“You are a very good man, Harry Windover,” Athena said. She wasn’t sure where the impulse came from or why she acted so immediately upon it, but Athena leaned her head against his chest, her energy all but spent.
“And you, Athena Lancaster,” Harry answered, “are apparently still ill.”
It was so like Harry to turn a compliment aimed at himself into a moment of self-deprecating humor. He lightened every situation. She would never have guessed only two hours earlier, while being accosted by Mr. Rigby, that she would have reason to feel so content before the night was over.
“What did happen to Mr. Rigby?” she asked, still leaning against him.
“He left,” Harry replied. Athena felt his arms wrap lightly around her, so lightly, in fact, that she barely felt them there.
“On his own?” she pressed, feeling entirely at ease in Harry’s arms. Mr. Rigby’s embrace had been tortuous. Harry’s was heaven.
“Not precisely,” Harry said. “He required a great deal of assistance.”
“Because he was angry?” Athena wondered out loud. She closed her eyes, trying to push out all the unpleasantness of the evening from her mind.
“Because he was no longer capable of leaving unassisted,” Harry answered.
Athena wasn’t certain, but she thought she felt Harry kiss the top of her head. His embrace tightened almost imperceptibly. What was it he always smelled like? She recognized the pleasant scent as his own but couldn’t identify it.
“Will he spread rumors, do you think?” Athena asked. It was what worried her the most. Mr. Rigby could leave her reputation in shreds or attempt to force her into marriage still. “Suppose he talks about what happened.”
“He won’t be talking about anything for a while, I assure you,” Harry answered. “Adam is nothing if not thorough.”
“I shouldn’t be happy to hear that someone is suffering,” Athena said.
“But you are happy about it,” Harry ascertained. “So am I. Adam wouldn’t share, unfortunately. I would have liked to have had a go at the man myself.”
“You are the very best of friends, Harry,” Athena said, feeling the last remnants of tension slip away.
“Yes,” he answered. “A good . . . friend.”
Harry’s words, oddly enough, sounded regretful.
Chapter 17
Harry had been at Falstone House until four o’clock that morning, sitting in on the discussion of Rigby’s actions. Adam hadn’t told Athena the extent to which he had knocked Rigby around. Beyond Adam’s valet and Harry, probably not a single soul knew that Adam had been required to change his shirt and cravat after the confrontation in the back sitting room. He had removed his jacket and waistcoat beforehand, else they, too, would have been blood-spattered. One thing was for sure, however—something Adam assured Athena of—Rigby would keep his mouth shut. There would be no scandal.
Athena had been palpably relieved. For that, Harry was infinitely grateful. But it was not the interview that had kept him awake long after returning to his rooms. He couldn’t clear his mind of the sensation of holding Athena in his arms.
She had leaned against him. And she had fit perfectly in his embrace. There had been no hesitation, no awkwardness. She had turned to him for answers, for reassurance, and he had been able to offer precisely that. The moment had been perfect and hopeful. For the space of a breath he had imagined himself holding her that way for hours on end, for years yet to come. Then she had called him a good friend, and reality had hit like a slap in the face.
Athena had remained in his arms a few moments longer, until the sound of approaching footsteps had necessitated Harry pulling away. He’d taken only a fraction of a second to memorize the feel of her in his arms then resigned himself to being precisely what Athena had declared him to be: a friend.
Twelve hours after leaving Falstone House, Harry had returned and walked into the drawing room, reminding himself he was the adopted brother of the family. It was what he would always be. After Rigby’s near-fatal involvement in Athena’s Season, Adam was even more vocally opposed to fortune hunters.
Charles Dalforth was there, obviously dressed for an afternoon drive. Dalforth, it seemed, was making a great deal of headway. He was not, apparently, to be relegated to the rank of ineligible pseudorelative.
“Dalforth,” Harry greeted, knowing he sounded almost as disgruntled as he felt.
“Windover,” Dalforth replied. He didn’t sound any happier about the encounter than Harry did. His expression was almost accusatory. “I didn’t see Rigby toward the end of last night’s ball.”
“He was obliged to leave,” Harry explained curtly.
“His Grace, I assume, noticed Rigby was harassing Miss Lancaster,” Dalforth said. Harry nodded silently. “No gentleman should be permitted to make such a nuisance of himself, not to mention the inexcusableness of casting a shadow over her come-out ball.”
“As Rigby was dispatched, I fail to understand your accusatory tone,” Harry shot back.
“Do you?” Dalforth actually chuckled, the ironic kind of chuckle that had nothing to do with humor. “Who was it that introduced Mr. Rigby to Miss Lancaster?”
“I don’t—” Harry thought back, even as he spoke, to the Duke and Duchess of Hartley’s ball. Rigby had approached him as he was escorting Athena and had requested an introduction. “Technically,” Harry conceded, “I did, but—”
“I hadn’t thought you capable of that, Windover,” Dalforth cut across him. “I have never approved of your approach to ‘helping’ Miss Lancaster”—he said helping with such a heavy amount of derision that Harry knew Dalforth meant quite the opposite—“but this is inexcusable. What were you attempting to demonstrate this time? The desperation of a fortune hunter?”
The remark hit far too close to home.
“I hadn’t thought you would choose gentlemen who were entirely objectionable,” Dalforth continued, offering Harry no opportunity to defend himself. “Peterbrook. Handley. All the others were at least harmless, if rather ridiculous. But Rigby? Everyone knew he was under the hatches to the point of complete disaster. A man in that situation is likely to act out of desperation.”
“His Grace will not permit Miss Lancaster to be hurt.”
“Which is fortunate, since you seem to have no qualms about it.”
“How dare you!” Harry had never been so close to losing his temper.
“I dare because I am worried for her,” Dalforth answered, infuriatingly calm. “You have purposefully, knowingly introduced her to gentlemen she could never and would never be happy with.”
“I have done this to help her.” Harry was angry enough to defend himself even though his conscience hadn’t been easy about his approach for some time.
“Help her?” Dalforth shot back. “Tell me, Windover. Did knowing Rigby help her?”
There was no safe response to that.
“I am afraid to even ask who you were planning to introduce her to next,” Dalforth said, shaking his head and wandering to the windows.
“I hadn’t decided,” Harry admitted. He hadn’t moved since Dalforth had begun his attack, like a man at a mark.
“Was it to be someone worse than Mr. Rigby?”
That single question sent Harry’s heart to the pit of his stomach. Dalforth hadn’t asked it. The person had spoken it behind the two men. It was Athena. Dalforth’s look of surprise told Harry he hadn’t realized they’d been overheard either.
Harry took a deep breath and turned around, but he wasn’t prepared for the look on her face. Those eyes that had gazed at him so trustingly the night before were looking at him with a mixture of hurt and anger.
“It isn’t actually true, is it, Harry?” she asked. “It was coincidence that the gentlemen you introduced me to proved so . . .” She shook her head, her expression growing more pained. “You wouldn’t have chosen them on purpose.”
“I . . .” But he could think of nothing to say. How could he explain his motivation wit
hout admitting to more than he was willing?
Her look grew absolutely stricken, his silence saying what he couldn’t. Harry crossed closer to her, but unlike the night before, she stepped back, keeping a distance between them.
“But you were my friend,” she said, her tone and expression cutting into him. “I depended on you. I trusted you.”
“I never intended . . . It wasn’t—”
“Miss Lancaster,” Dalforth interrupted. “Do you still wish to drive in the park?”
Athena looked up at Dalforth, the confusion and pain in her face heart-wrenchingly apparent.
“I cannot stay here just now,” Athena replied, almost pleaded. “I need . . . I need to . . .”
“You need some time away.” Dalforth nodded as if he understood what she was trying to say. “We’ll drive through Hyde Park. Slowly.”
“Do you promise you won’t introduce me to anyone?” Athena said, a strained attempt at humor.
“Not a soul,” Dalforth answered with a smile.
Harry’s stomach twisted inside. Teasing Athena out of the dismals had always been his role.
“Thank you,” Athena said quietly.
She looked up at Harry then, briefly. That look would haunt him, he knew. It was so full of pain, disbelief, frustration.
“Good day, Mr. Windover,” Athena said, her tone detached and hollow, her eyes already turned away from him. Then she was gone, escorted out by a gentleman who not only possessed an actual income but who also did not stand guilty, in her eyes, of sabotage.
“I was only trying to help,” Harry told the empty room.
The declaration did not appease his conscience. If he were being entirely honest, Harry would be forced to admit that his motives had not been so selfless. Helping Athena find a future husband had not been a task he had wanted to undertake. He had, in fact, wished to help her avoid the undesirable sort of gentleman. The truly helpful approach would have been to introduce her to as many good potential suitors as possible. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Being ineligible was hard enough. Somehow it had been easier knowing he would not personally be responsible for introducing Athena to the gentleman she would eventually marry. So he’d spent his time and effort finding men Athena wouldn’t care for. She simply hadn’t realized that.
I trusted you. Athena’s words echoed in his mind accusingly. You were my friend.
Suddenly he realized Athena had spoken in the past tense—that she didn’t trust him any longer, that he wasn’t her friend anymore.
Harry had concocted the whole ridiculous scheme in order to buy himself time—he admitted it—but the plan hadn’t worked. Instead of keeping her longer, he’d simply lost her entirely. Friendship was all he’d had any hope of claiming, and he no longer had even that.
Harry crossed the silent room and leaned against the window frame. Dalforth’s carriage had already pulled away and was long out of sight. London was always a little sparse in the winter; the trees were bare, society had flocked to the country. Harry had only remained in London for Athena’s sake, for his own sake. He’d grasped at what little time he had left with her, and it had slipped through his fingers.
“Harry!” Persephone sounded surprised to see him, as if he hadn’t spent every single day at Falstone House since arriving in London the previous spring. “I should remind you that this is Daphne’s time with Adam. They will both exact rather vicious punishments upon you if you interrupt.”
Harry knew he was meant to laugh at the slight exaggeration. He managed a smile as he turned back from the window to face Persephone. “No . . . I . . .” He needed to get away. Harry realized that in a flash of understanding. He couldn’t stay any longer, now knowing Athena was entirely lost to him. “I only came to offer my farewells,” he said, forcing the words to sound premeditated instead of off-the-cuff. “I am leaving London.”
“This is unexpected,” Persephone replied, moving closer to him, her eyes searching his face. “I hope there is nothing wrong, that there isn’t trouble at your estate.”
Harry smiled and even laughed lightly. “There is always trouble at my estate,” he replied. “But as there is little I can do about it, I am seldom informed of the newest disastrous developments.”
Persephone’s look was so full of commiseration that Harry found himself actually smiling genuinely, if not broadly. Persephone well understood the difficulties of financial hardship.
“Actually, I am”—he thought frantically—“going to visit my sister. I have not seen Jane since coming to Town.”
Jane, Harry’s older sister and his only sibling, lived in Lincolnshire, far enough from London to negate the possibility of a day trip up to see her when he was in Town and far enough from Falstone Castle, where Harry spent the rest of the year, to make visits further between than they ought to be. Jane and her husband would take Harry in for a while, until he decided how to go forward. Falstone Castle would not be the welcome abode it had once been.
“Will you be returning to London?” Persephone asked.
“No,” Harry answered. Not a chance. “The Little Season is very nearly at an end.”
“True.” So why did Persephone sound unconvinced by his explanation. “And shall we expect you at Christmas?”
Harry closed his eyes against the memory of the last Christmas he had spent at Falstone Castle. Athena had been there. He’d first realized then that he was growing rather infatuated with her. He hadn’t been top-over-tail in love with her yet, but it had been, by far, the most pleasant holiday he’d spent since before his parents had died. Adam and Persephone had finally found happiness with one another. The youngest Lancaster sister had added the joy only children can bring to a celebration. And Athena had repeatedly taken Harry’s breath away, with both her beauty and her charm, though she seemed entirely unaware that she possessed either one.
“I don’t know that I will make it to Falstone Castle for Christmas this year,” Harry said, his heart sinking as he voiced the bleak future ahead of him. His days at Falstone had ended for all intents and purposes. He couldn’t bear to be there, despised by the lady he loved, or watching her finding her own happiness with someone other than himself.
“You know that you are always welcome,” Persephone insisted, concern creasing her forehead.
Harry smiled tightly and nodded. “I will be leaving forthwith, so I really should be on my way back to my rooms to pack.”
“Have you any message for Adam?” Persephone looked very much like she was studying him closely, searching for what he wasn’t saying. Why had Harry never realized how piercing her gaze could be?
“Just tell him I took myself off,” Harry answered, striving for his usual jovial tone. “He’ll say, ‘It’s about time.’”
“And then act very satisfied with himself,” Persephone added with a light laugh. “And for Athena? Have you no parting words for her?”
I am sorry. I never meant to cause you pain. Please forgive me. I love you. “No.”
* * *
Harry was crammed into the uncomfortable corner of a traveling coach before dinnertime. Not one of his fellow passengers smiled or greeted him. But, then, he had neither smiled nor greeted them. He found he had no desire to make conversation and no reason to smile.
Chapter 18
“If he were still in London, I’d kill him,” Adam grumbled. He’d uttered myriad variations on that threat over the week since Harry had left London.
There were moments when Athena wholeheartedly agreed. Those moments, however, were invariably followed by the realization that she missed Harry almost desperately despite the fact that she was hurt and angry with him. Mr. Howard had launched into one of his rambling discourses on trees of northern England only the evening before at a soiree. Athena had, out of habit, turned to smile at Harry, but he hadn’t been beside her as he’d once always been. A moment before she’d been entirely downtrodden with wishing Harry hadn’t left, Athena had reminded herself that Harry ha
d introduced her to Mr. Howard in the first place.
“Harry is certainly entitled to visit his sister, Adam,” Persephone said.
“He has a ridiculous sense of timing,” Adam said, his eyes turned to the dark street outside their moving carriage. “A few more weeks and this abysmal Little Season will be over with. The man couldn’t have waited that long?”
“He probably wanted to make the journey before the roads up north are all but impassable,” Persephone pointed out.
“We are going to have to leave in a fortnight or so as it is,” Adam agreed, “or we’ll never make it to Falstone Castle.”
“Can you endure another two weeks of society?” Persephone asked, an obvious smile in her tone, though the carriage interior was too dark for Athena to see her clearly.
“Barely.” He sounded like he was holding back a laugh.
The rest of the ride was silent. It was not the most promising beginning to the night’s festivities. Adam tolerated the theater more than any other activity, probably owing to the fact that there was little, if any, need to interact with anyone beyond his own group. Persephone had begun to look a bit pulled over the past week, no doubt the constant activity of the months she’d spent in London having worn her to a thread.
Athena, for her part, felt mostly anxious. She had known the Little Season was nearly at a close. Until Adam had declared they would remain in London for not more than another fortnight, she had been planning on another month. How could she possibly fall in love in two weeks?
In her mind, it had all seemed so simple. The gentleman of her dreams would find her, and she would know he was exactly the companion she had been waiting for. She spent most of the opening act of whichever performance they were watching reflecting on her expectations. The scenario had replayed in her mind so many times over the course of her life that she had it memorized. But every ball came and went without the heart-pounding moment of seeing her heart’s desire across the ballroom, without watching him slowly make his way to where she stood, without the tingling touch of hands.
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