“No, nothing. The only things I know about them are what my aunt and uncle told me. But my aunt died when I was eleven, so…”
“That’s terrible. I knew that your aunt had died, but I didn’t know it was so long ago. May I ask what happened?”
She felt him shift, his shoulders drawing together as if shielding himself from something painful.
“It was an accident. A tragic accident. My uncle was a difficult man before her death, and even more difficult after. He didn’t turn to drinking, but his moods…” He shrugged.
“I see,” she sighed, unsure what else to say. “I barely remember my mother. She passed away when I was five,” she added, but then stopped, realizing that he hadn’t told her how old he had been when his mother died. She didn’t want him to think that she had been prying, although it seemed as though she had.
“So, we both lost our mothers when we were very young. How strange that we were brought together with such a shared history. Both our mothers were musicians. We seem to have more in common than we thought.”
And yet you do not wish to consider making this a real marriage.
Arabella wanted to voice that thought but hesitated. The truth was that she wasn’t even certain if she wanted it to be a real marriage. His presence left her feeling disoriented and unsure of her emotions. He had a protective air about him that made her believe he truly intended to look after her, yet he resisted any possibility of romance.
“If you wish, you can host a ball here. It has been years since this space was used for what it was meant for.”
“You haven’t used it to host a ball?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. I grew up with my uncle at his home in Brixton, just outside of town. He would use this space on occasion if he wished to host a grand gala for one of his business concerns, but after my aunt passed away, he would only host dinners and such at his own home. In any case, the room is yours to do with as you wish. Perhaps you and your sisters would like to host balls here. I am sure you’re rather accomplished at that.”
Arabella cringed. “On the contrary. We rarely ever entertained, and I most certainly do not cherish the idea of hosting balls. Besides, hardly anybody would attend. The Hayward family is not exactly among the highest echelons in Society. You know my father’s temper and his reputation.”
“I do,” Harry said, “but you no longer live under his roof. You are the Duchess of Sheffield. I indicated before that spending moneyon beeswax candles was of no consequence to me, and I meant it. I’m not sure you fully understand that you have married one of the wealthiest men in the world. This is not our only home.”
“I assumed you had a home in Sheffield,” she said.
“I do. We have an estate in the north. It is not quite as grand as this one, but it is larger than any of the others in the area. It is let right now to a Scottish laird who has lived there for a number of years. But we also own achâteauin France, a cottage in Brighton, and ahaciendain Spain.”
“Goodness,” she breathed, her eyes widening.
“Goodness, indeed. My father was a rather astute businessman. Much of the nobility turn their noses up at business, but my father never did. It served him well, and it will serve you well.”
“What sort of business are you involved in?” she asked.
He shrugged and studied her for a moment before clicking his tongue and turning away. “All manner of things,” he replied. “Would you like to see the adjacent rooms? My mother had a room dedicated to games. Snapdragon and such. Are you fond of such things?”
Arabella sensed his reluctance to discuss his business dealings and wondered what he might be hiding. She wanted to press him further but decided against it.
“Perhaps in the daylight. I’d like to see the garden.”
As they continued their walk, they found themselves heading toward the garden. The night air was cool and refreshing, and the moon cast a silvery glow over the neatly trimmed hedges and flowering plants. Harry held the candle steady, the flame flickering as they stepped outside.
Arabella tilted her head back, gazing up at the clear, starry sky. “I’ve always loved watching the stars,” she confessed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “They’ve been a source of comfort to me for as long as I can remember.”
Harry glanced up as well, following her gaze. “Do you know any constellations?”
“Oh, quite a few,” she replied with a laugh. “That one,” she said, pointing up to the right, “is Orion, with his belt of three stars. And over there, that’s Cassiopeia, the queen who was so vain. And there, you can just see the Pleiades, the Seven Sisters. They’re fainter, but if you know where to look, you can always find them.”
Harry appeared impressed, his eyes flitting between the stars and her animated expression. “You know more about the night sky than I do,” he admitted. “It’s fascinating.”
She chuckled softly. “When I was a little girl, I used to sneak out of the house at night and lie on the grass, just staring up at the stars. Alexander knew how much I loved them, so when he left for the first time, he sent me a canopy for my bed. It was madeto look like a starry sky, with tiny lights sewn into the fabric to mimic the constellations. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
Her voice softened as she continued. “But my father took it away. He didn’t want me to have anything from Alexander. He said it was foolish, and he didn’t want me distracted by childish fantasies.”
Harry frowned, the corners of his mouth turning down in disapproval. “That’s awful,” he said, his voice low. “You must have been heartbroken.”
“I was,” she admitted. “But I’ve learned not to show it. I knew better than to argue.”
