Harriet shrugged. She was alive, and thought she should be grateful, although she wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Your father had a neighbor telephone me from the corner shop at the end of your street. I came as fast as I could to take you to hospital. Do you remember any of it?”
She remembered all right.
“This is my fault. All of it. If you’d known about the tea—”
She stared at him. He’d known? She had barely understood her father’s babbling.
“I didn’t tell you when I should have. I’ll never forgive myself. But I didn’t want you to be hurt, and I never thought you’d go back there.”
Neither had she. Harriet couldn’t quite remember how she’d wound up there.
Oh, yes. To read the scurrilous newspapers. She gave Thomas what she fancied was a death stare, and watched him squirm.
“You’re upset. About last night. Nothing happened, I swear.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“I know the papers made it looked bad, but it really was nothing. You know what those newshounds are like. One grain of sand in your shoe and suddenly you’re at the beach buried up to your neck. I’d had too much to drink, I grant you. And I’m glad you can’t talk because you won’t interrupt me.” He stroked her cheek, then sat back and looked at his hands.
Harriet had been fond of his hands—they were clever things, folding paper or working her folds. He had a magic touch and the gift of gab. She was anxious to hear how he’d pull himself out of this mess.
Not that she cared. They were through. Finished. They had to be. It was the right thing. The proper thing.
“We had that horrible fight, and you were leaving. I was feeling sorry for myself. Worse than sorry. I didn’t much care what happened, if you want to know the truth. Not that I was going to jump off a roof or anything, but I was low, I tell you. Worst day of my life so far.”
He did look bleak in the telling. She nodded and he went on. “So I went out on the town with Alistair St. Cuthbert and Thingummy. Horace, I mean. Horace Powell. You don’t know them. You wouldn’t want to know them. Trixie turned up, but I never touched her. Well, hardly at all, except to help her up off the floor after I cast up my accounts on Whore-ass. I’m afraid I lost my temper with St. Cuthbert, but he cast aspersions on you and deserved a beating.” He took a breath. His knuckles, she now noted, were grazed and bloody.
Cast aspersions on her? What did Thomas mean?
Thomas looked up now. She could see the anguish she’d put him through.
Go on, she mouthed.
“When you almost died, I decided I didn’t care if you liked me or hated me—you just had to live. I’ve been selfish pestering you. I think you likened me to a boy overindulging in chocolates? You—I make you uncomfortable, and you don’t trust me, and don’t want any more to do with me. I understand.”
It wasn’t quite like that, but Harriet couldn’t respond.
“You can do anything you want, Harry. Go anywhere. I’ll support you if you’ll let me. No strings attached. Hitchborn said you’d torn up the check. That was, um, rather precipitous of you. For once in your life, I don’t believe you were thinking of the consequences. The right thing to do. The proper thing. But if you won’t take the money you’ve rightly earned and you still want to be a secretary somewhere, I’ll buy a company you can run. Or that cottage with the awful nosy neighbors. As long as you’re happy.”
Well. He was groveling. Quite satisfactorily. She made a writing motion with her hand and he patted his pocket for the little notebook she’d suggested he carry with him at all times to write down his ideas. He was apt to forget them otherwise.
He passed her the little silver pencil and pad.
When it was in her palm, she drew a complete blank. What should she say? Yes, I forgive you? Yes, I like you, you infuriating man?
She wrote two shaky words and gave the notebook back.
Thomas read them, a smile slowly spreading on his scruffy face. “I think I can do that.”
And then he followed her directions, and kissed her.
He may not have changed his clothes from last night, but he’d brushed his teeth. He tasted of toothpowder and coffee, smelled of smoke and brandy. In her weakened condition she should find her senses challenged, but Harriet leaned back into the pillows and let the kiss sweep her away.
She could have this with him always. The closeness, the flutter, the tender meeting of their lips and minds. He knew what she wanted before she did and gave it to her, cupping her cheek, tasting her back, filling her heart. If the nurse came back in now, Harriet would fling a bed pan at her.
He kissed her until her tears on his fingers alerted him that he’d gone too far. Stricken, he pulled away. “I’m sorry, Harry. I thought that’s what you wanted. I won’t bother you again.”
He rose to leave, and she caught his jacket sleeve. Did she dare write the next two words? She would be risking everything.
There were no guarantees.
Her recent foray into death’s dreamland had been very instructive. The one person with her as she slipped away had been Thomas—a dream Thomas, true, but he had dragged her back to wakefulness as surely as if he’d been real.
There was no point in denying herself joy. Thomas brought her joy. And so many other things his money couldn’t buy. He had offered to share his life with her and she’d been frightened for him. He would be giving up his place in society by marrying her.
But mostly, she was frightened for herself.
She wasn’t frightened anymore. Life was much too short. Her hand shook a little anyway as she wrote.
Marry me.
Thomas stared at the notebook, his face drained of color. “Is this a joke?”
Harriet shook her head.
“You are proposing to me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“But you don’t want to marry me. You’ve said so. It will, I believe you said, ruin me.”
Changed my mind. Woman’s prerogative.
“And just like that, I’m to accept your about-face. Well, I don’t know, Harriet. I mean, I put that ring on your finger while you were sleeping, hoping to convince you to change your mind. Sent Josephson home for it when we weren’t even sure you would pull through. I wanted you to wear it. To know I was here for you. I was working up to a whole other proposal for when you woke up. Some grand gesture. This seems too easy.”
Take it or leave it.
“Oh, I’ll take it. But I’m not sure I like it. You really are a very managing female, aren’t you?”
She had never seen a smile so wide. She had made him happy, at least temporarily. And since she was a managing female, she’d continue to do so as long as she could.
For richer or poorer. She had the poorer part down pat, twenty-eight years of very reduced circumstances. How would she handle the richer part?
Chapter 46
Wednesday, January 11, 1905
Thomas lay back in the bath. He’d had a busy few days at Doctors’ Commons obtaining a special license and visiting his solicitor. The vicar had been secured, the flowers ordered, the few guests invited. There was, of course, more jewelry to buy. He was practically Morton’s favorite customer of all time.
As soon as Thomas shaved, he would go to Harriet’s room and help her downstairs, carry her if need be. She wanted to eat in the dining room, pigheaded wench that she was. The poor girl had spent the day in bed, but Paul said she was vastly improved. In a few days, she’d be able to say her vows loud and clear.
If it weren’t for that pigeon, he wouldn’t be getting married. How random a thing was life. One incident begat so many others. Thomas found himself very grateful for birds in general and that pigeon in particular.
There was a knock at the door. Harriet! Thomas shot up in the tub, sloshing water on the tile.
“Sir Thomas, you have visitors. I tried to stop them from coming upstairs, but was not successful.” Hitchborn sounded out of breath
, but the opprobrium in his voice was heavy.
So, not Harriet. The butler had never approved of most of Thomas’s friends, both male and female. Especially the females. He hoped the girls had not turned up expecting a champagne toast in honor of his forthcoming marriage.
There was a scuffle behind the door. What the devil?
“Oi, guv! Come on out before we come in!”
“Too right!”
The voices were reedy. Squeaky. Despite the implied threat, Thomas heard fear.
He reached for his robe. “To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“These young persons claim they are Miss Benson’s brothers, Sir Thomas. John and . . . Jason?”
“He’s called James. We are her brothers,” one of them muttered darkly.
Ah. “One moment, fellows.” Thomas brushed his hair down from its bath-induced curl. His face still looked odd to him without his mustache, but c’est la vie. It was worth it if he could kiss Harriet all over without leaving a rash behind.
Thomas unlocked the door and stepped out into his bedroom. It was not often he entertained anyone here, and he was not sure of the protocol.
Harriet’s identical straw-haired brothers stuck their identical pointed chins out in identical umbrage and glared at him. Their clothes were old but clean. They were not as tall as his Harry, but not as short as their father. They didn’t resemble him, either, so Thomas liked them at once.
“Hitchborn, sandwiches please. Some ale, or would you young gentlemen prefer lemonade?”
The boys blinked, their pugnacious chins receding a little.
“Ale, sir,” one of them said. His brother elbowed him.
“Ale? Pa will have fits.”
“We ain’t goin’ back, no matter what,” the other said. “Aren’t going back,” he corrected himself.
Thomas smiled. “Ale it is. We are to be family, after all.”
Hitchborn shook his head mournfully and left.
“Sit down, sit down. I’m delighted to meet you. Which one of you is which?”
The boys remained standing. “He’s James. I’m John.”
After looking closer—Thomas was known for his keen sense of visual detail—he saw John was a smidgeon taller. James had a fading bruise on his temple. From Moses Benson’s fists or boyish horseplay? He would find out.
“To what do I owe the honor of your company?” Thomas sat in the wing chair by the fire. There was only one opposite, but the boys piled into it together, sitting at the edge of the seat. They were just skinny enough to fit, all elbows and knees.
“We’re worried about Harry,” John said. James nodded.
“I am, too,” Thomas replied, wishing he were at least wearing a pair of trousers.
“Pa says you are leading her down the primrose path. That even if you marry her, she’ll be unhappy.”
“There is no ‘even if.’ We are getting married. And I will make her happy.”
“But why?” James blurted.
“I love her,” Thomas said simply.
Well, the words came easily enough to him now. Perhaps he really should have told this salient fact to Harry first. What an oversight; and she’d asked him to marry her anyway.
Of course, he’d lost track of all his proposals. Maybe if he’d mentioned love, she might have relented sooner. But somehow Thomas knew she wouldn’t have believed him. She was awfully concerned about the difference in their stations, but thank God she’d seen the light. It had only taken near-death to shake some sense into her.
This admission of love silenced the twins. The concept of their sister being loveable should not have been so surprising to them.
“Our Harry?” John finally said.
“My Harry, too. I grant you, I have not known her long, but ever since she’s come into my life, she’s made it better.”
“Harry’s a good egg,” John said. He seemed to be their spokesperson. “A bit of a nag sometimes. But much nicer that Pa.” James nodded his agreement.
“Well, in my experience, boys need a bit of nagging on occasion.”
The boys looked doubtful, but didn’t argue.
“So, you are marrying her.”
“In a few days’ time. Once she recovers. Your sister wants a proper wedding dress. Outfits for you both. I want to enlist your services during the days ahead. Have you ever told your sister she is beautiful?”
The boys goggled at him.
“I thought not. It wouldn’t do any harm to compliment her when you see her next.”
John cleared his throat. “About that.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve run away from home. We were hoping you’d let us stay here.”
Chapter 47
“Are you sure you’re well enough to go downstairs? I could get a tray brought up.”
“And waste your work? I look almost human again,” Harriet croaked. Minnie had done wonders. A little maquillage and her face wasn’t chartreuse anymore. Harriet thought if she held on to the banister tightly and wore flat shoes, she should have no trouble going down for dinner.
She’d slept the days away since she’d been released from hospital. Hadn’t seen Thomas in hours. He was usually so good, coming in to see her, even when she didn’t even know he was there.
Harriet would find him for a change.
Halfway down the stairs, she heard a shriek. What was going on?
Hitchborn was stationed outside the drawing room. “Good evening, Miss Harriet.”
Another unearthly howl, then a burst of laughter. Hitchborn shuddered delicately as he slid the door on its track before she had a chance to ask him what was happening.
Harriet stood on the threshold, expecting to see scantily clad actresses at the very least. She had not expected her twin brothers, clad in cast-off footmen’s livery, leaping up and down around Thomas’s top hat.
“Three! I got three all at once! Beat that! Oh, hullo, Harry. Gosh, you look different.” Her brother John shot a look at Thomas. “I mean nice. You look very nice. Um, beautiful!”
Were her brother’s eyes going as well? What had come over the males in her life? Harriet had never been exactly beautiful, even if her dress was.
“John and James Benson, what on earth are you two doing here?”
“The guv’nor says we can stay until the wedding. Then he’s sending us away to school! Isn’t that capital, Harry? Unless you want us to stay here with some bloo—uh, old tutor. We’d much rather go to a real school, Harry. Leave you two lovebirds alone.” John grinned, looking even more impish than usual.
These two monkeys wouldn’t need a wrench to upset the status quo at Featherstone House. But how could she send them away? They were her baby brothers. Living here would be like heaven for them—all the food they could eat, plenty of warm rooms, no Moses Benson to criticize them.
They could be a family. A real family.
The three of them were all smiling at her, and she could do nothing but smile back. Thomas walked toward her, his gaze roaming appreciatively over her bronze satin dress.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You look stunning. But you should have waited for me to fetch you.” His breath on her skin gave her goosebumps to her toes.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Instead, I have a surprise for you. Two of them. Is it all right that I invited the boys to stay?”
There was a loud hiccup, from which twin Harriet wasn’t sure. Harriet stared over Thomas’s shoulder.
“Are they drunk?”
“A few glasses of ale only. They were very hungry and thirsty when they arrived.”
“Are you mad? Well, of course you are. You want to marry me, and you gave two fifteen-year-old boys spirits.”
“As to the first, I have excellent taste. As to the second, if they were in the navy, they’d be swilling rum by the barrel. They’re only having a bit of fun, Harry. James’s aim is still impressive. Come and join us.”
Harriet felt herself tugged acros
s the carpet, a soft chair placed under her, a new deck of cards thrust in her hands. Thomas could open up a casino from the look of things.
He emptied the hat, to the boys’ groans. “Starting fresh. Winner gets two desserts at dinner.”
Yes, that was just what Harriet needed.
Despite her exhaustion, it was impossible not to get into the spirit of things. Her brothers were laughing. She’d heard them laugh before, of course, but never so loudly. Without inhibition. Her father liked a quiet house, and it had been up to her to keep the boys under control, a task that had become progressively more difficult as they grew older. Their cheeks were ruddy—from ale!—and they capered about like acrobats in the huge drawing room. Harriet hoped an errant elbow wouldn’t smash one of Thomas’s priceless objets d’art.
She didn’t win the card-tossing competition. James did, and he looked absurdly pleased. The boys ran off to the kitchen to eat; they insisted it was a more comfortable surrounding for them.
“Blimey, too many forks and glasses in the dining room, Harry. We shadowed that old cove Hitchborn when he supervised the other fellows as they lay the table. What’s the point of all of them? Seems silly to me,” John said, as he kissed her good night.
“I shall teach you tomorrow,” Harriet said. “Where are your clothes?”
“Guv’nor said he’s buying us new ones. Our others are being cleaned. I rather like these buttons. Do you think they’re real silver?”
Undoubtedly they were. “Don’t you get any ideas. You are not stealing the buttons,” Harriet hissed.
“Course not! What a rum thing to do to Tom.”
Tom. With his dark hair on end and his cheeks flushed with good humor, Thomas didn’t look much older than the twins.
He looked adorable. And he was going to be her husband.
“Harriet, there is something I forgot to tell you today amidst all my errands. Boys, run along.” They obeyed immediately. Harriet could have used Thomas by her side for all these years.
“Oh?”
“I can’t think why I forgot before. Maybe I just was just waiting for you to propose.”
The Unsuitable Secretary (A Ladies Unlaced Novel) Page 24