“Well,” Harry said with a shrug, “your father is not a duke, and back then, you weren’t a duchess, my dear.” He paused as he saw a blush rise to her cheeks at the term of endearment.
Why had he said that? He had never used such words with her. He also noted the way her sisters exchanged glances.
“In any case, Lady Morley has agreed to assist you. Although she has set off for Scotland and will not return for another two months. Once she is back, she will come to our home to meet with both of you.”
“That is wonderful, Your Grace,” Lady Hanna said, her hands folded in her lap. “With Lady Morley’s help, it is certain we will find husbands.”
Lady Emma’s smile faded then. “Father will be very upset that you managed something he could not.”
“Leave your father to me. Do not fret, I will speak with him. Pray, how are things at Hayward Manor?” Harry asked, bracing himself, for he had already heard that the Earl of Worcester was worse now than he had ever been.
Indeed, the Earl had his voucher to Almack’s revoked just the previous week due to bringing alcohol into the premises. His seat in the House of Lords had been taken for some time, and other lords had been attempting to compel him to attend through various means of pressure.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Hanna said. “We are more than grateful. I hope you know this.”
“Well, we are related by marriage now.” He shrugged, aware that it sounded much colder than “We are family.”
His choice of words had been deliberate; he had to maintain some distance between himself and these three young ladies—and Arabella, in particular. His fingers still burned with the memory of her brief touch, and he was acutely aware of the way her chest rose and fell as she sat beside him.
How easy it would be to take her hands now, to kiss her fingertips. But he couldn’t. And not just because her sisters were present.
“Well,” Lady Emma said with a yawn that seemed somewhat contrived, “I suppose we should retire for the night. It is rather late.”
Arabella sat up straighter. “Go to bed? But I thought you wanted to play that sonata…”
“I did, but my hands are rather fatigued,” Lady Emma explained. “Perhaps Hanna and I could go and prepare some hot chocolate?”
She raised her eyebrows at Hanna, and Harry knew what she was trying to do—give him and Arabella some time alone.
He hoped, for a moment, that Lady Hanna would be too dense to pick up on the cue, but she was not. In fact, she immediately rose and turned to Arabella. “We will bring you a cup to your chamber,” she offered, and then the sisters quickly curtsied once more and rushed out of the room.
Suddenly alone with Arabella, Harry shifted and rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension that always seemed to grip him.
“I am glad your sisters are here. You seem pleased with their company,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “I am pleased with their company,” she replied. “It can be rather lonely when one’s husband is never around.”
Harry stiffened. “Arabella, I told you what this marriage was. I…”
She raised a hand, silencing him. “I do know, and I am grateful for everything you have done, particularly for aiding my sisters. And for the canopy above my bed.”
Harry blinked, realizing they had yet to discuss the gift he had bought her. He hadn’t anticipated her expressing her gratitude, though he had harbored a faint hope. When her thanks hadn’t come, he reminded himself it was just as well. There was no need for unnecessary conversation between them. The gift had been rather impulsive, and now he worried it might have been too grand.
“Well, I recall you mentioning how your brother sent you one, but your father took it away. So, I thought it would be a kindness. Besides, the old hunting motif was rather dreadful. My uncle had it installed for reasons known only to him.”
“I see. Well, I am grateful. I do enjoy gazing up at the stars.”
“I did request that they embroider actual constellations on the fabric,” he added, turning slightly so that he was facing her.
“I noticed,” she replied, a small smile playing on her lips. “The Pleiades are there, and Orion, and the Big Dipper. They’re not in the right places, but the number of stars is accurate, and it is a comfort to look at them.”
“I am glad. I have observed, on occasion, when I return late, that there is a candle flickering in your bedchamber, and I imagine you lying there, gazing up at the stars.”
Why did I just say that? She does not need to know that I think of her when I see the light in her window. This will only lead her to misconstrue things.
Yet, it was true. Sometimes, Harry lay in his bed, staring up at his plain red velvet canopy, picturing Arabella beneath the blue one adorned with stars. He imagined it brought her comfort, that the flickering candle on her nightstand chased away her fear of the dark.
“It does bring me comfort,” she admitted, her voice soft. “And I must say, I am grateful there is no restriction here on the beeswax candles. As you know, I am not fond of the dark, but my father allowed us only a limited number of candles each week. I could not leave one burning for long, and often, in the dark… all manner of fears would rise.”
