Sir Richard had never been the loving sort of uncle an orphaned child might wish for. Quite the opposite, in fact. Authoritarian and domineering, he had shaped Harry’s life since Harry had the bad fortune of becoming his ward at the age of five, whenboth of his parents were shipwrecked on the way to Ireland and drowned.
He had his aunt by his side for some years, and she’d provided him with love and affection from the start. She had been eager for a child of her own when he’d arrived and had embraced him with enthusiasm—until she too passed away in a dreadful carriage accident when he was eleven.
With their family ever-shrinking, Harry hated that his uncle was his only close relative. The others lived far away and rarely ventured to London, where Harry kept an estate on the outskirts of town.
“Let us not quarrel,” he finally said, not wanting to let the night get uglier than it was. “I need to take the air.”
“Very well. Do go take the air. Let’s both pray it clears your mind. For, Harry, sometimes I do not know what to do with you. Your father would be disappointed.”
“Would he?” Harry asked. “I remember…” He clamped his mouth shut. Anything he would say would only antagonize his uncle, and that was the last thing he needed right now.
He rolled his shoulders back, nodded at his uncle, and made his way into the garden.
The cool evening breeze was like a balm to his heated face. He made his way down the wide stone steps, the heel of his shoes clicking against the cobblestone only to fall silent when he stepped on the grass. It was summer now, and the flowers were in bloom. He barely noticed. He had never been one to find enjoyment in flowers, birds, stars, or any such nonsense.
Running a hand through his hair, he heard a sound from somewhere to his right. He turned, narrowing his eyes when he heard it again. It was a sob.
Suddenly, he remembered the young woman who had made her way into the garden just a few minutes ago. Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets, wondering what he should do. He wasn’t the type to care about being a savior to a young woman in distress, least of all one he did not know.
Still, before he could make up his mind, the woman came out from behind a hedgerow. She fiddled with her reticule but stopped short when she saw him.
Harry turned left, then right, and then made his way toward her, deciding it would be rude to walk away now that they’d made eye contact. Besides, he couldn’t deny that seeing her in distress did stir something inside him. He wasn’t heartless, after all. Besides, what would his sweet Helen say if she knew he considered leaving a young woman alone in the garden when she was clearly in distress?
No. As always, thoughts of Helen guided him down the right path.
“Are you quite alright? Are you hurt?” he asked.
The young woman looked at him with her lips slightly parted, her eyes glazed over. Some of the pearl powder on her face had been washed away by her tears, leaving streaks on her cheeks.
“I am not hurt. Nobody hurt me,” she said.
He stood there, his hands in his pockets as he examined her. She was beautiful, there was no denying it. Far more beautiful than many of the other women he had seen inside the ballroom. Her eyes were almost almond-shaped, and while they’d been dull earlier, they were now glinting with irritation.
Irritation at what? Him?
Did she want to be alone? Harry was not altogether unfamiliar with young ladies. While he was far from what one might call a rake, he had his experiences over the years. Nothing serious, but sometimes he found it difficult to understand women. Indeed, in his life, there had only ever been one young lady to whom he had been close enough to understand her thoughts and feelings, but…
He shook his head. There was no use comparing Helen to this young woman or any of these young ladies at the ball.
“Were you looking for something out here, Sir?” she asked, and he blinked, realizing that she was talking to him. “I mean, Your Grace.”
So, she did know who he was… Perhaps she was trying to figure out the best way to lure him in?
“I came here to take the air,” he replied, wondering why she hadn’t gone back inside yet.
Was it possible that she wanted to talk about whatever was troubling her? He ran his tongue over his top lip as he pondered this. If she didn’t want to talk to him, she would have left by now. Yet, she was standing there, looking at him just as he was looking at her.
“Are you quite sure you’re alright? If somebody harmed you, I am more than happy to intervene,” he offered. Although, in his heart of hearts, he hoped that she would decline.
Fortunately, she did. “No. As I said, nobody hurt me.”
“Well then,” he said and remained standing there.
He assumed that she was going to walk past him and go back into the house, but she didn’t budge from her spot.
What does she want?This is terribly awkward.
“Do you need something, Your Grace?” she asked.
