind her as the smell of cedar and musk filled the room.
She whirled around, the play falling from her grip as she clutched the sketches she had found to her chest. Theodore stood in the doorway, his face flushed and his hair windswept.
He was still wearing his riding clothes, with mud spattered across him. He paused, his eyes searching her face as though he could not really believe she was standing there.
Harriet realized that her own mouth was open, and snapped it shut. “I did not know you were an artist.”
Theodore took a step towards her. “I am not.”
“These would say otherwise.” Harriet waved the sheets she was clutching. “They are… They are beautiful. All of them.”
“There is one missing.” Theodore took another step towards her. “I did not get a chance to put it in a book – I heard you were hurt and well… After our conversation… But I kept it, and I could not bear to put the others away.”
He tapped his left breast pocket, his fingers reaching in and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He held it out to her. She took it from him, the brush of her fingers against his barely registering through the haze in her mind.
She could barely hear over the sound of her heart and blood thundering around her body. She was surprised her fingers were not shaking as she unfolded the paper.
It was another drawing of a family, but this time, it was not just Theodore, Phoebe and Harriet. There were children beside them, and a baby in her arms. Her heart beat once. Twice. She could not look away.
“It is our family.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it pulled her attention to him as though he had reached over and cupped her chin in his hand.
“I do not understand.” She was not sure if she had spoken or only thought the words, until he shrugged off his coat and answered. “Let me explain.”
CHAPTER 30
