She stared up into his beautiful face, recognising the fear in his eyes, knowing that he was waiting for her to laugh at him or reject him, or to recreate whatever it was he’d experienced in the past that had hurt him so deeply.
Harriet took a breath. “Why do you think that is?” she asked, her voice calm before adding, “and don’t say because you’re stupid, Jasper, because I won’t have it. You’re not stupid.”
“You said I was,” he countered, that brittle, defensive edge creeping into his voice.
“Perhaps that was because I didn’t understand,” she said. “Like I didn’t understand why you were so cruel to me, and you didn’t understand why I didn’t love you anymore. I think we’ve made too many foolish mistakes over the past years, Jasper, and all of them could have been resolved so easily if we’d only explained ourselves.”
He swallowed hard and then wiped his eyes with an irritated swipe of his hand. “I don’t know why. I… I tried so hard, Harry,” he said, and the anguish in his voice made her want to wail for the hurt he’d held inside all these years. “I m-mean I can read, only it’s so difficult, and it takes forever and then when I try to write, it… it comes out all wrong. I get things back to front and it’s… it’s such a bloody mess.”
“Jasper,” she said, reaching up to touch his face, but he pushed away from her, out of her embrace.
“Don’t pity me,” he stormed, backing away from her and thrusting his hands into his hair like he’d tear it out by the roots. “Don’t you dare! Not that.”
“I don’t pity you,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even when she wanted to cry and hold him and rage at the world for having caused him such pain. “I’m in awe of you, Jasper. How hard you must have worked, how clever you must have been to conceal this from everybody all this time.”
“Don’t be so bloody patronising,” he growled, pacing up and down now, like something wild that had been trapped in too small a space for too long.
“I’m not, I swear it. I can’t imagine how you have run this vast estate all these years, let alone how you got through school. Good heavens, no wonder you didn’t want to go to university.” She paused, sucking in a breath as another thought occurred to her. “Oh, my God… and how I treated you, the things I said,” she whispered, appalled by her cruelty, even though it had not been her intention to cause such hurt. If only she’d known!
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, kicking at a stone and sounding so weary that she longed to go to him and make it all better, but she didn’t know how.
“Does anyone know?” she asked.
He shook his head, and she knew he’d been struggling with this alone his whole life, terrified someone would find him out.
“I think perhaps Merrick suspects,” he said, still not looking at her.
“Your valet?”
Jasper nodded. “I have to ask people to read things for me. My secretary just thinks I’m too high in the instep to do it myself and that’s fine. That’s how I’ve got through most situations but… but it becomes tricky with more personal matters.”
Harriet felt a lump rise to her throat. “That’s why you didn’t write,” she said, blinking back tears now.
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “I wanted to, but—”
She couldn’t hold back another minute, damn his pride. Harriet ran to him and wrapped herself about him as tightly as she could.
“I love you, Jasper. I love you, and you are the bravest person I’ve ever met, but you are not stupid, and you must never think it.”
He was stiff and unyielding in her arms, the hurt he felt hidden behind a brittle wall that she needed to break down.
“Maybe not stupid,” he allowed. “But I’m no great thinker, love. Not like—”
“If you say de Beauvoir, I will kill you,” she snapped, before he had time to finish the sentence. “I tell you now, I admire many things about Inigo de Beauvoir, but I have concluded he is the stupidest genius I know.”
Jasper gave her a blank look.
“His ideas on love are the most idiotic I’ve ever heard in my whole life,” she said, shaking her head at him. “I tried to believe them for a long time, but I always knew he was wrong at heart. Honestly, how stupid do you need to be to think such a thing hasn’t been proven over and again in infinite ways, since the beginning of the human race? What a great clod pole.”
To her immense relief, his lips twitched.
“Well, I don’t like to say I told you so,” he said.
Harriet let out a little huff of laughter and stared up at him, touching her hand to his face.
“I’m so glad you told me, so relieved I understand, and we will work things out together, yes?”
He shrugged, his expression still wary and uncertain. “You can’t fix me, Harry.”
“I don’t need or want to fix you,” she shot back, irritated by the idea. “You’re not broken, you….” She held his gaze as she thought about it. “Perhaps you just work differently from other people. Not badly, just… differently.”
She watched him, hoping she’d said the right thing, relieved when he let out a long breath and leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you so much, Harry. I couldn’t bear for you to be ashamed of me, or—”
“Never!” she said, hearing her voice break on the word as she shook her head. She pulled him close and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. “I could never, ever be ashamed of you.”
“Thank you,” he said, his smile a little surer now.
“Thank you,” she replied. “For trusting me.”
They stood together for a long while, holding each other tight and saying nothing at all, until Harriet looked up.
“Now. then,” she said, her tone business-like. “Isn’t it about time you showed me what you’ve got hidden in this secret workshop of yours? I’m dying of curiosity.”
He laughed, and it was the carefree Jasper from her youth, the one she’d fallen in love with, without even noticing it was happening.
“All right,” he said, looking almost shy. “As it happens, I just finished your wedding present.”
Harriet stared at him. “You… You made me a wedding present?” she said, astonished that he’d taken such trouble for her. “Oh, Jasper, that’s—”
“You haven’t seen it yet,” he reminded her, and she saw a flash of doubt in his eyes. “You might not like it.”
She took his arm, wondering how she’d never noticed before how uncertain he was, how thin a veneer that confident, smiling countenance had been.
“You made it for me, Jasper. Whatever it is, I shall think it terribly romantic and love it more than anything else in the world.”
He looked pleased by that and grabbed her hand. “Come along, then.”
Chapter 18
Miss Butler,
I accept your apology. I regret to inform you, however, that I have no notion of how to deal with such inappropriate feelings. I strongly suggest that we endeavour to avoid each other at all costs.
I feel it is for the best.
Regards,
de Beauvoir.
― Letter from Mr Inigo de Beauvoir to Miss Minerva Butler.
8th September 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.
Harriet didn’t know what she’d expected when she walked into the large workroom, but it wasn’t what she saw.
The room was neatly swept and tidy, and it was clear there was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. Harriet looked around, enjoying the sweet, rather dusty scent of wood until her gaze landed on a shelf crammed with carved objects. With her heart in her mouth she reached for one, hardly daring to touch it, as it was so very delicate.
It was a carved horse, its proud neck arched, and its mane caught in the moment after it had tossed its head. He had captured every sinew and muscle in the fine grained wood, and with such precision.
“You… You did this, Jasper?”
She turned to him, feeling her throat ache with emotion
.
He nodded, watching her intently.
“I… I don’t know what to say.” She looked along the shelves, at carvings of dogs and cats and cows, mice and birds. She set the horse down and reached for another, a tiny dormouse curled into a wooden nest. “You’re an artist, Jasper,” she said, smoothing a finger over the tiny creature, captured in perfect detail. Her voice was thick, and her eyes so full of tears he was blurred and out of focus when she looked back at him.
“Would you like to see what I made you?” he asked, and she nodded dumbly, too overwhelmed to speak as she set the little dormouse back on the shelf.
Jasper took her hand and led her to a sturdy workbench in the middle of the room. There was something large and oblong covered with a cloth on top of it, and as she drew closer Jasper reached for it and then hesitated.
“When I said it’s your wedding present, I only mean it’s one of your presents. I’ll give you jewellery, too, of course, but… I made this for your trousseau,” he said, and then tugged the cover away.
Harriet gasped, her hand moving to cover her mouth.
“Oh, my,” she said, the words breathed more than spoken. “Oh, my.”
She moved closer, unable to believe the detail, the care, the time that must have been lavished on this, for her.
“May I touch it?” she asked.
Jasper laughed and nodded. “Of course, it’s yours.”
Harriet ran her hand over the carving on the lid. A girl sat beneath an apple tree, reading a book. She blinked hard to clear the moisture in her eyes and a tear over spilled. All around the outside of the chest there were more books carved into the wood, life size, standing side by side or stacked in piles, or open with a few of the pages fanned open. She read some of the titles, Plato’s Republic was there, Homer’s Iliad, David Hume’s A Treatise of Human Nature, and novels such as Gulliver’s Travels. How hard it must have been for him to carve the writing. That he’d not only done this, against all the odds, but that he’d noticed what she was reading and gone to such trouble when his own difficulties made it so challenging for him to enjoy such things….
She could hardly take it in, emotion surging inside her like a rising tide.
“It’s walnut,” he said as Harriet struggled for breath. “Do you remember the big tree that got blown down in the storm? Down by the lake.”
Harriet nodded. They’d loved that tree and had climbed in and picnicked beneath it. It had been like losing an old friend when she’d heard that a freak summer storm had torn it up by the roots. She could think of no finer use for the wood than this… with all the love and care that had been so lavished upon it. Her heart swelled until she thought it might burst. How could he have spent so long feeling as worthless as he clearly did when he was capable of such extraordinary things? She understood why he’d not shared his work publicly; it was not at all the thing for an earl to work with his hands, but that he’d not shared them with his family, his friends. It was only now that she truly understood him, that she realised how fragile his pride was, how much shame he’d endured, and how he’d believed he had only his looks to rely on.
“When… When did you do this, Jasper?”
She looked back at him, unable to hide the tears which were falling freely now.
He shrugged, smoothing his hand along the top of the marriage chest. “I began it when I came back from Russia,” he admitted. “I’ve been working on it ever since. Not constantly,” he added with a wry smile. “But during the times I dared hoped I might win you back. I never gave up hoping that I could change your mind about me.”
Harriet made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob and threw herself into his arms. “I love it, Jasper. I love it so much. More than anything else in the world, and I love you.”
He kissed her then and Harriet sank into his embrace, knowing that she truly was loved. As strange and impossible as it was to believe that this beautiful, astonishing man loved her, she knew now that he did, and she’d not doubt him again.
***
10th September 1814, Holbrooke House, Sussex.
The picnic had been a wonderful idea. Matilda and Harriet, Ruth, Bonnie and Minerva had gone with Henry and Jasper and Jerome, down to the lake with baskets laden with goodies. Now, everyone was sleepy and replete, having stuffed themselves fit to bursting point.
Matilda sighed and put her parasol to one side, tipping her head back. Summer had decided it wasn’t quite ready to hand over the mantle to autumn and was putting on one final show for them. The sun warmed her face, and she decided it was worth risking freckles to enjoy it. There couldn’t be too many days like this left this year, and she wanted to revel in what remained of the summer.
The lazy afternoon was delicious and perfect; not so hot as to make everyone irritable, but warm enough to bask in the golden light burnishing every exposed inch of skin. There wasn’t much skin exposed, naturally, but it was still a delight.
Jasper had taken Harriet out on the boat and Matilda smiled happily as she watched the two of them lean in and steal a kiss. There was a wistful sigh from beside her, and Matilda turned to see Bonnie gazing at the two lovebirds.
“Lucky things,” she said, clutching her arms about herself.
Matilda nodded, unable to disagree. “Indeed.”
“We’re not all so lucky, are we?” Bonnie said, a bleak note entering her voice.
Matilda felt her heart ache, and not only for Bonnie.
“No,” she said, for what was the point in pretending otherwise? “But you are young and pretty, Bonnie. There’s time yet.”
Bonnie shook her head. “No,” she said, and Matilda heard the catch in her voice. “No, there’s not. I told you, I’m already living on borrowed time.”
Matilda reached out and took her hand, and Bonnie squeezed it in return. “You’ll not be alone, Bonnie. Not forgotten or abandoned. Whatever happens. We won’t allow that. Your friends will always be there for you. I’ll come to Scotland and stay with you, I promise. No matter how far into the wilderness they try to bury you.”
Bonnie made a choked sound and then laughed, and Matilda followed, blinking back tears.
“Lud, how maudlin we’ve become,” she said, shaking her head. “This won’t do at all.”
“Aye, there’s time enough for tears and wailing,” Bonnie said, scrambling to her feet. “I won’t waste a moment of what’s left to me.”
Matilda watched, rather daunted by what Bonnie meant as the girl took up her drinking cup and went to the water’s edge, filling it to the brim.
“Oh dear,” Matilda murmured as she saw Bonnie run unerringly towards Jerome, who was dozing on a blanket in the sun. Bonnie threw the water on him, laughing her head off as Jerome spluttered and cursed.
“Why, you little brat!” he shouted, pushing to his feet as Bonnie shrieked, dropping the cup and hitching up her skirts, running away as Jerome chased after her.
“I’m going to throw you in the lake, Bonnie Campbell,” Jasper warned her as he set off in pursuit.
Bonnie crowed with laughter and turned back, sticking out her tongue at him.
“You’ve got to catch me first, clod pole,” she taunted, before running off, into the trees.
“My, she’s bold,” Minerva said, shaking her head with admiration as she and Ruth came to sit beside Matilda.
“Yes,” Matilda said, her voice faint with worry as she wondered how to get Bonnie back before there was another scandal to contend with.
“I wish I had half her nerve,” Ruth admitted with a sigh. “Every time I think about my dare, I quake in my boots.”
“To say something utterly outrageous to a handsome man?” Minerva said, grinning. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something. You must have a witness, though. We need proof.”
Matilda looked back to Ruth, who looked rather sick.
“Does anyone know when Bonnie will do her dare?” she asked them. “I have a rather anxious feeling she will choose the engagement ball.”
“No, she’s been very quiet about it,” Ruth admitted, which was the most worrisome thing she could have possibly said.
Bonnie was never quiet about anything. It meant she was up to something. Her dare, to wear a disguise in public, was the kind of thing Bonnie would delight in taking too far, and she’d likely ruin herself beyond saving.
“Oh, don’t look so ill,” Ruth said, smiling at Matilda. “I know she’s rather wild, but she’s not stupid. I think she’s just gathering her rosebuds while she may, and it seems she cannot escape Gordon Anderson no matter what she does, or how badly she behaves. Morven is at his wits’ end. He’s threatening to send the brute down here to carry her back to Scotland. Even if she’s ruined herself in the meantime she won’t escape; he’s told her as much. She’ll be marrying Gordon Anderson, unless someone else marries her first, I suppose, but there’s no sign of that. The earl has his heart set on it.”
“Does anyone know anything of this Anderson fellow, apart from what Bonnie’s said?” Matilda asked, wishing there were something they could do.
Ruth pulled a face and shook her head. “No, but every time she speaks of him the descriptions get more and more appalling. I admit I find it hard to believe any man is quite as vile as she paints him. I hope not, for her sake.”
Matilda nodded, in complete agreement. Gordon Anderson had become the stuff of legend to the Peculiar Ladies, as Bonnie’s descriptions of the man painted a vivid picture of an ignorant brute who ate small children for breakfast, smelled like a pig pen, and had as much personal appeal as a bout of typhoid. They were all torn between feeling desperately sorry for Bonnie at having to face such an unenviable fate, and dying to see the man in the flesh.
“At least she’ll be a countess one day,” Ruth said with a sigh. “It seems Morven’s last direct heir died last month, and Anderson is his closest relation.”
“Really?” Matilda said, astonished. “And the earl still wants him to marry Bonnie?”
Not that she meant it unkindly, but it seemed odd. From what she knew of Bonnie, she came from no great family, and—judging by the amount of trouble she’d caused Morven to date—one might have thought he’d just want rid of her, not to marry her to his heir.
To Wager with Love (Girls Who Dare Book 5) Page 18