Harry nodded, understanding her pain all too well. “My uncle Richard was much the same,” he revealed after a moment. “He took it upon himself to strip away anything he deemed unnecessary or frivolous. When I was a boy, I had a collection of model ships. I loved them—they were a gift from my father, and I used to spend hours arranging them, imagining grand voyages and battles at sea.”
He paused, the memory casting a shadow over his features. “But my uncle saw the ships as a distraction from my studies and a waste of time. One day, while I was at my lessons, he had them all thrown out. I came home to find my room empty, my little fleet gone. He said it wasn’t good to cling to the ships when it was a ship that robbed me of my father. He didn’t understand that they reminded me of my parents in a good way.”
Arabella looked at him with sympathy. “That must have been devastating.”
“It was,” Harry replied, his voice tight. “But like you, I learned to hide my disappointment. My uncle wasn’t a man to be crossed. He believed that anything sentimental or indulgent had no place in a man’s life.”
Arabella reached out and touched his arm, a small gesture of comfort. “It seems we both had our childhoods shaped by stern hands,” she remarked softly.
Harry looked down at her hand on his arm, then back up into her eyes, his expression softening. “It appears so. But now we’re free of that, aren’t we? We’re no longer bound by their rules.”
Arabella smiled, a mix of sadness and hope in her eyes. “No, we’re not,” she agreed. “We can create our own rules, and perhaps surround ourselves with the things that bring us joy.”
“Indeed,” Harry said, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, sincere smile. “And perhaps we can both find new ways to enjoy the stars.”
As they continued their walk through the garden, the path gradually led them to a darker, more secluded area. The wind whipped through the bushes and soon blew out Harry’s candle.
“Perdition,” he mumbled.
“Perhaps we ought to return,” she said, suddenly cast in darkness.
The trees overhead formed a thick canopy, blotting out the moonlight and casting deep shadows all around them.
“We ought to. Let us cut through here. It is a little dark but not far,” he said and darted into an area surrounded by tall, dark hatches.
Arabella hesitated for a moment, her footsteps faltering as the darkness enveloped them. She’d never liked the dark—she found it frightening.
Harry glanced down at her, sensing her sudden unease. “Are you unwell? Does the dark unsettle you?” he asked.
“No… I … Well, I do not like the darkness, I confess,” she said, unable to mask her fear—the slight tremor in her voice gave her away.
Without a word, he gently reached for her hand, enveloping it in his own. His grip was firm yet comforting, a silent assurance that he was there, that she wasn’t alone.
Arabella instinctively moved closer to him, her heart rate slowing at the warmth of his touch. The fear that had begun to creep into her chest receded, replaced by a growing sense of safety and trust. She glanced up at him, finding his gaze alreadyon her, the concern in his eyes softened by the flickering light of the distant candles.
They walked together like that, hand in hand, through the shadowed path. Neither of them spoke, but the silence between them was filled with an unspoken connection, a mutual understanding that words could not capture. The night around them seemed to fade away, the dark no longer feeling as intimidating as it had moments before.
After a few more steps, Harry stopped and turned to face her fully. In the dim light, his features were gentle, and the usual guarded expression he wore was replaced by something more open, more vulnerable. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. “I’m here. I told you, I’ll keep you safe.”
Arabella nodded, a small smile touching her lips as she squeezed his hand. “I know,” she murmured back. “Thank you.”
For a moment, they stood there in the darkened garden, the world around them forgotten. The only thing that seemed to matter was the warmth of his hand holding hers, the steady presence of him by her side. It was a simple gesture, but one that spoke volumes—a connection forged in the quiet, a bond strengthened by their shared vulnerability.
Slowly, Harry lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, a chaste but tender gesture that sent a shiver down her spine. When he lowered her hand, he didn’t let go,instead keeping it firmly clasped in his as they continued their walk.
And as they moved forward, the darkness seemed a little less daunting, the night air a little less cold, with each other to hold on to.
CHAPTER 15
Arabella returned to her chamber that evening feeling curiously light. It was true—she and Harry had quarreled throughout the evening about various matters, and at times, she had feared these disputes might escalate into the kind of arguments she was accustomed to with her sisters or, worse, the bitter exchanges with her father that occasionally ventured into unsettling territory.
But Harry had not behaved like her father. He had admitted when he was wrong and had offered an apology. He had done what she had long wished her father would—acknowledge his errors.
Yes, it was true he could be harsh at times, and cold, but she had glimpsed something beneath that stern exterior—a tenderness. The way he spoke about his mother and his parents, the way he looked at her when she spoke of her love for the stars—there was another man beneath the armor. And perhaps, in time, she might find a way to reach him.
“Your Grace?” a voice called, and she turned so quickly that she bumped into the wall behind her, one hand over her chest.
“Goodness gracious, Mabel! I did not see you there.”
