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“At this time?”
“Obviously my timing was impeccable, as you were awake, merely downstairs…with the doctor.” Her face was very serious, akin to her mama’s, and instantly fear rushed through me. I did not know what to say or what she knew and so she went on. “When I could not find you, I went downstairs and saw you enter the drawing room with Dr. Darrington…alone. Verity, what—”
“It is not as you think!” I said quickly, turning to her.
“What else could I think? What else could anyone think? You were alone with a man—”
“A doctor,” I said, holding the vial for her to see. So much for my secret. It appeared that I was just freely speaking to anyone about it now. Fortunately, Hathor’s shoulders relaxed and her honey eyes gentled.
“Is this for your nightmares?”
“Yes.” To think I would admit it not once but twice tonight. I had told Theodore…because I truly wished to see if the look in his eyes would change once I told him. Would he use that as an excuse to reject me? Instead, his eyes had been unchanged. Everyone always looked to me with shame or pity; even Hathor’s expression had softened sorrowfully at the vial in my hands. But not him.
“I shall not press, but you ought to be careful. Misunderstandings come about quite easily,” she said as she sat upon the bed. I was starting to wonder how often her sister Aphrodite had been subjected to this behavior.
“Yes, I know,” I replied, moving to lie next to her…at least knowing she’d distract me from…the feelings I had.
“Lord Hardinge is a kind man,” Hathor said suddenly, lying back and staring up to the ceiling.
“I do not know him, but he seems to be a jolly fellow.”
“Yes, but not just that. Years ago, when he first met his wife, Lady Jane, it is said that he fell madly in love with her at first sight. But he was not sure she had taken a liking to him. He knew she liked gardenia flowers, so he had some sent secretly to her house with poems.”
“He is a poet?”
“Papa says he badly wished he was, but he does not have the skill. Instead, he searched our library and copied all the world’s greatest poetry to send to her. That’s how he and Papa became such good friends. When he ran out of the poems he knew of, he came to Papa, asking for any other books. And nothing excites my papa more than a quest for literature. Papa had the best books from India, Asia, and the whole continent of Africa.”
“How many languages does your father know?”
“Eight, I think, but he did not translate them himself. He sought other scholars, and then Lord Bolen soon joined in to help.”
“Wait”—I turned to look at her—“how long did he send her poems?”
“A year.” A smile spread across Hathor’s face. “Three hundred and sixty-five poems and flowers. It would have continued had it not been for Mama.”
“What did she do?”
“She spoke to Lady Jane.”
“Why?” I frowned. “It was not her secret to tell.”
“The only person who seemed to believe it was unknown was Lord Hardinge. No secret can be kept in the ton for long, especially with the parade of flowers and letters arriving at Lady Jane’s door.”
“So, Lady Jane already knew?”
“Yes, and she liked him but could not bring herself to say anything in return.”
“Why?”
“Because years prior, she was in a riding accident, one many said she had been lucky to survive, but her injuries meant that she might not have children. Lord Hardinge had no other relatives but a distant aunt.”
Now I understood. “She thought it cruel to marry him and, thus, end his family line.”
“Yes, which is why Mama went to speak with her. She told her that it was cruel to let him continue on as he was and that, at the very least, she should tell him the truth,” Hathor said. “So, Lady Jane did, and guess what Lord Hardinge said to her in return.”
“I assume he asked her to marry him, seeing as how she became his wife.”
“He told her, ‘You, as you are, no more, no less, is all I have ever dreamed of.’ They wed not even a month later.”
“And later, they were able to have a child.” For a brief moment, I was pleased knowing they had gotten their own happily ever after. But no sooner had I thought it than I remembered Lady Jane had passed, and Lord Hardinge was profoundly ill in bed within this very house.
“Yes. He was heartbroken when she died, in utter misery when he came here, sobbing as I had never seen a grown man sob, and…And I knew it was wrong, but when I saw him weeping that day, I remember thinking, ‘I hope my husband loves me exactly like this.’?”
