‘I trust you slept well, Miss Harper?’
‘Quite well. I suppose there’s no need to ask how you feel.’
‘I’m used to it.’ He looked around the room and then gestured towards her plate. It was piled high with what looked like a mountain of toast. ‘Is that all they’ve given you?’
‘It’s plenty.’ She smeared marmalade on to the uppermost slice.
‘Only toast?’ He frowned. His cook had long since given up providing any kind of breakfast for him, but Miss Harper ought to be a different matter.
‘At least it’s not burnt.’
His frown deepened at the implication. ‘Any particular reason, or do I strike you as the kind of man who serves his guests burnt food?’
‘You strike me as the kind of man who might do any number of things, but apparently we’re not very popular in the kitchens. According to Mrs Gargrave your kitchen staff prepared a special meal to celebrate our wedding yesterday.’
‘And then were forced to eat it themselves?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘That’s still no reason to starve you today. Is there anything else you’d like? Eggs, bacon?’
‘No, thank you, I’ve already told Mrs Gargrave that this is sufficient. I like toast.’
‘So I see.’
He watched as she took a large bite. Despite her age, she was still wearing her hair down, just as she had the first time he’d seen her, though it looked even longer now. It looked, quite frankly, overwhelming, swamping her tiny figure and shrinking her already small face. Did she like it like that, he wondered, or had she simply never tried putting it up? Only her large features stopped her face from being totally overpowered.
Not that it wasn’t attractive, he conceded. It was really quite lustrous, thick and shining and smooth like a mirror. Even so, he preferred to look at her face. There was a smudge of marmalade at the side of her mouth and he felt a sudden powerful urge to reach over and wipe it away. No, not wipe—lick. He wanted to lick it away. He blinked a few times, distracted by such an errant thought. He oughtn’t to reach out and do anything. If he tried, he’d probably keel over. The floor was still pitching slightly. And why on earth would he want to lick her, of all women, anyway?
‘How many pieces of toast have you had?’ He forced his attention back to the subject.
‘Four, maybe five.’
‘Preparing for your walk back to Whitby?’
The muscles in her jaw tightened instantly. ‘The snow’s still too deep. I checked.’
‘Then at least I get to enjoy your company for a while longer.’
He pulled out a chair and levered himself down carefully. The atmosphere between them felt as thick as the fog in his head. He really ought to go upstairs and get cleaned up, but he wanted to clear the air first. Arthur was the very last subject he wanted to talk about, especially sober, but he needed to clear his conscience of one burden at least.
She peered at him askance for a moment and then nudged the toast rack in his direction. ‘Would you like some?’
‘No.’ He winced as the smell hit his nostrils. ‘Thank you, but I only have coffee in the mornings. When I’m awake in the mornings, that is.’
‘Just coffee?’
‘You sound like Mrs Gargrave. She finds my habits equally deplorable.’
‘Maybe she has a point.’
‘Maybe she does.’
He poured himself a steaming cup and downed the too-hot liquid in one painful draught, trying to find the words to begin.
‘About last night...’
She pushed her chair back as if she’d just remembered something important elsewhere. ‘I’d rather not discuss it.’
‘Then just listen.’ He raised a hand in appeal. ‘What I said about Arthur was unforgivable. It was an appalling accusation and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’
‘Yes, you did.’ She looked him straight in the eye and he sighed.
‘Yes, I did. At least, I thought I did. You see, I’ve spent the past six months thinking about what happened to Arthur, trying to blame everyone except myself. It’s far easier that way, I’ve found. I thought that if I blamed you for my banishment, then it would justify my keeping away, for abandoning him when he needed me, but the truth is, I failed him. It’s easy to blame someone you think you’ll never see and I never expected our paths to cross again, Miss Harper, not until I was told about your father’s will. When I met you again yesterday it forced me to confront some of the things I’ve been trying hard not to think about. I’m not proud of how I acted or what I said, but believe me, what happened to Arthur wasn’t your fault.’
‘Not totally, perhaps.’ She lowered herself back into her chair slowly. ‘But it was still true, what you said. If I hadn’t started that argument at the ball, then you might never have been sent away. You might have been able to help him.’
‘You didn’t start that argument, you only finished it. My father and I had been arguing for ten years. He was bound to throw me out some time, and as for Arthur, I might have had all the time in the world and still not listened to him. He was always telling me to be serious, but I thought I could go through life avoiding it. I actually managed quite well for twenty-six years.’
‘Your brother was unhappy the first time I met him.’ She picked up another piece of toast and stared at it. ‘He only seemed to get worse every time since, but I didn’t understand why. I was upset when I heard what had happened to him, but I never thought...’ She swallowed, as if she were struggling to go on. ‘It was only when Mr Rowlinson told me about our fathers’ agreement that I realised his death hadn’t been an accident, that he’d drowned himself because of it. It was my fault in that regard.’
‘No.’ He held himself very still. She looked so anguished that he felt a powerful impulse to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. To seek comfort from her, too, he realised with a jolt, as if she might somehow alleviate his own guilt as well. What the hell?
She looked directly at him, fixing him with a defiant, overbright stare. ‘You said he knew about their agreement at the ball. That means he knew the whole time.’
‘Yes, but...’
‘So he didn’t want to marry me, did he?’
‘No.’ There was no point in lying when she already knew the truth. ‘But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know about any of it.’
‘I wish that he’d told me. If I’d known then, perhaps we could have stood up to our fathers together.’
‘I doubt it would have made any difference. Neither of them ever listened to what any of us actually wanted.’
‘No.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I suppose not.’
‘It wasn’t personal, Miss Harper.’
‘It felt personal.’
‘He was in love with somebody else.’
‘The whole time?’ She sounded appalled. ‘But that’s awful.’
‘Even more so when you consider the woman.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Lydia Webster. Arthur mentioned her to me at the ball, but I thought it was just a passing infatuation. I should have known him better than that. Just over a year and a half ago he wrote to me, saying that they were in love but that our father refused to permit the marriage. A few months later, he wrote again, begging me to come home. A few weeks after that he went sailing. I’ve no idea what happened between him and Miss Webster, but after I came home, I took it upon myself to seek her out. Foolishly I thought she might have been upset by events.’
‘Wasn’t she?’
‘We had tea and didn’t mention his name once. She told me about her recent marriage to a lawyer from Scarborough. She got married one month after Arthur drowned. I think we can conclude she wasn’t heartbroken.’
‘But you think that was why he was depressed, because he couldn’t marry her himself? And that was why he...’
‘Drowned himself?’ He forced himself to utter the w
ords. ‘Part of the reason, yes. I prefer your method of running away, Miss Harper.’
‘He must have been desperate.’
‘Yes.’
He regarded her sombrely across the table. Arthur had been desperate, that much should have been obvious from his letter, but then so had she been—so desperate that she’d preferred to run away and be penniless rather than marry him. The realisation made him uncomfortable. He’d been so obsessed with the idea of punishing her and rebuilding the estate that he hadn’t stopped to consider her feelings, nor the possibility that she might feel guilty about Arthur’s death, too.
He started to reach a hand across the table and then pulled it back again. She wouldn’t want comfort from a man like him, only practical reassurance.
‘I promise you, Miss Harper, none of it was your fault. You and Arthur were the only innocent parties in this whole damned business.’
‘Last night you said I was indebted to you.’
‘Last night I was drunk. And wrong. There’s no debt and there’s been enough suffering because of this blasted agreement.’
Her eyes locked with his. ‘You mean you think that it’s wrong?’
‘I think it was a terrible thing to do. Even if it does work in my favour.’
She tipped her head to one side, as if she were trying to understand something. ‘But don’t you feel trapped as well? Isn’t there someone else that you’d prefer to marry?’
‘No.’ He bit back a smile. ‘I’m not exactly the marrying kind.’
‘But you’ll marry me for the money?’
‘Yes, to be blunt. Forgive me, Miss Harper, I don’t say it to upset you. I say it because I want to be honest. I want the money, but I want you to be content, too. I don’t want you to become desperate like Arthur. I have enough on my conscience.’
She inhaled sharply. ‘I would never do what he did!’
‘I’m glad to hear it. But what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to force you. I wasn’t there for Arthur, but I am here for you. I want to do the right thing for once in my life. I know I’ve acted badly so far—worse than that, even. You were right to call me a beast. I behaved like one. I understand that you don’t want to marry me, but tell me this, what do you want?’
She stared at him open-mouthed, apparently struck dumb by the question.
‘Miss Harper?’ he prodded her. ‘If you tell me, then I might be able to provide it.’
‘I don’t understand.’ She looked genuinely confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You said that you had some kind of plan when you ran away. I presume it was something you wanted a great deal since you were prepared to risk penury for it?’ He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. ‘Or was it someone rather than something? Is there someone else you’d prefer to marry?’
‘You mean a man?’
‘That would generally be the case, yes.’
‘No!’
He cocked an eyebrow, surprised by a feeling of relief. Any other woman and he might have thought she protested too much, but Miss Harper appeared genuinely shocked. Still, he wanted to be sure...
‘You said you were meeting someone in Helmsley.’
‘That was Ianthe’s Aunt Sophoria.’ Her brow creased suddenly. ‘She’ll be worried about me.’
‘Will she still be there?’
‘We reserved a room at the inn for last night. After that we were going to take the train to York, but I expect she’ll have gone back to Pickering by now.’
‘Then I’ll send Martin with a message as soon as he thinks he can get through. If anyone can weather these conditions, it’s him.’
‘But last night you said...’
‘Last night I was a beast, remember? Today I hope I’m a man again—and not so bad that I’d let your friends worry about you.’
‘Thank you.’ Her frown eased gradually. ‘And I didn’t have a plan, not exactly. It was more of an idea. I wanted to see York.’
‘Just see it? Haven’t you been before?’
‘I’ve never been anywhere. My father said I was too delicate to travel. He thought it wouldn’t be good for me.’
‘So why York?’
‘I wanted to walk around the city walls.’
He stared at her for a moment incredulously. ‘Are you saying that you were willing to lose your inheritance just to walk around some old walls?’
‘Yes.’ She seemed nonplussed by his reaction. ‘My mother had a book about them. I used to look at the pictures when I was little. I’ve always wanted to go.’
‘Indeed.’ He didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. ‘You must have heard some very interesting stories about me, Miss Harper. I’ve always flattered myself that I was more attractive than crumbling stone.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not the wall itself—more the idea of it. The freedom to do something I want to do. That’s what I want, freedom.’
‘Freedom.’ He repeated the word thoughtfully. Just how little of it had she had that she was prepared to risk so much to get it? His memory skittered back to the first time he’d seen her, when he’d thought she must have been raised in a tower—a fairy-tale prison like the one he’d put her in last night. How ironic that the only thing she wanted was the one thing he’d already taken away.
But perhaps it wasn’t too late. She seemed to have accepted his apology and they were already on better terms than yesterday. She hadn’t said that she hated him that morning yet—that was progress—and he’d meant what he’d told her. As much as he wanted her money, he wanted her to be content, too. For some reason, that seemed particularly important now. Perhaps he could still put things right between them and persuade her to marry him after all...
‘How about a tour of the house first? We have some very attractive walls here, too.’ He flashed his most charming smile, one that rarely failed to convince any woman to do anything, although Miss Harper seemed more interested in her breakfast.
‘All right.’
‘Good.’ He tried again, but she was too engrossed in spreading a fresh layer of marmalade over her toast to notice. ‘I might as well show you around since we’re snowed in together.’
‘I suppose so.’ She looked up again at last, her expression oblivious and resolute. ‘But only until the snows clears. After that, I’m leaving.’
Chapter Six
‘Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?’ Lance winced as the blade scraped across his cheek.
Martin harrumphed, though his hand didn’t falter. ‘You need a haircut, too.’
‘There’s no time.’
Another harrumph. ‘You ought to try to look like a gentleman even when you don’t act like one. You’ll never get her to marry you otherwise.’
Lance blinked in surprise. It wasn’t like his taciturn retainer to comment on either his appearance or his behaviour, no matter how bad either of them were.
‘I doubt I’ll get her to marry me anyway. It appears I’m losing my touch with women. It’s me she objects to, not my leg.’
Though the realisation of that fact made him feel strangely buoyant. As furious as he’d been at the insult to his injured limb, the insult to his character didn’t bother him even half as much. He could perfectly understand her objections to that. Now that he’d stopped blaming her for the past he could even start to see their situation from her perspective, too. He didn’t resent her any more. On the contrary, after their conversation at breakfast, he felt strangely close to her, but he supposed Martin was right. If he wanted her to marry him, then he really ought to start behaving more like a gentleman.
‘She’s more intelligent than the rest, then.’ Martin put the blade aside.
‘So it would seem.’
Lance wiped a towel over his face and then pulled on a pair of breeches, fresh white shirt and crava
t. Now that he’d had a bath and a shave, he felt impatient to get downstairs, as if he were actually eager to see her again.
He’d made a bad start with Miss Harper—in all honesty, it was hard to imagine a worse one—but now he felt determined to woo her for real. It would be a challenge, but even that idea was exhilarating. He already felt less oppressed than he had when he’d woken up that morning. If he could convince her to marry him, then he could expand his mining venture in earnest. He’d already invested the money he’d made soldiering, but her father’s fortune would make all the difference.
‘There.’ He tied his cravat with a flourish. ‘Gentlemanly enough for you?’
‘Better than usual.’
‘Remind me why I keep you around, will you?’
‘Because no one else would put up with you.’ Martin grunted. ‘Tell her she looks nice. Women like that.’
Lance spun around in astonishment. ‘Are you offering me tips on how to deal with the opposite sex, Martin?’
‘It was just a suggestion, sir.’
‘Good, because if there’s one thing I know...’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but she’s not like the rest.’
‘Is that so?’ He was beginning to feel faintly irritated. ‘Because of her alleged intelligence, or is there something else that makes her different?’
‘I just don’t think she’s the kind of woman to play games, sir. Or cheat on her husband either.’
Lance clenched his jaw at the words. Martin had made his disapproval about the major’s wife obvious from the start, though he’d remained at his side when the storm had broken. He’d even removed the bullet.
‘I don’t want to seduce her, Martin, I only want to marry her. From what I’ve observed the two impulses are quite different.’
‘Not always, sir.’
‘Really?’ Irritation was turning to downright annoyance. ‘And you’re speaking from experience, I suppose? Are you married, Martin?’
‘Was married, sir. She died twelve years ago. Cholera.’
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