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He found Belinda on the stairs, presumably on her way to her chambers.
“There you are,” she said happily. “We were looking for you.”
He smiled down at her. “I am here now. Did you have a pleasant time at the ball?”
“We certainly did. I wish you had joined us,” she said wistfully.
Guilt gnawed at him. “Where is Bridget?”
“I left her in the blue salon. The one that no one enters. Did she tell you that she wishes to turn it into a morning room?”
“No, she did not.” He had not given her the chance to.
“Well, ask her. I am sure she will be happy to share her thoughts with you.” Belinda gave his arm a light pat. “Good night, Harry.”
“Sleep well, Aunty,” he replied abstractedly, his legs already carrying him to Bridget. He dreaded the disappointment he was sure he would find in her eyes, yet he anticipated her company.
They were becoming friends, every moment he spent with her was more enjoyable than he ever thought, and he had ruined it. He hoped she would forgive him and grant him another chance to be the husband he ought to be.
The salon door was ajar, and Cato entered before him, barking excitedly. Harry was glad of it because it gave him the chance to assess her mood. He pushed open the door to see her kneeling on the rug by a sofa with Cato in her arms. He felt something tender in his chest as he watched them, and a smile formed on his lips.
Cato barked in his direction, drawing her eyes up. Harry held his breath and waited for her to speak or react first. The room was well lit, and he could see her eyes sparkle with something…Defiance?No, indignation.He deserved her ire.
Slowly, she rose to her feet, giving him a full view of how lovely she looked in a dark green velvet dress. Of course, the consequence of gazing at her was the awakening of his need, and it took nearly all of his willpower to remain where he was and not sweep her up into his arms and kiss her until she could not breathe.
“Bridget,” he murmured, tentatively stepping toward her. “How was your evening?”
“It was quite well,” she replied, her voice sounding brittle, vulnerable.
“Did something happen at the ball?” he asked, covering the distance between them.
“No, I only wish you had come with me.”
“Bridget, you know why I could not,” he excused.
She shook her head, her small shoulders stiffening. “No, I do not. You do not tell me anything, Harry.”
Her words formed spikes around him. They were true. She likely would not have known that his second name was Cornelius if the vicar had not said it at their wedding. The woman he had vowed to protect truly knew nothing. How could she trust him if he remained silent?
“Ask me what you wish to know,” he offered.
She sat on the sofa and looked up at him, the ire in her eyes dissolving into sympathy. Her hand moved to pat the seat beside her. Harry did not hesitate to sit.
“Tell me more about the tenants,” she said, astonishing him. He thought she would ask him about his wound or worse, the horrors he had seen at Salamanca.
“My father increased their rent three times when he was alive to fund his gambling habits,” he began, his eye holding hers. “He allowed everything to fall into disrepair, both at Grayfield and the fields the tenants worked. After his death, I decreased the rent significantly but doing more would ruin the fortune I am trying to save. Once the brewery is in production, I will ensure their rates are what they can afford.”
“I recall you departing quickly the afternoon we were called from the garden. Did something happen at the brewery?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Someone damaged the new barrels we acquired rendering them unusable.”
Her eyes shadowed with worry. “Do you know who it is?”
He shook his head. “My father had many enemies. There was a squire, Carlton, that was owed a good sum. He offered one of his daughters for me to marry but I refused.” Her lips curved slightly at that. “What are you thinking?” He gently nudged her shoulder.
“Why do you suppose I am thinking of something?” she returned, humor sparkling in her eyes now.
“You smiled.”
