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Later that day, when luncheon was finished and Harriet gone, the duke and duchess took another stroll through the Ferrington Hall gardens. “What do you think?” she asked him.
“Ferrington is smitten,” the duke replied. “I have no doubt about that.”
She nodded.
“About your friend, I’m not so sure.”
“You don’t think she likes him? I thought she did, but…” The duchess bit her lower lip. “There is some constraint there.”
He nodded this time.
“I don’t understand it. I would have said they were perfectly suited.”
“You know her far better than I do,” he said. “But to me, she seemed just slightly…furtive. Perhaps guilty?”
“About what?”
“I have no idea. And as I said, you know her better.”
His wife frowned. “Could it be because I caught them kissing? Twice?”
“Is Miss Finch so straitlaced?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so. Besides, they are engaged. A kiss is not a scandal now.” She shook her head, perplexed.
“Is this really your affair?” the duke asked gently.
She had to admit it might not be any of her business. “But I want Harriet to be happy,” she replied. “As happy as I am.”
“Is that possible?” he teased.
He got the smile he’d hoped for. “Do you imagine we are unique?” she asked.
“My imagination is fertile,” he suggested. He met her eyes and held them. “Shall we go in?”
A bit breathlessly, she agreed.
Twelve
No magical solution occurred to Harriet as the first banns loomed closer. When she tried to think about how to approach Ferrington, her brain veered off into memories of those melting kisses. A sly inner voice repeated the temptation—she should simply marry the man. Why not? Parts of her thought it a fine idea. They were not parts she knew well or fully trusted, however.
One sad irony was she’d established a new harmony in her home. The relief was considerable and the idea of losing it hard to contemplate. Her mother was bubbling with good humor and had not asked for the laudanum since the engagement was announced, a heartening sign that she was not too dependent. Harriet’s grandfather remained jovial at the dinner table. He hardly barked out any contemptuous criticisms these days. This was partly because he directed his ire at the workmen constructing Winstead Hall’s new wing. His increasingly grandiose plans for a celebratory ball were held back by the lack of a ballroom, and he was driving the carpenters to complete it. This outlet for his impatience was a boon for Harriet and her mother, if not for the workers.
And so, in this increasing muddle, they somehow came to the day set for Charlotte and Sarah to arrive for their visit. For weeks, Harriet had looked forward to seeing her old friends. Now she was worried they would think ill of her. No, that was silly. They never had and never would. But they would certainly be surprised at the state of things. Which they would ferret out down to the least detail. She had no doubt about that.
The post chaise came in good time, and the visitors stepped down in a flutter of ruffled skirts and merry greetings. Harriet felt something ease deep inside when she saw their smiling faces. These two—along with Ada Grandison—had been drawn to Harriet by common interests and lively curiosity in their first year at school, at age thirteen. Unlike many of the other girls there, they had not disdained her poverty. They didn’t care that Harriet paid for her schooling with household chores and teaching younger, slower students. Their steady friendship had helped Harriet endure the many little slights and disparaging remarks thrown her way, and even the school’s dancing master’s disgusting little compliments, whispered inherear because she was poor and powerless. They had become her extended family when Harriet had no one but her mother. Together, the four of them had discovered a love of solving mysteries and had a number of successes. Indeed, they had helped uncover an ancient lost treasure and made Ada’s happy marriage to her indigent duke possible. It was a delight to have them with her.
Here was Sarah, a smiling, round little person with sandy hair, pale brows and eyelashes, and a sprinkling of freckles. Sarah’s light-blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her head was full of esoteric bits of knowledge gleaned from constant reading. She was a scholar and a peacemaker, and her even temperament was always a comfort.
Beside her, Charlotte was much taller, her stature made more pronounced by a slender frame. She had black hair, pale skin, a sharp, dark gaze, and was the most methodical person Harriet had ever known. Charlotte could draw charts that reduced the knottiest problem to precise order. She also cut roast beef into precise bits, all the same size, before eating them. There was a constant edge of dispassionate analysis in those eyes.
“It’s been such an age since we saw you,” exclaimed Sarah.
These summer weeks had been both like and unlike the school holidays. They’d come back together after being separated. But the reunion was not really the same. The absences would only increase as they established themselves. Ada was already gone. The others would soon follow into whatever fate life brought them. But they were here now, and Harriet was very glad. “Come in and say hello to Mama,” she said. “Grandfather is occupied, but you will see him at dinner.”
They exchanged looks that perfectly conveyed their mixed attitude toward Mr. Winstead. Harriet loved how much they could say without words and the similarity of their opinions.
