by Esther Hatch
Lord Farnsworth did.
How could one man be so drastically different from any other she had met?
Lord Farnsworth handed her back to Mr. Harrison, and the ballroom came back into focus. She was not boxing with Lord Farnsworth in the garden of Greenwood Manor; she was in London dancing with another man.
For the rest of the dance, she and Lord Farnsworth never again touched. They danced toward each other, but never again together. When Mr. Harrison’s hand went to her waist for the last time and they spun out of their quadrille formation and away from Lord Farnsworth, even though the space should have relaxed her, her breathing suddenly became short.
The dance ended and her whole body went weak. The edges of the room grew dark. Mr. Harrison’s hand about her waist was the only thing keeping her standing. His fingers dug into her flesh and his other arm grabbed her elbow. “You are fatigued.” His eyes were full of concern, but all she could do was blink back at him. She could not speak. “We will sit out the next dance. Let me get you some punch.”
The last thing she wanted was punch; her mind was hazy enough as it was. But she followed him to the refreshment table. He poured her a glass, but she didn’t even have the energy to lift her hand to take it.
What had happened to her? She was Sally Duncan. She didn’t have fits of the vapors, nor did she swoon over some man.
Mr. Harrison set the cup back down and glanced around the ballroom. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”
It was the first thing he had said that made sense to her. He steered her away from the table and whispered a few words to a servant, who pointed him in the direction of a doorway. In a few steps they were out of the ballroom and in a corridor. A few groups of people had made the same egress from the heat and noise. Mr. Harrison moved her until the corridor opened up to a small sitting area with four doors leading to rooms.
The seats were all taken by guests.
Cursing, Mr. Harrison strode to one of the doors and opened it. Sally peeked in. A library.
And it was empty.
Mr. Harrison, still helping her remain upright, propelled her into the room and dropped her onto a sofa. Even in her exhaustion she checked behind her. He had left the door wide open.
Mr. Harrison was a good man.
He didn’t like Victoria enough for her to marry him. But he was a basically decent human being. With that thought in her mind, she leaned her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes. Sally wanted nothing more than to lose herself in a few minutes of sleep. She had been dancing for hours—her chance meeting with Lord Farnsworth had taken her last grains of strength and she simply needed a moment’s peace to process it all.
Even with her eyes closed, she could hear Mr. Harrison pacing in front of her.
His footsteps stopped. “Should I call your mother?”
He should. But the last thing she wanted was to speak with Mama.
With great effort she lifted her head. “No, I am simply overtired, that is all. Thank you for allowing me to sit this dance out.”
“I didn’t feel that I had a choice. Not unless I wanted to carry you around the dance floor like a ragdoll.”
Sally scoffed. Mr. Harrison was jesting. She hadn’t thought he had a sense of humor. She smiled back at him. “You would have had to marry me then.”
Mr. Harrison stilled.
Sally rubbed her eyes and sat up straight. She needed her wits about her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that—”
“You broke off our engagement.” His jaw clenched.
“It was hardly an engagement. You didn’t even dare tell your father.”
“I told him last month.”
Sally suddenly felt very awake. She sat forward. “What? Why? We weren't even engaged last month. That was months after our broken engagement.”
Mr. Harrison dropped down on one knee, his face now level with her own. “Miss Duncan, I know there were misunderstandings during our previous engagement. I will tell you all. Then I hope you will give me another chance.”
“Mr. Harrison—”
“No, let me speak.” He cleared his throat. “As you know, I come from a long and proud line of ancestors. My sixth-great-grandfather was given the title of Baron Bridgewater, and we have lived prosperously from that time forward. But these last few years have proved hard on many old families. Times are changing and I knew—I could foresee—that our family needed to do something drastic to continue our long traditions.”
Something drastic? He meant marrying a merchant’s daughter—even worse, a merchant herself. Mr. Harrison was being sincere, but his sincerity was not moving her in the ways he hoped.
“Mr. Harrison—”
“I’m not finished. You see—I knew, but my father wouldn’t have understood, not when I first proposed to you, at least. But the last few months have changed him. He has come to understand exactly what our family needs. No matter your birth or even your sister being in the condition she is in. our family needs you. I need you. Miss Duncan...” He took her hand in his. “I ask you to be my wife. I will not hide it from anyone; we will tell my father straight away. I won’t ask you to put Victoria in a home. She can live with us. She can even be there when people visit.”
Sally’s stomach grew harder with each of his words. She pulled her hand away from his. “Ask me, then,” she said, her voice icy.
Mr. Harrison’s face beamed. “Miss Sally Duncan, will you consent to be my wife and the next Baroness Bridgewater, mother to our sons—” But not daughters. Why did he never, in all their talk of children, mention daughters? “—when the time comes?”
“No.”
His hand fell from where he had rested it on the sofa beside her. “No?”
“No, Mr. Harrison. You are going to have to find some other heiress to propose to—one with less pride than I have.”
“But…”
“I said no. There are plenty of women with money who want a title. I don’t want a title, and I don’t want to be married to a man who will sometimes let my sister be a part of our family.”
Mr. Harrison frowned. “That isn’t what I meant. That is the opposite of what I meant.”
“And what if I had a daughter? In all your talk of children you have only ever mentioned sons.”
“If we have a daughter, or daughters even, that is fine, I won’t blame you for it. There will be plenty of time for a son or two, even if we do happen to have daughters first.”
A flash of pale yellow fabric seemed to cover the outside edges of the room. Lord Farnsworth had wanted a daughter. He had never once said anything about heirs, or sons. He had looked at Sally, and seen small versions of her running about Greenwood Manor. He had planned for her, looked forward to her, hoped for her. He had bought her a dress made out of her grandfather’s fabric.
Sally shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t want to marry you regardless of anything you just said. Please, move on from this idea of yours and find another young lady.”
His head drooped and his shoulders sagged. He took in a deep breath and then released it. “I have looked, you know. It is just…”
“Just what?”
“You are comelier than all of them.”
Sally furrowed her eyebrows, tipped her head to one side, but he was not in jest. She fell back on the armrest of the sofa and laughed.
How had she ever agreed to marry this man?
Chapter 22
Jonathan knew that laugh. He had been searching everywhere for Miss Duncan. Blast him for taking his eyes off her after the last dance; he should have followed her immediately. He sped down the corridor until he came to an open section. There were a few couples sitting on the chairs clustered about, but none of them were Miss Duncan and Mr. Harrison.
Mr. Harrison.
Of all the Mr. Harrisons in the world, he was her Mr. Harrison? That man was more entitled than anyone he knew, save Lord Chatterton. And he would be a baron. She had told him she didn’t want to be a baron’
s wife. Obviously, that depended on the baron. He shook his head, but it wouldn’t clear.
Her laugh had definitely come from somewhere around here. There was one open door to the left side of the corridor. He strode toward it. As soon as he stepped foot in the room his world darkened.
Mr. Harrison knelt at the feet of Miss Duncan and Miss Duncan wiped a tear from her eye. He stopped, unable to move further. What was he doing? If Miss Duncan wanted to engage herself to Mr. Harrison, she had every right to do so. She would still own Greenwood Manor and she would bring her husband there. They would walk about the winter gardens and laugh with Mr. Ashton and every night... He shook his head again, his hands fisted at his sides. He should leave. He needed to leave.
Instead he strode over to one of the bookshelves and picked out a random book, then situated himself on a chair and opened it.
Neither said a word until he turned his first page.
“Farnsworth?” Mr. Harrison asked.
Jonathan took his time looking up from the page, as if he was engrossed in what he found there. When he finally did look up, Mr. Harrison was no longer kneeling. He was standing with both hands on his hips. “Ah, Harrison. How is your father?”
“How is my—” Mr. Harrison sputtered. “He is fine. He is always fine.” Mr. Harrison looked down at Miss Duncan, but she didn’t make eye contact with either of them. “Did you not see us when you came in?”
“I saw you.”
Mr. Harrison waited. But Jonathan would go to the devil before he offered any more explanation than that. Yes, I saw you, and I am in love with the woman who is about to become your wife, so I couldn’t help but interfere. How well would that go over?
“Perhaps we should leave, Miss Duncan. It seems Lord Farnsworth wants to read.”
Miss Duncan was still. “I’ll stay,” she said softly. Jonathan jerked his head up. The room was no longer oppressive. She was going to stay...with him. “I’ll find you at supper when I am feeling better.” The room darkened again. She would still be supping with Mr. Harrison. She most likely wanted to tell Jonathan to stay away from her while she was in London.
“Are you certain?”
Jonathan looked heavenward. “The young lady said she would stay.”
Mr. Harrison looked back and forth between the two of them, and then slowly stepped backwards to the door.
Jonathan counted in his head to twenty after he was gone, then threw the book to the floor, rushed to the door, and closed it. He turned on Miss Duncan. “That is your Mr. Harrison?” He pointed to the door. “That is the man you were engaged to? He is almost as much a baron as I.”
Miss Duncan stood from her seat but steadied herself with a hand on the arm of the sofa. Was she feeling ill?
“How did you know about that? No one knew about that but—”
“Victoria,” he answered. “She told me on the day I…” He stopped. He couldn't finish the sentence, and she must know exactly what he was about to say. “Have you agreed to be his wife? Or did I interrupt you before you could answer him?”
Her chin jutted forward. “I answered him.”
An icy cold settled in his chest. He had known that Miss Duncan would marry someday. She wouldn’t remain unattached simply because she wouldn’t attach herself to him. But so soon? It was only three months ago that he had asked her to marry him.
Of course, she had felt nothing for him, so for her, there was nothing to move on from. She hadn’t envisioned them together as man and wife like he had so many times—so many times he had begun to believe the wheels were already in motion at the time of his proposal.
“Do you expect me to congratulate you?”
“No.”
“Good, because I will not.” He turned and put his hand on the door handle. There was nothing more for him in this room. He had already known he would never get another chance with her; just because he had to witness the truth of it didn’t change that.
A rustle of her skirts told him she was moving closer. “You should not congratulate me because there is nothing that needs congratulating. I am not engaged to Mr. Harrison, nor will I ever be.”
He dropped his hand. Slowly he turned around. “You are not engaged.”
“No.”
He searched her face for a sign, or a look to show him that her feelings for him had changed since they last met. But how could they? She had claimed not to know him then, and she could not know him any better after months of not seeing each other.
Her hands fidgeted at her waist. “I refuse to marry someone who wants me for my wealth rather than for who I am.”
He clenched his jaw. “And you include me in that.”
“Should I not?”
“What do you want me to do, Sally?” Her name slipped from his lips as naturally as he sidestepped around a punch. “Do you want me to open my heart to you again? Confess that I have done everything I can to sear the memory of your smile from my mind, but I cannot? I know some would call you a hard businesswoman, but I never saw you as cruel.”
Her face went white and she turned away from him.
He should leave. Ever since he proposed, the only thing the two of them could do was hurt each other.
But his feet stayed firmly rooted in place.
She placed a hand on the side table next to the sofa she had been sitting on. “I was cruel to you. I was. And I’m sorry. Your gift…was beautiful. I shall treasure it always.”
“Sally?” Could her feelings have changed?
“Two generations ago, my family had nothing.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “My grandfather built a company with his bare hands, and he didn’t do it so his granddaughter would syphon it away with her husband’s greedy spending habits. I might believe you when you say you don’t want me for simply my home or my money, but my family…my family worked too hard to gain what we have to see it squandered away by a baron who doesn't know how to manage his finances. Even if I wanted to, most of my family’s fortune has gone toward the manor and Victoria’s dowry. I can’t take it back from her now.”
That was why they couldn’t marry? This was a very different reason than the one she had given him previously. He inched closer to her until he was standing directly behind her. She must have known he was there but she didn’t step away. He reached for her elbow and softly turned her to face him.
Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. “Miss Duncan, do you not hate me anymore?”
A shaky laugh caused her lips to turn up. “I never hated you. I only wanted to hate you.” Her gaze moved to his mouth and it took every ounce of his will not to pull her to him and cover her mouth with his own. They had no agreement; in fact, she had only just told him she couldn’t marry a man like him. “May I ask you a question?” she asked.
His hand slid from her elbow down to her wrist. The way she had turned, she was practically in his arms. “Of course.” She could ask him anything.
“If I offered to sell you your mother’s home, would you take me up on it?”
He closed his eyes and dropped her hand. She knew the answer. “I could not.”
“You don’t have the resources.”
“No.” He opened his eyes. She was looking at him with eyes that didn’t show remorse or love, but pity. She pitied him for the financial position he was in.
“And if you had had the money when I rejected you?”
“I would have begged you to sell it back to me.”
“Yes, and then I would have nothing that you wanted—not your mother’s house, and not my wealth either.”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want you.”
“It doesn’t matter, though, does it? If I marry you, who is to say you won’t find yourself in a similar position in a few short years? Even the fortune I’ve gained through selling my family’s company wouldn’t last forever.”
He wanted to deny it, but he had been in Oliver’s office only this morning. His estates were bleeding money, and the only way he could run them witho
ut a loss would be to raise the rents on the tenants.
They would starve.
He had no right to do that, not as a man of honor, nor could he ask Miss Duncan to put her family’s wealth to such a lost cause.
He hoped the price of grain would rise in a few years to a point where his lands were profitable again, but it was only a hope. He had no guarantees. “It seems you know my finances well.”
“There isn’t anything you could do to curb your spending? Couldn’t you try to live more frugally?”
Live more frugally? As a youth, he had loved fashion and fabrics. He had visited clubs and gambled. But those things had been easy to give up. The servants he had let go one by one as soon as they had found employment elsewhere. He kept only a skeleton staff at each of his estates, and he would even give up Howard and dress himself once the man could find a suitable position.
The sale of Greenwood Manor had allowed him to make repairs that had needed his attention since he had inherited. Much was still left in his coffers, but each month the amount grew smaller. He would either need to raise rent or let one of the estates run to ruin in order for him to truly break even each month. Neither of those options would lead to more food on his tenants’ tables.
Her eyes searched his, and she must have seen his answer. Her shoulders dropped. Had she hoped he could deny it? “Then I suppose there is nothing to do but say goodbye.” He swallowed. His hand went back to her elbow and she turned more fully to him. In a motion he had only dreamed of, she let her head fall forward and lay on his chest. Her hands clutched at the lapels of his jacket. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you see the library.” She sighed and relaxed into him. “Anytime I am in London, you are welcome to go there and see it. I have told Mrs. Hiddleson as much.”
Anytime she was in London, but not while she was there. Then this truly was goodbye. He wrapped his arms around her and nestled her head under his chin. What a cruel pleasure, to hold her in his arms when he knew he would never do so again. “I’ll do that.” He spoke into the dark silk of her hair.
