Page 36 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

H arriet stirred from a fitful sleep, fully dressed on her bed.

Jane had departed some hours earlier, and Harriet had wandered Oaksgrove, disconsolate and unsettled.

It would be easy enough to simply walk out of the house and the grounds.

Beecham would not pick her up bodily, would not manhandle her.

His hold over her on behalf of her brother was based on her respecting Ralph's authority.

If she chose to openly flout it, there would be consequences, for certain, but there was no barrier to her committing the act that flouted it in the first place.

So what is stopping me? Is going openly to Penhaligon Manor a Rubicon I am unwilling to cross? Because crossing it will set me on a path of confrontation with Ralph and Grandmama...

It was not out of any indecision over who she wanted.

Henri de Rouvroy might be handsome, cultured, and wealthy, but he was a candle next to the sun that was Jeremy.

The Frenchman was a poor substitute for her fierce barbarian prince.

A pitiful prince, who needed her as much as she wanted him.

Her feelings were clear, but so were her fears.

I have pinned my heart to Jeremy's sleeve and would have it known to all.

But what if I am wrong about him? What if our marriage, if it even comes to be, is a failure?

Can I face my friends and family and see their sympathy for me, knowing that I chose wrongly and disgraced my loved ones as a result?

She stared at the foggy window, wanting to go to Jeremy and fearing it at the same time.

Jane's advice is hang it all and everyone's thoughts and feelings. Go to him and suit yourself. Easy advice to give when you are not the one living with the risk of such a gamble...

From outside came the faint rattle of a carriage.

Harriet's head lifted from the pillow, suddenly alert.

The front door of the house opened, she heard the creak of its ancient hinges and the rattle of its latch.

Her heart pounded as she visualized Jeremy leaping from the carriage and striding purposefully into the house.

Then up the stairs to Harriet's room, brushing aside Beecham, flinging the door wide without even knocking.

There came the sound of boots in the hall downstairs, quick, confident striding steps.

Harriet swung her legs off the bed, sitting up and pulling at her hair, desperately trying to straighten it from the tangle of sleep.

She listened to the striding step crossing the hall, a man's voice dismissing Beecham.

She couldn't make out words or even a voice.

Just that it was a man, and he was abrupt.

She found herself smiling, heart pounding, mouth dry.

He has come for me! It will be as it was meant to be, as I wanted it to be. He does love me!

The footsteps were taking the stairs two-at-a-time. Then they were muffled by the carpet outside Harriet's room, before the door was flung wide.

“—Ralph?” Harriet gaped.

Her brother grinned as he stormed into the room and seized Harriet in a wild embrace.

“I have missed you, sister! And worried. How I have worried from being so far away! But I am back now. How did you like my present?”

Harriet returned his embrace, bewildered.

“ Present… ?” she asked.

“Why, Henri de Rouvroy, of course!” Ralph bellowed.

“A better match for you I could not hope to find! Do you know that he is coveted by the princesses of Europe? Only the fact of his nationality has prevented his family from arranging a match for him with the royal family of Sweden, Denmark, or Belgium! The French are still not forgiven for Napoleon, you see? And I have another present, though I am almost saddened to give it to you.”

He held an envelope, sealed with an official stamp bearing the royal crest of the Hanovers.

“From the Prince Regent, to me, to you,” Ralph chimed with a sparkle in his eyes.

Harriet took the envelope, speechless, a fact that Ralph was oblivious to in his enthusiastic excitement. She opened it, fingers trembling. Fear gripped her.

If Ralph is home, then leaving to see Jeremy will be much more difficult. Impossible even. Ralph might actually lock me away. Or challenge Jeremy to a duel! I could lose my brother and the man I am beginning to love…

Unfolding the letter, she read a legal declaration written in an elaborate hand and sealed with the signature of the Prince Regent. It was a special license for marriage, and it was signed by… Henri de Rouvroy. Her face fell.

“I signed it on your behalf,” Ralph enthused, “it permits you to marry immediately!

And I think that would be wise. Henri is returning to his estates outside of Paris in two weeks.

Not much time to arrange a wedding, for certain, but I am determined to make the most of it. How's that for a welcome home, eh?”

The paper shook in Harriet's hands. It spelled the end of a chapter of her life. One that she felt she was still writing. The conclusion had been taken away from her, abruptly underlined by her brother, and the page turned. She looked up into Ralph's face, seeing his bright, expectant look.

He expects me to jump for joy. To be deliriously happy. I can think of no reason why I would not be unless there was another man I wished to marry. Will he see that? He must not!

“Are you not happy?” Ralph grinned, “I felt sure you would be.”

“Yes, I am happy,” Harriet began, falteringly, “I truly am...”

“Your face says otherwise, Hattie,” he said, his smile fading.

He stepped back from his sister, regarding her with narrowed eyes.

“Beecham tells me that you have disobeyed my standing orders regarding leaving Oaksgrove without a proper chaperone. That you have conspired with our grandmother to go to London and elsewhere, alone. That you have even roamed the countryside at night. I was shocked and appalled, I must say, and it influenced my desire to see you married soon. I fear there is a wildness in you that will only grow stronger. Mama and Papa were much the same, and look what happened to them.”

“I have pushed at the bounds you have set for me,” Harriet mumbled, carefully, “but only from a desire to experience something of the world. And I was never in any danger. I just wanted... to walk in Hyde Park, or see the National Gallery, or...”

“Is there a man involved?” Ralph asked suddenly.

“No, of course not!” Harriet replied immediately.

Ralph watched her, tapping a finger against his chin.

“There have been rumors which I have scarcely been able to credit. They are so fanciful as to be beyond belief. Thankfully. Because if they were true or even half true, I should be extremely displeased with the gentleman concerned.”

“And who might that be?” Harriet's knees were shaking and she walked to the window seat on the other side of her bed, sitting lest Ralph notice the trembling.

“My old friend the Duke of Penhaligon,” Ralph said quietly, hawk-like eyes intent on Harriet.

“ Penhaligon ! What must you think of me to suspect as much, Ralphie!” She forced a laugh. “He is a notorious rake, and I am not the kind of woman to consider such men attractive.”

She prayed that she sounded believable, credible, and suitably insulted by the association of her name with Jeremy's.

“You have not seen him in public, then?” he asked.

“Well, he was in Hyde Park when I was promenading with Jane. He was also at the Theater Royal, Drury Lane, recently, where I was seeing a play. I believe he is seeing a French lady also named de Rouvroy— Eloise, I think her name is.”

“Indeed?” Ralph replied with a raised eyebrow. “Henri's sister… What a coincidence.”

Harriet shrugged, reading over the marriage license once more. It felt like a prison sentence, forming impenetrable iron bars that would forever keep her from Jeremy.

“If it had proved to be true, I would call him out. I would kill him,” Ralph said, coldly.

“It is not,” Harriet affirmed resolutely.

“Good. I looked for him in London, but his people tell me that he left for Penhaligon without warning. He will be there now. Not that such information is in any way useful to you.”

Harriet feigned a yawn. “It is not. Henri de Rouvroy is by far the better man,” she said, feeling disloyal in uttering the words.

Ralph smiled. “He will be dining with us this evening. It is well you took an afternoon nap, it will mean you will be bright-eyed for dinner. Hattie, I cannot tell you how excited I am for this match!”

Harriet looked back at Oaksgrove in the distance.

She had crested a hill and stood under the eaves of a copse of birch, shaded from the sun.

Had Ralph even noticed she had gone? Had Beecham spotted her walking through the grounds in the direction of Danbury?

There had been no discernible pursuit as of yet.

But then again, she had not followed a conventional route.

Instead, she had chosen to climb walls and ford streams to head by the most direct route to Danbury and then on to Penhaligon.

If Ralph were searching for her at this moment, it would be along the roads, just as Jeremy had once done when Harriet had become lost trying to find her way home from Woodham Walter.

This time, she was much more confident. She wore stout walking shoes and a plain, serviceable dress. A bonnet was tied atop her head with a ribbon under her chin, and she wore a bag on her hip containing an earthenware bottle of apple juice and a few bread rolls. Prepared for a walk of a few hours.

It will be worth it. Ralph assumed I would not leave Oaksgrove or that I could not if I wanted to because it would involve horses from the stables and a carriage or trap. He will never have thought that I would simply begin walking.

She had waited for word from Jeremy for three days. All the while, the date of her wedding to Henri marched closer. All the while, she hoped and prayed to be rescued from it, from Ralph.

But Jeremy had not appeared. Nor had he written. On this day, the day she set out for Penhaligon, she had woken to despair.

I must know. I will not wonder for the rest of my life about what might have been. Whether I was fooled by a seducer or simply used in a business stratagem. I will not, cannot resign myself to marrying Henri until I know Jeremy's mind, and he, mine.

The despair had been shoved aside, and she had begun to make preparations.

She turned her back on Oaksgrove and walked among the trees.

A path appeared, leading away from her at an angle to her intended route.

She ignored it, forging her own path through thick undergrowth, but in the direction that she wanted to go.

The time for following paths forged by others was gone.

She felt an upwelling of her spirits as she walked.

The freedom of travel, unbound by the restrictions imposed by conveyances or the desires of others, was an intoxicating feeling.

She breathed deeply and found herself smiling.

Uncertainty gnawed at her, but it warred with the feeling of liberation.

I may discover, at the end of this journey, that I am not destined to be with Jeremy after all. And I will return to Oaksgrove and marry Henri de Rouvroy. But I will be a different woman. I will have tasted freedom and will not give it up again.

By the time she came within sight of Penhaligon, she had finished her apple juice and her bread rolls.

She felt pleasantly tired, the sense of accomplishment outweighing the fatigue.

Her path had brought her to the rear of the estate via its western edge.

She hunted for a way onto the estate as she approached, finding a small gate in a mossy stone wall, itself half hidden by woodland.

Once through the gate, she made her way through the trees, glimpsing the house between them. She felt her pulse quicken the closer she got and wished she had kept back some of the apple juice as her mouth became dry.

She found a wide, gravel path and followed it through increasingly formal gardens. Circling a towering yew hedge, she stopped at the sound of voices.

“He has your eyes, Jimmy,” giggled a woman.

Harriet's feet had been crunching on the gravel. Now she froze, one foot lifted. She hardly dared to breathe. The woman sounded so close.

“Do you think so? I cannot see it. But then I have little experience with babies. None in fact,” Jeremy answered back.

“Neither do I. But I see it! I see my Papa in his nose and mouth, and you in his eyes. My family and yours. Do you doubt it?”

Those words stabbed at Harriet. It was a dagger of pure ice going into her heart and twisting viciously. A child with a resemblance to Jeremy and the family of this faceless woman? That could only mean one thing.

Is this the reason I have heard nothing from him for—how long has it been? A week? A week and a half?

She lowered her foot but did not dare take another step in any direction. She put a hand over her mouth as a sob welled up.

“I do not doubt that he is my son, Florence. I would not insult you. I just cannot honestly say that I look at him and see anything but an infant. Looking as all infants do. I think it takes a mother's eyes to see,” Jeremy remarked.

Florence? Jeremy's former fiancée, the one whom he bought all of those dresses for? She has returned and with a gift for him…

“There is something I know you will see,” Florence replied. “Do you recognize the birthmark?”

“A red circle on his right hip,” Jeremy said flatly, “identical to mine. Proof that he is my son.”

Harriet could remain still no longer. She turned and ran, uncaring of the noise her boots made on the gravel. Dimly, she was aware of Jeremy's voice raised somewhere behind her. Tears blurred her vision as the trees swallowed her up, and she didn't care if he had seen her or not.