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“Threat?”
“Well, the last time I saw Lord Ferrington, he was extremely angry and wanted to end the engagement himself. So he wouldn’t want to be pushed by the posting of banns.”
The words were like a blow. “Is that how he seemed to you?”
“Of course. How else would he be?”
Charlotte’s famous bluntness could be unwelcome, Harriet observed.
“I thought he was surprised,” said Sarah.
“Hewas?” said Charlotte. “He popped back into the room like a jack-in-the-box. Ha, he calls himself Jack, does he not?”
“And hurt,” Sarah added, ignoring the jest. “Which he had some right to be, perhaps.”
Harriet winced.
“Hedid?” said Charlotte.
“Stop sayingheas if it referred to some bizarre, alien creature,” said Harriet.
“Perhaps it does.”
“I wish you would stop quizzing me, Charlotte.”
“I won’t.”
“Because you are determined to be annoying.”
“No, because you are one of my dearest friends, Harriet, and I care about you. Also, I know you rather well, and I can see you are not telling us everything.”
“I don’t have to tell you everything,” Harriet retorted.
“Very true. You have a right to your secrets. I want to help, however.”
Sarah nodded in agreement.
“And we can’t do that if we don’t know what it is you really want,” Charlotte finished.
And wouldn’t it be nice if she had the least idea? As she shook her head, Harriet realized she was very glad she was still engaged. She shouldn’t be, perhaps. But she was. She decided to keep that inconvenient fact to herself.
Fifteen
Completion of the ballroom sent Harriet’s grandfather into a frenzy of planning for his grand ball. He wanted everything done at once and made no allowances for timing in invitations. He seemed to think he could summon the entire neighborhood for one week hence and have them all fall into line. Irritatingly, he appeared to be right. Acceptances flowed in, lured perhaps by the promise of a duke and duchess in attendance. Her grandfather reveled in what he deemed his social success and harried the servants at Winstead Hall from task to task, contributing more to disorganization than to accomplishments, in Harriet’s opinion. He didn’t seem to know Ferrington was away, and no one mentioned it to him. It was not as if he cared to hear anyone’s voice but his own.
Whenever she could get away, Harriet took to walking in the woods alone. It was a relief to be away from her grandfather’s manic gloating and her friends’ constant concern. There was peace among the trees, though each turn of the path reminded her of happier days here with Jack the Rogue. Where had he gone?
As she returned to Winstead Hall on the third day of Ferrington’s absence, Charlotte and Sarah pounced on Harriet in the garden. “There you are!” said Charlotte.
“We’ve been looking everywhere,” said Sarah. “Where were you?”
“Walking. Is something wrong?” She had thought her friends were sitting with her mother, who had sensed Harriet’s turmoil and reacted to it. “What is Mama doing?”
“Sorting her embroidery silks,” replied Sarah. “She told us to go and enjoy ourselves.”
Mama had found solace in her workbasket many times over the years. So this was welcome news. But her mother’s restored equilibrium had come at the price of so many new problems that Harriet had not foreseen. Was life to be like this? Did the actions one took to mend matters inevitably cause more trouble?
“How are you feeling?” asked Sarah.
