Page 14 of Their Wildest Dreams

“Remain here until I know what he wants,” Benedict said, reaching for the door. The words left him with the crispness of an order before he could soften them.

Harriet's expression hardened at once. “That sounded remarkably like an order, and we have been married less than three hours. If this is an indication of the authority you intend to exercise, our first quarrel as husband and wife may be regrettably public.”

“It was a request made badly. I would prefer not to have Selby's man use the public road as an opportunity to insult you.”

“Then you should allow me to hear the insult. It is exceedingly difficult to answer words one has been protected from hearing.” She reached for the door before the footman could open it from outside. “You promised I would know anything that concerned the estate.”

Benedict descended first and turned to help her. Crane removed his hat, though there was little respect in the gesture.

“Viscount Everton… Viscountess.” His use of her new title sounded pointed. “Sir Thomas instructed me to deliver this to Lord Alderley. As I was informed he is still entertaining guests, I hoped you might see it placed in his hands.”

He offered a sealed paper. Benedict took it but did not open it. Harriet watched the exchange, waiting. He could have told her it was nothing and sent her into the carriage. He could have read it first and decided what portion she ought to know.

He handed it to her.

Crane's brows rose. Harriet broke the seal.

“This acknowledges receipt of payment,” Harriet said after reading, “while reserving Sir Thomas's right to challenge the transfer if any defect is discovered in the discharge. As his solicitor accepted the funds and surrendered the notes, I cannot imagine what defect he expects to find.”

“Sir Thomas believes the transaction was concluded with unseemly haste,” Crane replied. “He wishes only to ensure that every requirement of the original agreement has been honored.”

“Then Sir Thomas may instruct his solicitor to search for one.” Harriet folded the paper. “You may also tell him that all future communication regarding the eastern acreage is to be addressed jointly to my husband and to myself—jointly.”

Crane looked to Benedict, plainly expecting correction. Benedict met the man's gaze. “My wife has given you our answer. If Sir Thomas requires it repeated in a gentleman's hand before he is capable of understanding it, I will oblige him, but I cannot promise the wording will be as courteous.”

The man bowed and rode away.

Harriet remained beside the carriage, the paper held in her bare hand. “You gave it to me. You did not even break the seal first.” Surprise, not gratitude, gave the statement its weight.

“The paper concerns your land, and we agreed there would be no convenient omissions between us. I assumed that included notices delivered on public roads by unpleasant men.”

Something in her face softened. Benedict was not certain whether it was gratitude or simple surprise. Either affected him more than it should have.

“Come,” he said, offering his hand. “Let us go home.”

Harriet looked toward Denham Park. She’d been a guest there many times, but that was not how she would enter it that day. Then she placed her hand in his. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Let us.”

Chapter

Five

Harriet had slept at Denham Park many times as a child. She had occupied a cheerful bedchamber in the west wing, shared blankets with her sister during winter visits and once hidden beneath Benedict's bed after breaking a drawing room window with a cricket ball. But this was not the room Benedict had occupied as a child. These were most definitely the chambers of a man and not a boy. Deep blue damask covered the bed and the walls. An Aubusson carpet of blue and gold covered the cool wooden floor. And all of the furniture was a deeply polished mahogany with only the barest hint of gilding. It was definitely a masculine space and one that immediately created an awareness of how out of place she was.

A fire burned in the grate. Her trunks were all stacked in a corner waiting to be unpacked by the bevy of maids who scurried about the room. Not wishing to be in their way, Harriet moved toward the far side of the room, far from the wardrobes and the door to Benedict’s dressing chamber. She found herself at a writing desk which stood near the windows overlooking the eastern fields. Through the window, she could just see the wisps of smoke rising from Alderley’s chimneys. Maps of Alderley and Denham had been placed in a cabinet beneath it.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a heavily wrapped frame. Lifting the thick padding that covered it, her breath caught at the sight of her mother’s face. The portrait had been hidden away since her mother’s demise, her father unable to look at it.

Mrs. Mercer glanced over from the dressing table, where she was arranging Harriet's brushes. “His lordship had it sent ahead along with the maps and the books you were forever carrying into the estate room. He reckoned it would make you feel more at home to have it here.”

Harriet traced the worn wood with her fingertips. She wished Benedict had not said anything so thoughtful. Gratitude was difficult enough to manage when he was not present; when she faced him later, it would leave her dangerously undefended. “He notices too much. I had always believed him indifferent to anything that did not involve a horse, a ledger or his own opinion.”

“That is not generally considered a failing in a husband. But a few thoughtful gestures in the first bloom of a marriage is not a guarantee of happiness, my child. Be cautious with your heart, my lady. It is more tender than you realize,” Mrs. Mercer closed the jewelry box and regarded Harriet in the mirror.

Harriet was stunned at Mrs. Mercer’s cynicism. And her insightfulness. “You have known him for less than one day as my husband. You cannot possibly have formed a reliable judgment of him in the role.”

“I have known him since he was a boy, and I knew you before you learned to climb out of your cradle. That entitles me to an opinion upon both of you, although neither of you has ever shown the sense to ask for it. He’s a fine man, and you are a wonderful girl whose sharp tongue does little to conceal your soft heart… But men, even the best of them, can often disappoint, ” Mrs. Mercer warned as she went to the dressing room door. “Lady Denham sent word that dinner may be served here if you prefer a quiet evening after the wedding.”

“Lady Denham is still mistress of this house. I would not have her think I mean to hide in my apartments on my first evening beneath her roof.”