“You were absorbed in your examinations,” the butler noted, nodding toward the scattered drawings. “Shall I help you pick them up?”
“No,” she uttered, feeling her cheeks flush.
How had she not heard him coming? How foolish!
“No, Baxter, there is no need. I was looking for a drawing that Harry had asked me to frame,” she said, noting the way the butler’s eyebrows rose. He didn’t believe her. “I mean… I am framing it for him as a surprise.”
“For his birthday?” Mr. Baxter asked, intrigued.
Arabella nodded, though she had no idea when her husband’s birthday was.
“Indeed. He told me how much he liked the drawing, so I thought I would frame it for him.” She scanned the floor and quickly picked out the drawing she wanted to use for her ruse. “This one of his parents.”
She held it up, and Baxter’s expression changed. He smiled.
“They were moon-eyed over one another, my late master and mistress. A pity you could not meet them,” he said.
Arabella was surprised to hear that Mr. Baxter had known Harry’s parents.
“I did not know you worked here for so long.”
“Not here. When the former Duke was alive, yes, but after his death, Sir Richard saw fit to close up the house and send us all to Sheffield or one of the other estates. I went up north, as did Mrs. Blomquist. I was glad to be called back when His Grace decided to live here. It was rather quiet in the country.”
“Is it quite usual to keep one’s job when one’s master passes away?” Arabella asked, genuinely curious.
Her father had dismissed her mother’s lady’s maid as well as several other servants who had been employed primarily to serve her mother without batting an eyelid.
“No, but the former Duke asked for this in his will. We were to remain on the estate’s payroll until His Grace was old enough to decide whom he wanted to keep. When he came of age, he decided to keep us all.” He smiled, and Arabella saw how fond he was of Harry.
Could she dare ask him about the woman in the drawing? No, she could not risk exposing her own ruse. Not now. Instead, she simply nodded.
“That was kind of him. Pray, when is my husband expected to return?”
“This evening, Your Grace,” Mr. Baxter replied.
“Right. Well, would you fetch me when he returns? I must speak to him.”
Mr. Baxter frowned. “It might be quite late, Your Grace.”
“I do not care about the hour. I must speak to him.”
The butler gave a curt nod and slipped out of the room, leaving her to clean the mess she’d made on the floor.
She had to confront Harry. Now that Mr. Baxter had caught her, she had to speak to Harry. There was nothing else she could do now. Tonight, when he returned, she would confront him about the secrets and lies, for she was tired now of feeling like a ghost in her own home, a visitor in a life not her own.
CHAPTER 22
The sand grinding beneath the carriage wheels provided a soothing rhythm for Harry as he returned home that night, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the thoughts that had plagued his mind since the previous evening.
Brandon was a good man, but at times, Harry wasn’t quite certain his valet truly understood his needs. How could he? Brandon, like so many others, did not know Harry’s full story. No one knew, save for himself.
Brandon could never comprehend the weight of the guilt resting on Harry’s shoulders, nor the heavy responsibility that loomed before him.
The carriage came to a halt, and Harry disembarked, glancing up as he always did at Arabella’s window. The light that usually indicated she was still awake was out, and he felt a pang of emptiness. It made things simpler that she wasn’t awake; hewouldn’t have to engage in conversation or fabricate an excuse not to linger.
As he stepped inside, he found Mr. Baxter standing in the grand entrance hall.
“Your Grace,” the old man greeted him. “A long day?”
