The Affairs of Harriet Walters, Spinster

by Cathy Spencer

  “That would be a great shame,” Bell said. “Of course, there is a way out of your dilemma. Invite Harriet to come along to the country with you.”

  Diane’s composure slipped for a moment, but her face relaxed into a smile as she turned to the gentleman. “Of course that would be lovely, Augustus, but I’m afraid that it would not be much of a treat for dear Harriet. County life is no novelty to her, and we shall be a little dull once we have left the city.”

  “How fortunate that you have me here to advise you, Diane,” Bell replied. “There is a simple solution to that difficulty as well. Why not have a country house party for the last week of June? Personally, I would be delighted to get away from the heat and stench of a London summer, and I promise that Miss Walter’s entertainment would be my first priority. What do you say, Diane? Why not invite tonight’s delightful company to the country for a week?”

  Diane continued smiling at Bell, but the smile did not reach her eyes. “What a charming idea, Augustus,” she said.

  Harriet had heard the exchange and thought it time to intervene. “Diane, you have been so generous to me already, I would not dream of impinging upon your hospitality any longer.”

  Diane waved her hand. “Nonsense, Harriet. You have been a perfect angel, helping me through my time of need. We would love to have you visit with us in the country, but perhaps it wouldn’t be right, with the family in mourning.”

  “Nonsense, Diane. Just three or four friends and family quietly supporting you through your grief. Nothing to draw anyone’s censure,” Bell replied. “Why not ask your husband’s opinion?”

  “Edward?” Diane said. Her husband looked up from a conversation with his son.

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Augustus has had a wonderful idea. What would you say to a little house party for our first week in the country?”

  “Of course, whatever you like, Diane,” he said, returning to his conversation.

  “You see? Even Fitzwilliam agrees,” Bell said, raising the wine glass to his lips with a devilish glint in his eyes.

  Diane took a deep breath and rested her spoon upon her plate. “Symonds, you may serve the next course,” she murmured.

  Chapter Thirty

  The country house expedition left the following week. Harriet rode in the carriage with Diane, Edward, and Abigail, while Steven and Howard followed on horseback. Colonel York was to arrive separately, as was Mr. Bell.

  Harriet was curious to see the estate that Mrs. Evans had inherited from her father. It was a working dairy farm and not just a holiday spot, she had learned. As they drove through the park, a rambling, red brick house came into view, and she admired the sloping green lawns and the wooded copse to the east of the residence. Symonds greeted them at the front door. He and the staff who served at the country house during the summer had preceded the family by two days.

  “I hope that you had a pleasant journey, sir,” the butler said as Edward descended from the vehicle.

  “Yes it was, for the most part. Of course, it always takes longer when the ladies are with us. They do like to stop. Yesterday we broke our journey in Winchester so that Harriet could attend service in the cathedral.”

  Harriet was waiting her turn to climb down. “I do thank you all again for agreeing to the stop. The cathedral was magnificent.”

  Diane replied, “You men are always in such a hurry to get to your destination. We couldn’t have driven by without going inside, Edward.”

  “Yes, ladies like to see the sights. And then Abigail had to stop to collect her botanical specimens.”

  “Thank you again, Cousin Edward. I needed those specimens for my medicinal herb collection,” Abigail said.

  Steven and Harold dismounted and joined the others. “The old place looks the same as ever,” Steven remarked, arching his back to ease muscles cramped from being in the saddle for two days.

  “Yes, Middleton takes good care of it for us,” Edward said.

  “Middleton is the tenant farmer, Harriet,” Diane explained. “His father was my grandfather’s tenant before him. I’m certain that they feel they own the place after all these years.”

  “It’s a handsome spot," Harriet said. “I look forward to seeing the rest of the estate.”

  “I’m sure that you and the young people will want to go for a good long ramble tomorrow. Steven will be happy to take you. Let’s go inside and sort out the rooms for now.” Diane took her husband’s arm and headed into the house with Harriet and the others following.

  The building was a study in contradictions. It had begun as a farm house, but ensuing generations had expanded and improved upon it as their tastes and budgets had allowed. Diane had added her own enhancements, extending the dining room to accommodate dancing, and refurbishing the library to suit Edward’s needs. Formerly, the library had been a dark little nook where previous owners had retreated to work upon the accounts, but Edward required a room with grander appointments to entertain his important political friends. An adjoining wall had been removed, the windows had been enlarged, an impressive mantle had been installed over a more meagre one, and several cases of leather-bound books had been purchased to triple the collection. Nowadays, gentlemen disappeared into the room for the type of conversation that accompanied expensive cigars and imported brandy.

  The guests were installed in a separate wing from the family. Harriet and Abigail had neighbouring rooms, but Harriet was surprised to see Mr. Gwinn and Mr. Bell’s rooms just down the hall and around the corner from them. Colonel York was in the chamber directly across from the young ladies, perhaps as a chaperone, but Harriet did not relish the idea of sharing a bathroom with the gentlemen. Of course, Diane’s version of propriety was more cosmopolitan than her own and, for all Harriet knew, this mixed-style of accommodation might be typical of all grand country houses.

  The guests had all arrived by late afternoon, and met at dinner for the first time. Diane’s table was impeccable; standards were not lowered because they were in the country. The dinner conversation was very amusing with Steven and Howard telling tales on each other from Oxford, but people began hiding yawns as dinner wore on. Everyone retired early to bed, but not before Steven had organized a tour of the estate for the following morning.

  Harriet went down to breakfast early the next day, and was surprised to see Bell already there with Howard. He looked up from his cold mutton and silently saluted her with a cup of tea.

  “Why Mr. Bell, I’m surprised to see you up so early. Good morning, Mr. Gwinn,” Harriet said. Harold jumped up and pulled out a chair for her.

  “I keep country hours when I’m in the country, Miss Walters. Besides, I thought I’d join you and the others on the tour this morning." Bell passed the buttered toast, and Harriet poured herself a cup of tea.

  “Have you seen anything of Abigail yet this morning, Miss Walters?” Harold asked.

  Harriet forked a slice of mutton onto her plate. “Yes, she poked her head out her door just as I passed, and said to tell you that she would be down as soon as she finished today's journal entry.” Harriet turned her attention back to Bell. “You’re coming on our tour?”

  “I thought I’d tag along to see Diane’s farm. Nothing like the sweet smell of a dairy.” Harriet’s eyebrows rose in disbelief as he chewed on a piece of toast smothered in strawberry preserves.

  Abigail hurried into the room with a straw hat dangling from her hand, Steven sauntering behind her, his hair still damp from his bath. “Morning, everyone,” he said as Harold rose to greet Abigail with a kiss. Harriet stared at this public display of affection, although neither Bell nor Steven seemed to take any notice. After a moment, Harriet realized that Bell was addressing her.

  “What’s that, Mr. Bell?”

  “I was asking if you would mind passing the cheese?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Has everyone got what they want?” Steven asked as Symonds entered with a fresh pot of tea. The new arrivals devoured their food a
nd, twenty minutes later, everyone pushed back plates and chairs, ready for the tour.

  Lucas Middleton, the Fitzwilliams’ tenant, did keep the farm in good repair. As Steven led his guests to the dairy, they passed sleek animals fresh from their morning milking grazing in the pasture. Steven introduced them to the farmer, a placid, strong-looking man of middle years, and to his two young daughters. They left the family at work with a promise to look in on Mrs. Middleton and the younger children in their cottage.

  After the dairy, the group examined the barn and the horse stable, visited Mrs. Middleton and the babies, and wandered down a path into a charming wood. Abigail and Harold fell behind the others and vanished, leaving Harriet, Bell and Steven to continue on their own. Harriet half-listened while the two men discussed milk production and crop yields, just enough to know that the older gentleman was more knowledgeable on the subject than Steven.

  “I forget,” Harriet thought, “that Mr. Bell grew up on a farm, while Steven grew up in London and just vacations here.”

  By late morning, the air was warm and still as the sun reached its zenith, but at least it was shady in the woods. They came upon a brook, and Harriet wished her companions gone so that she could remove her shoes and stockings and paddle in the inviting water. Bell seemed to read her mind as he sat down upon a rock and pulled off a boot.

  “What a good idea, Steven said, his eyes sidling in Harriet’s direction.

  Bell looked up. “Miss Walters, why don’t you join us?” he said. “It’s such a private spot. No one will disturb us here. The water looks so cool, and my feet are damned hot in these boots.” He pulled off the other one.

  Harriet turned to Steven. “Will you join him?” she asked.

  “It sounds like a good idea,” Steven said, hesitating.

  Shrugging, Harriet said, “Well, why not.”

  “Good girl,” Bell said, patting a place on the rock beside him. Steven helped her to sit while Bell climbed into the brook. With Bell’s back turned and Steven busy with his own things, Harriet took off her shoes, pulled up her skirts, and removed her stockings. Bell offered her a steadying hand as she stepped into the water, Steven climbing in after her. They waded up the brook, Harriet holding her skirts and treading carefully on the stony bottom. The refreshing water streamed past their ankles until it grew too deep, and they were forced to turn back. They climbed out at their starting point and sat upon the grass to wait for their legs and feet to dry. Bell lay on his back, his straw hat pushed over his eyes to shade them from the glinting sun.

  “It’s a very fine day,” he remarked to Harriet and Steven. “I feel like a boy again, lying here in the grass. Let me see, there was a song I used to sing when I was just a wee lad.” He broke into a familiar Scottish air, the other two joining him on the chorus. They sang another song, and then Harriet wandered off to gather a nosegay while the gentlemen remained recumbent upon the ground. Harriet smiled when she heard Bell begin to snore, and returned to find both men asleep. She dressed in private and, laughing, left some of her flowers on each of the sleeping men’s chests before heading back to the house.

  Harriet revelled in her walk, appreciating the fresh air, exercise, and solitude she had not experienced in London. As she strode across the grass, pulling the pins from her hair and allowing it to bounce upon her shoulders, she felt happy and free, as if the old chains of worry and uncertainty had fallen from her limbs.

  When she reached the house, Harriet found Diane and Colonel York drinking lemonade under a tree on the front lawn. On inquiry, she discovered that Edward was working in the library while Harold and Abigail had not yet returned. Harriet flopped into an empty chair and accepted a glass of lemonade from Diane.

  “You look warm, Harriet, and your hair is all dishevelled,” Diane said. “Better rest awhile.”

  “I feel wonderful,” she replied, taking thirsty gulps of lemonade. Colonel York smiled as she turned to gaze at him. “What have you been doing all morning, sir?” she asked.

  “Not much. I took a walk down to the stable to look in on my horses, breakfasted with Fitzwilliam and Diane, read the papers, and joined Diane out here. It’s been a very pleasant morning, but I feel in need of some exercise.”

  “We could play croquet if you like,” Diane said, the gentleman frowning at her suggestion, “or perhaps you would prefer lawn bowls?”

  “Lawn bowls. I was getting rather good at that at my friend’s house. Perhaps I could make further improvements to my game?”

  “What an excellent idea,” Harriet said, jumping up. “I’ve always liked lawn bowls. Will you join us, Diane?” When Steven and Bell found them an hour later, Harriet and Diane were arguing over whose ball lay closer to the jack, while the colonel tried to intervene.

  “Now, ladies,” he was saying, “we’re getting rather heated here, don’t you think?”

  “No,” Harriet said, kneeling on the ground and measuring her ball’s position with a piece of ribbon borrowed from Diane. She held the ribbon up for Diane to see. “Aha. I told you so. My ball is this far,” she said, pointing to a spot upon the ribbon, “while your ball is this far,” pointing to a spot two inches farther along.

  “I think you must be mistaken, dear,” Diane said, snatching the ribbon, her cheeks flushed and her hat sliding over her left temple. “My ball is closer by a good three inches.”

  “Pardon me, but you must be blind,” Harriet said. The colonel threw up his hands and turned away. “Let’s pace out the distance between our balls and the jack.”

  “That won’t work, Harriet. My feet are so much daintier than yours,” Diane replied. Harriet’s hands flew to her hips just as Steven and a chortling Bell started toward them.

  “Mother, I’m starving. Have we got anything to eat?” Steven asked as he took his mother by the arm.

  Bell slid an arm around Harriet’s shoulders and turned her away. “Miss Walters, I want your opinion on a tree.”

  “A tree? What tree? What are you talking about, sir?” Both women were led away, Diane into the house to find food for her son, and Harriet around the back of the house to look at Bell’s tree.

  When they had reached the back lawn, Bell pointed to a tree, his arm still draped around Harriet’s shoulders. “There, that’s the one. Don’t you think that it has the most peculiar shape?”

  “I don’t understand you, sir. It looks perfectly normal to me.”

  Bell pointed past Harriet’s face. “That part right there.”

  “Right where? I don’t see it,” she said, squinting at the tree.

  “Right here,” he said, drawing her into his arms and kissing her. Harriet staggered a little when he released her, and stared at him. “I must confess that there’s nothing wrong with the tree, Harriet. I just wanted to do that,” he said, his dimples showing.

  “Oh.” Harriet’s mind was a blank slate, and she could think of nothing to say.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m going to do it again.” Bell held her even longer this time, kissing her hungrily. When he released her, Harriet’s arms dropped to her sides and she gazed at the ground.

  Bell stroked the side of her face with one hand. “Is something wrong, Harriet?”

  “I’ve never been kissed before, Mr. Bell.”

  “Never? What a sin. How did you like it?”

  “I liked it very much,” she said, her eyes rising to meet his and her hands encircling his neck.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The remainder of the day passed in a blur for Harriet. She continued kissing Bell until she felt dizzy and thought she had better stop. He escorted her back to the house and kissed the palm of her hand before leaving without a word. She went upstairs to her room and lay upon her bed with a cold compress pressed over her eyes. She felt so many things: excitement, confusion, and guilt. It was wrong to kiss a man to whom she was not at least promised – and to kiss him so passionately must be a sin! But if that were true, why had she enjoyed it so much? What harm had it done her?

>   Such conflicting emotions were exhausting, and Harriet fell asleep. When she awoke, the early evening sun was slanting through her windows, and it was time to dress for dinner. Harriet chose a very light, Grecian-style gown which flattered her shapely arms and shoulders. Her fingers trembled as she loosely arranged her thick hair, and she chose a white rose from the vase upon her dressing table to tuck into it.

  Harriet felt very nervous as to how Bell would react on seeing her again, lest he do something scandalous in front of the others. As it turned out, however, he did not treat her any differently at all. He smiled, teased her a little, and conversed as easily with her as he did with everyone else. However, when the men rejoined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner, he waylaid her as she paused by the French doors, and pulled her outside. They walked along the side of the house until coming upon a niche hidden from the moonlight, where he pressed her gently against the wall. Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her fervently before breaking from her mouth to trail kisses on her eyes and cheeks. He paused for a moment, his breathing ragged. She hid her face against his shoulder, trying not to tremble.

  “I couldn’t wait any longer to get you to myself, dearest girl. I thought that I would go mad during that interminable meal. How clever of you to slip away to the doors.” He bent to kiss her ear and the hollow of her neck. Harriet giggled nervously as his lips tickled her shoulder.

  “You don’t say anything, my darling. What are you thinking? It’s too dark – I can’t see your face. Come for a walk in the moonlight with me.” He took her hand and drew her out onto the gravelled drive beside the house.

  Harriet gazed up into the diamond sky, the scent of roses and jasmine mingling in the evening air, a breeze cooling the back of her neck. The night made her feel a little bolder, a little wilder. She raised Bell’s hand to her lips, and then pressed it against her cheek.