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It was a gross understatement, considering the circumstances. Arabella, no matter how she’d told Mrs. Jenkins it had come about, was in a state of disgrace. For Mrs. Jenkins to allow her young, innocent daughter to fraternize with “soiled goods” was beyond the pale, even as close as they were.
“She gets so lonely down there with none but old Mrs. Whipple for company,” continued Mrs. Jenkins. “I always tell Katie to stay until they’re finished eating—so as to bring back the dishes to be washed, you see.” She winked. “I know the master said to leave her be, but it just ain’t right for a young girl to have no one at all to talk to.”
Something of Harriett’s concern regarding the statement must have shown on her face, for Mrs. Jenkins raised her chin. “Bella hasn’t breathed a word to my Katie about how...” The color in her face deepened, and she cleared her throat. “Well, she promised me she wouldn’t, and I know she’s kept her word. She’s a good girl, our Bella. Such a tragedy...”
Harriett relaxed. “Your kindness is most appreciated, Mrs. Jenkins. And know, too, that I and the rest of my family join you in wishing swift justice upon the one who committed the crime,” she added before the suspicious sniffles issuing from the woman’s bent head could grow into anything more dramatic.
Mrs. Jenkins’ looked up again, fire flaring in her moist eyes. “She won’t even speak the devil’s name, poor child. Oh, I do hope they catch the blackguard, m’lady! Tyburn’s probably too good for the likes, but I hope they hang the scoundrel high, just the same.”
“I’m sure they will,” Harriett agreed, despite knowing otherwise. It was definitely time to move on to another subject. “The hour is late, but I do hope there is still something left to eat. I had Mary pack me a hamper this morning, but I’d like something more substantial now.”
“Bless me, where are my manners!” exclaimed the housekeeper, clapping a hand to her already skewed cap. “You come right with me this instant. Mrs. Bask made a lovely stew today. It’s still hot in the pot, and I know she baked several loaves of bread this morning. It’s nothing fancy, mind, but it’ll fill your belly right enough. I’ll see to it whilst Jeremy fetches your things and our Katie heats some water. You’ll want a bath after your long journey.”
“That sounds heavenly,” Harriett replied with a sigh. Hot water would indeed be most welcome, and not exclusively for its cleansing properties. The soreness between her legs was such that every step was a trial.
Mrs. Jenkins beamed. “We’ll have everything ready for you before you can blink. Do you want to be served in the dining room or—”
“Oh, heavens no,” Harriett answered, laughing. “There is no need to go to such trouble. I’ll take my meals in the kitchen while I’m here.”
The smile on Mrs. Jenkins’ face broadened a bit further. “We’ve missed you, m’lady. I know my Katie has missed Lady Catherine summat awful. You’ll have to tell us all the news from London.”
As she followed Mrs. Jenkins, Harriett marked that not much appeared to have changed since the last time she’d been here, two years ago. In a way, it was comforting. It was also just a bit sad. Once it rented, everything would be changed to suit the new tenants’ tastes.
The kitchen was warm and inviting, as always. The food was delicious if simple, and the company most welcome. Harriett felt terrible about not going at once to see Arabella, but it was already full dark and the lake house was some distance away down the hill. It would have to wait until morning. She’d take her sister breakfast and surprise her.
Feeling much improved after her supper, she went upstairs to find her room all in order as promised. The bed had been made and turned down, and its warming pan could be found heating up in the hearth. Despite the impending advent of summer, the nights were still quite chilly.
Two footmen bearing an oaken tub came in a few minutes later, followed by several maids carrying buckets of steaming bathwater.
The bath eased Harriett’s travel-weary limbs, as well as her tender nether parts. For the first time since arriving, she allowed herself to think of Roland. He wasn’t “Manchester” to her anymore. He never would be again, not after...
A pang of desire stabbed through her, and her cheeks grew hot. Mentally scolding herself, she dipped a cup of icy water from the side bucket and dashed it across her chest. The chill shock of it did nothing to assuage the heat and longing that had come alive within her.
Cursing under her breath, she rose and dried off roughly, refusing to give in to the temptation to run hands across too sensitive skin. Skin that missed a touch it should never have felt. The memory of his caresses was enough to make her shudder with want, to yearn again for fulfillment.
Shamed that she should be thinking such things, Harriett crammed her nightgown down over her head. The bed warmer was still there beside the fire; however, she didn’t bother using it. Instead, she flung herself on the bed and slipped between the cold sheets with a gasp, hoping the chill would douse the fire in her flesh much as she now doused the lamp on her bedside table.
It didn’t. Tired and frustrated, Harriett lay awake staring at the ceiling and wondering how in heaven’s name she was going to manage marrying Russell. She had to do it, especially now she’d told Papa about his offer. Especially now she’d committed almost as terrible an error in judgment as Arabella.
A terrifying thought surfaced, a thought that in the rush of her flight from London had not even occurred to her until this very moment. What if I am with child?
Frantic, she began counting back, ticking off the days on shaking fingers. Two weeks. She would know within two weeks. If her menses did not arrive by then, she would know all was lost. There would be no choice but for her to go to Papa, tell him the truth, and have him approach Roland on her behalf.
Would he remember their encounter? If not, she would be required to prove it had happened. But how?
How could I be so reckless? For her to have repeated history without paying attention to its lessons—especially with a prime example of error so close at hand—was insanity! She sighed and felt the rise and fall of the shuddering breath beneath her hand, which had drifted down to rest upon her belly. It was as flat as it had ever been, but she knew all too well how quickly that could change and how it would change everything in her life along with it. Prospects, plans, friendships—everything.
Her eyes smarted and she swiped at them, angry with herself. Self-castigation, no matter how well-deserved, would do no good. What was done was done, and there was no going back. If she was with child, she would have to find a way to become Lady Manchester. If she was not, then she would have a great deal to explain to Russell. There would be little choice but to tell him she and…
William.
She would say it had been William’s doing. It would besmirch his honor, but it was better than the truth. Another shudder ran through her and hot, silent tears welled, spilling down her cheeks and into her hair. She couldn’t bear to think of William now. He’d been so good and kind. But had she ever truly loved him? She’d thought she had, but now she wondered.
Of a certainty, she loved Roland. But he doesn’t love me. Unless there was a child, she would have to marry someone else. She hated it, but what other choice was there? If she did not marry, Cat would be required to take in Arabella.
That left Harriett with Elizabeth and Oxenden. The thought made her stomach turn. She didn’t think she could stand to live under the same roof with the bastard, if he would even allow it.
Her tired mind began to wander, and she let it. What was Roland doing now? Had he gone home last night? Did he remember anything? If he did—and if there was no child—it would make things extremely difficult. Would he keep quiet?
