Page 47 of To Wager with Love

Well, let them try. The thought was raw and savage, and she knew she’d made her decision. She would marry Jasper, and pray it didn’t end in tears. It was all she could do, for she could not bring herself to walk away from him. If she did, she would always wonder what if and that would make her more miserable than anything else. If their marriage failed, at least she’d know she’d tried, and she’d always have her work, and maybe there would be children too.

Harriet smoothed a hand over her belly and looked down, wondering if even now his seed was growing inside of her. She looked up, aware of eyes upon her, but Minerva and Matilda were both dozing as the carriage made its way back to Holbrooke House. Turning, she found Jasper staring down at her, such a soft look in his eyes as he regarded the hand that lay upon her stomach, she knew he’d guessed her train of thought. He reached over and took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingers.

“Harry, darling, you’re frozen,” he said, shaking his head.

He’d already stripped off his coat and put it around her shoulders, but now he put his arms about her and tugged her close.

“I’ll have a hot bath drawn for you as soon as we get in. Then, something to eat and a tot of brandy… and straight to bed,” he murmured in her ear, the words making her shiver harder. “And I’ll make sure you’re warm all the way through.”

“Jasper!” she whispered, scandalised that he should say such things with Minerva and Matilda in the carriage, even if they were asleep.

He chuckled and leant down to kiss her temple. “I love you.”

Harriet smiled up at him, longing to say the same in return, for she did, there was no point in denying it. Yet, it didn’t seem right to say the words now, not until she had seen Inigo and explained that she wouldn’t be marrying him. Once she was free of their engagement, she would tell Jasper that she loved him, that she had always loved him, and she always would, and then… then they would see where that led them.

As soon as they arrived home, Harriet rushed upstairs but asked her maid to delay the bath Jasper had ordered for her with regret. It sounded a wonderful idea, as she was chilled through and the headache that had plagued her all day was worsening steadily. Instead, she sent her maid off, asking that a carriage be readied for her at once. Harriet changed her sodden clothes, her skin prickling with gooseflesh even as she stood before the fire. Once she was dressed in warm clothes, she redid her hair as best she could and hurried back downstairs.

The weather had improved none in the time it had taken Harriet to change and rain hammered on the roof of the carriage, making her feel she was sitting on the inside of a drum. She closed her eyes against the din that did nothing to ease her aching head and tried to ignore the fact she was bone-weary and her throat was sore.

It was only a journey of half an hour to the inn where Inigo was staying, but the place was bustling. Outside, three carriages took up all the available space as they’d stopped as close to the entrance as possible to allow the guests to enter without getting drenched.

Harriet cursed; she had no choice but to make a run for it. She jumped down, and her feet were immediately soaked. The ground was saturated and the rain still fell heavily. Skirts in hand, she ran pell-mell for the door but, by the time she reached it, she was drenched to her shift for the second time that day. Shivering, she hurried inside and asked for Mr de Beauvoir.

The inn was so overrun with unexpected guests driven in by the terrible weather that it was a while before anyone found the man in question. When he appeared, he looked at Harriet in dismay.

“Miss Stanhope,” he exclaimed, looking her over. “My word, you’re wet through. Come into the parlour before you catch your death.”

Harriet did as he asked, grateful to stand and warm her hands by the fire; they were blue with cold and she felt quite unwell now. “I’m s-sorry to arrive unannounced like this,” she stammered through chattering teeth, “but I had to speak with you.”

“Well, it must be urgent to bring you out on a night like this,” he said, shaking his head.

“It is,” Harriet agreed. “I felt I must tell you at once that… that I intend to marry Lord St Clair.”

“Ah.”

Harriet let out a sigh as he smiled at her. Thank goodness he wasn’t angry.

“Well, then let me be the first to congratulate you.”

“You’re not upset?” she asked, relief washing through her.

“Well, I am disappointed, naturally. But we are friends I hope, Miss Stanhope, and I see no reason for that to change?”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Harriet said, pushing her wet hair from her forehead. “I just… I felt I must tell you at once. It seemed wrong otherwise.”

“I quite understand. He’s a very handsome and charming man, not to mention titled and rich. Any woman would be tempted, I’m sure.”

Harriet stared at him, suddenly rather angry, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. Jasper was all those things, but that wasn’t why she loved him. In some ways she loved him despite those things, as his beauty and charm terrified her the most, and made her fear she would lose him in the end.

“That’s not….” she began, shaking her head as her brain seemed suddenly full of fog. “That’s not why,” she said, determined to get her point across. “I love him. I always have. Ever since we were children. He says it’s the same for him, too.” She smiled at Inigo’s bemused expression and her anger faded as she realised he didn’t understand. “I think you are without a doubt the most brilliant man I have ever known. However, even brilliant men make mistakes. You are wrong about love, Inigo. There is far more to it than you suppose. I hope you discover that for yourself one day.”

His bemusement turned to a frown, and he shook his head, the movement curt and decisive. “I have no time for such fancies. My love—if there is such a thing—is for my work alone. You understood that which was why our arrangement suited me. There is no space in my life for a romantic attachment, certainly not for love, even if I acknowledged such a sentiment. I could certainly never love a woman who was not my intellectual equal. What a pitiful excuse for a husband I would make if I even tried, which I have no desire to do. It would be a cruel thing to marry a woman who had no interest in my work and was destined to be ignored, as she would always come second to it. No. If you have any kindness for me at all, you would do well to wish me to find a likeminded lady, whose passions are reserved for science, or to remain a bachelor, content with his lot.”

“As you like, Inigo,” Harriet said with a smile. She was feeling a little dazed now and not altogether as though she could remain standing much longer. “I’d best leave you now, before I’m missed.”

“Yes, you must get home and get warm, Miss Stanhope. Whilst I appreciate the sentiment, I cannot help but feel you would have done better not to have come. You don’t look terribly well.”

Harriet nodded and mumbled something, she wasn’t entirely sure what, and then waited while Inigo searched for an umbrella so she didn’t get even wetter on her return to the carriage. Once inside, Harriet put her head back against the squabs. She felt distinctly odd, exhausted and cold to the bone, her body wracked with shivers. Succumbing to the desire to sleep, she slid down so she could lie across the seat and closed her eyes.