Page 10 of Their Wildest Dreams

At length, Selby bowed to her. “You must permit me to offer my felicitations, Miss Aldridge The match is an admirable one and provides a most fortunate resolution to your father's difficulties.”

There was insult in the words, neatly concealed. Harriet felt Benedict's attention shift toward her, but she did not require rescue from a veiled slight.

“For Denham as well,” she replied. “The eastern land will remain intact, the water rights protected and improvements made before spring planting. Everyone benefits save the person who intended to profit from its decline.”

Her father uttered her name in warning. Selby's smile did not alter.

“You have always possessed a lively understanding of matters beyond the usual concerns of young ladies,” Selby said. “One might almost suppose Lord Alderley trained you to be his steward rather than prepared you to become another gentleman's wife.”

“There is nothing extraordinary in possessing an interest in one's home. I should think it stranger if I had lived my entire life at Alderley without caring whether its tenants were secure or its fields properly managed.”

“But it will not be your home much longer, will it?” Selby delivered the question gently, as though offering sympathy rather than pressing a blade into the most vulnerable part of her. “Whatever provisions are made for the land, you will naturally reside here after the marriage. I hope you find the exchange a comfortable one.”

The words struck harder than Harriet wished them to. Alderley would belong to whatever distant relative could be found to inherit the viscounty, but she would live at Denham. Her rooms, her routines and the small freedoms she had carved out beneath her father's roof would be gone. Selby saw that he had wounded her. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes.

Benedict stepped beside her. He did not touch her again, but his nearness felt like a declaration. “The eastern acreage will be settled upon Harriet. She will oversee its management with me and will be consulted upon every decision affecting it. I advise you to address your questions to its future holder.”

Selby's expression cooled. “The land remains pledged to me until Lord Alderley's debt is paid in full. However generous the proposed settlement may be, it cannot convey property he may no longer possess by the end of the week.”

“Then it is fortunate that the debt will be discharged tomorrow.” Benedict's voice was quiet, but there was nothing yielding in it. “My father's solicitor will meet yours at eleven with the entire sum. Once the notes have been surrendered, you will have no further claim upon Alderley or any portion of it.”

For several seconds, Selby said nothing. His gaze moved from Benedict to Harriet and remained there. She had thought his interest merely that of a man watching a plan fail. Now there was something more personal in it. Resentment, certainly, but beneath it an assessment that made her skin prickle.

“Then I have intruded for no purpose,” he said. “Again, my apologies.” He bowed first to Lady Denham and then to Harriet. “I wish you every happiness, Miss Aldridge.”

The lie was polished enough for any drawing room. Harriet watched him leave and did not breathe easily until the door closed behind him.

“Well,” Lady Denham said into the silence, “I believe dinner is ready.”

No one had much appetite after that. Even as course after delectable course was presented, most of the food remained untouched. The meal proceeded because it had to, with both families discussing the wedding as if Selby's appearance had not cast a shadow over it. A special license could be obtained, but there was no need. The banns had not been read and the debt came due too soon for them to wait. A common license and a ceremony at the parish church in three days would suffice. Their parents would attend, as would Harriet's sister, the necessary witnesses and the vicar's wife, who could be trusted to make the event public before the ink in the register had dried.

Harriet contributed when asked. She did not require a grand wedding and had no wish for another season in London. Those losses did not pain her. It was the speed of it that made her feel unmoored. Three days in which to cease being Miss Harriet Aldridge, daughter of Viscount Alderley, and become the wife of Lord Benedict Denham, Viscount Everton. Three days in which to pack her belongings and determine which pieces of her life might be carried with her.

When the ladies withdrew, Harriet asked to be shown to the library. She had been there perhaps ten minutes when Benedict entered. He closed the door behind him but did not come farther into the room.

“You should have told me that the debt was to be paid tomorrow,” she said. Anger was easier to hold than the gratitude he had inspired earlier, and she seized it with relief. “I had no wish to learn the details of my family's salvation at the same moment as Sir Thomas Selby.”

Benedict's brows drew together. “I did not announce our plans for the pleasure of astonishing you. Selby challenged our ability to protect what will be yours, and I answered him. Had I permitted him to continue, he would have used every civil phrase at his disposal to remind you that Alderley was lost and that this marriage amounted to nothing more than a rescue.”

“I was perfectly capable of answering him myself. Indeed, I had done so before you decided to speak for me.” Harriet came around the desk, unwilling to conduct the argument with a piece of furniture between them. “You cannot promise me a voice in one breath and then use the next to settle every matter before I am aware it has arisen.”

Impatience flashed across his face, but it did not find its way into his reply. He looked toward the fire, drew a slow breath and said, “You are right.”

His agreement halted her. Harriet had expected another argument and had prepared accordingly. “Is it?”

“I should have told you as soon as the payment was arranged. I did not because the details appeared tedious and because there was no decision left for you to make. It was precisely the sort of assumption I promised yesterday that I would not make on your behalf.” He came toward her then, stopping on the opposite side of the desk. The words seemed to cost him more than he intended her to know. “I am sorry, Harriet.”

Harriet stared at him. Benedict did not offer apologies easily, largely because he took such care to avoid requiring them. “You cannot simply agree with me. It is very disconcerting.”

“I shall endeavor to be more obstinate in future. Given the extent of my natural gifts, I do not anticipate any difficulty.”

Harriet's lips threatened to curve. “You need not exert yourself. Obstinacy has always appeared to be your natural tendency. That and arrogance.”

For a moment, amusement softened his face. Then his gaze lowered to the documents she had brought from the drawing room. “There are other matters we should settle before Thursday.”

Harriet lifted the folded sheet from the desk. “I have made a list. It seemed wiser to decide what we expect of one another before the vows make every misunderstanding considerably more difficult to escape.”

“Of course you have.” Benedict's gaze rested upon the page with resignation tempered by amusement. “I begin to suspect that, if given sufficient time, you would reduce the whole of matrimony to one of your blasted lists.”