The Pursuit of Lady Harriett (Tanglewood Book 3)

by Rachael Anderson

  Harriett’s eyes widened at this revelation. He had acted on the suggestion she had made? Her heart warmed at the thought, but then a nagging doubt entered her mind. How had it all come about? Had Chris presented the idea as his own, or had he included her name in the conversation? The world of business was a man’s world, and most men had far too much pride to tolerate or appreciate a woman’s involvement in their affairs. Chris didn’t seem to share that way of thinking, which she was grateful for, but did Jonathan know that? Would she receive thanks if everything came out all right or be held to blame if they did not?

  “I hope he hears something favorable soon,” said Harriett.

  “As do I.”

  Why? she wanted to ask. So Jonathan will not have to fret much longer, or because you’re ready to be on your way to London?

  Perhaps it was both.

  “Look at that.” Chris pointed at something up ahead and urged his horse to the left, dodging around a few bushes and ducking under some branches. Curious, Harriett followed, slowing Wicked to a crawl to avoid snagging her bonnet or skirt. When at last she caught up to Chris, she found him stopped near a large oak tree where the wilderness met the meadow. On the other side of the clearing, Tanglewood loomed before them, looking grand and majestic.

  Chris swung down from his horse and peered up into the center of the tree.

  Harriett craned her neck to see what had captured his attention. What was so intriguing about this tree? Had he seen an animal on one of its branches? Perhaps a rare bird of some sort? Was he lulling her near with the hope she’d be the recipient of more droppings?

  “I’ve never seen a tree that has begged to be climbed more than this one. From that branch there”—he pointed up—“I’ll wager a person would have a spectacular view of Tanglewood and the surrounding countryside. Shall we investigate?” He made short work of tying his horse to a low branch before approaching Harriett.

  She blinked at him in surprise. “You are not suggesting that we climb this tree, are you? Because a lady does not climb trees, Lieutenant, and a gentleman would never ask her to do such a thing.”

  He reached for her waist and lifted her down from the horse, setting her gently on her feet. “Of course not. I only suggested that we investigate. We have some time to spare, after all. Why not take a short break under the canopy of this beautiful and interesting tree?”

  “How does one ‘investigate’ a tree, precisely?” she asked, all too aware of his hands still at her waist and the jittery feelings his touch evoked.

  He smiled. “Have you not learned to trust me yet, Harriett?”

  She hesitated, not knowing how to answer. Did she trust him to keep her safe from physical harm? Yes. She would not have ridden Wicked this morning if she hadn’t. But when it came to matters of the heart, she could honestly say that no, she most certainly did not.

  Her silence seemed to bother him. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his mouth turned down in a slight frown. “You don’t trust me,” he said quietly.

  “It isn’t that,” she said. “I simply don’t feel as though I know who you truly are. I’ve glimpsed a peek here and there, perhaps, but you seem to hide the real you behind flippancy and sarcasm, and I cannot help but wish that…” She pressed her lips together and looked away from his eyes, attempting to hide the blush she felt warming her cheeks. She’d almost told him that she wished she knew how he truly felt about her. Goodness, how could she even think such a brazen thought, let alone give voice to it?

  She definitely should not have offered to stay behind with him.

  His fingers grazed her chin, and he gently lifted her face to his. “Tell me, Harriett, have you forgiven me of all my earlier offenses?”

  Peering into his eyes, she realized how much had changed since those first days when she had viewed him only as a shell of a man with a handsome face. In so many ways, she knew him a great deal better now. She knew he had imperfections and vulnerabilities just like everyone else. She knew him to be a caring son, a loyal friend, and a good person. She also knew him to be an incorrigible, mostly harmless, tease. What she didn’t know was where his feelings and intentions sat with regard to her.

  “Yes,” she finally whispered.

  “Then you do know me,” he replied. “We’ve had our fun, you and I, but surely you know that I would never purposefully do anything to harm you, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she answered, even though she didn’t quite believe it. With a few words or actions, he could shatter her heart into bits and pieces the way one could shatter a window with a well-aimed rock. He wouldn’t do it intentionally, of course, but he could still do it. All he would have to do was return to London and begin his search for another woman who wasn’t her.

  He took a step closer, bringing their bodies within inches of one another. Her breath became short and ragged, and her heart sounded like the pounding of hooves during a horserace. Ever so slowly, he moved forward until his mouth grazed hers in the lightest of touches. A myriad of sensations unlike any she had ever felt ran through her entire being, engulfing her in something beautiful and exquisite. As the pressure of his kiss increased, she gave in to her emotions, returning the touch with a fervor that surprised even her. This felt nothing like the clumsy kiss Mr. Fisher plastered on her near the end of her first season. That one had been distasteful in the extreme. This one made her reel with its power. She now understood why a woman would want to kiss a man. Chris made the experience magical, transporting her to a place that felt nothing less than sublime.

  When at last he drew back, she spotted something warm and affected in his expression, something she wanted to see more than anything else. But in the span of a blink, it vanished, leaving her wondering if she had seen it at all.

  His usual sparkle of amusement returned. “What, no stinging slap?” he asked, his voice teasing.

  His words swept the magic away, leaving Harriett to wonder at his reasons for kissing her in the first place. For a brief, wonderful moment, she had allowed herself to hope that the kiss had meant that he was coming to care for her as she did him. But perhaps he’d only done it to prove that he could succeed in doing what no other man had—receive a kiss from her without an accompanying slap.

  He continued to hold her by the shoulders, and Harriett let him because she craved his touch. She willed him to say something tender, something kind, something meaningful—but he merely fingered several locks of hair that had come free from her pins.

  “Tabby is going to wonder what you’ve been up to. What will you tell her?”

  Harriett forced her body to move away from him. She ought to have known not to expect anything tender from him. As she tucked her hair back into her bonnet and re-tied her bonnet strings, which had also loosened, she answered with a flippant remark of her own. “I shall tell her the truth, of course. That you have manhandled me most abominably.”

  “You didn’t seem to think it too abominable at the time.”

  She feigned an indifference she did not feel and shrugged. “You were kind enough to allow me to ride Wicked this morning. Such a thoughtful gesture is not deserving of a slap no matter how much I may or may not wish to administer it.”

  Harriet’s gaze sought out Wicked, who happened to be grazing next to a large, fallen log. It felt like an answer to an unasked prayer. Without another word, she strode to the animal’s side, stepped on the log, pushed the toe of her boot into the stirrup iron, and lifted herself into the saddle. She took a moment to adjust her leg around the pommel and arrange her skirts before returning her attention to the lieutenant. “Shall we race back to the stables?”

  His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you think that fair—with you on Wicked and me on this stubborn mule?”

  “I think it more than fair.” Without waiting for him to mount, she clicked her tongue and sent Wicked on his way. The pounding of hooves sounded beneath her as she flew across the meadow, wishing she could outrun a great many things. But for now she would s
ettle on the lieutenant.

  HARRIETT AWOKE EARLIER THAN usual, or perhaps she’d never really fallen asleep—at least not a deep, restful sleep. Rather, she had suffered through one fitful doze after another all night long, with images of Chris kissing her plaguing her thoughts and dreams. Why had he kissed her? The question plagued her mind over and over again, making her yearn for one answer while fearing another. By morning, she knew that he had claimed a large portion of her heart, and nothing she could do from this point forward would protect it from being smashed to bits if that’s what he chose to do with it.

  Harriett attempted to roll over and go back to sleep, but her mind would not quiet, so she tossed her covers aside and went to the window, peering across the landscape with a frown. If she ever developed lines of consternation around her mouth and eyes, they would be Lieutenant Jamison’s doing.

  The morning was a beautiful one, with only a few clouds marring the sky. The meadows glistened with dew, and the little buds on the trees promised to soon reveal an array of textures, colors, and shapes that would contrast nicely with the darker evergreens. Not for the first time, she contemplated how lovely it would look in another few weeks, when she was no longer here to see it.

  It was difficult to believe that Tanglewood had once belonged to her family. How strange life could be at times. Her brother had sold the property because their family had no need of an estate located so far from home, yet as Harriett looked out over the grounds, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret even though she knew it had all been for the best. If her brother had not sold Tanglewood, Mr. Ludlow would not have come to Askern and Cora would have never met him. Harriett’s loss had been Cora’s gain, and she could never really regret that.

  In truth, the pang had little to do with Tanglewood and everything to do with her decision to visit her friend before continuing on to London. Perhaps Harriett should have missed Jonathan and Cora’s wedding and stayed in Danbury instead. Though she may have crossed paths with Chris a time or two in London, it would not have amounted to much, and her world would not feel as precarious as it did at the moment.

  At the far end of the meadow, a large tree caught her eye—the same tree she and Chris had stood beneath only yesterday. The mere memory of his kiss sent a blush to her cheeks and a fire to her belly. As she placed her palm over her stomach, she had to admit that the tree was quite magnificent, with its massive trunk and large, gnarled and twisted branches. One particular branch swept low to the ground, as though it had grown that way on purpose, beckoning all who came near to climb aboard.

  Harriett had not climbed a tree in ages. As a child, she had scurried up branches and imagined a secret and magical world separate from her own—a world not tarnished by rules or social conventions. Within those limbs, she could do whatever she chose or become anyone she wished. It was a happy world where even the most unimaginable of things seemed possible. Harriett had raced horses, soared from treetop to treetop, and had even commanded the weather.

  The reminder of her childhood imaginings brought a smile to her lips, and she couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to climb a tree now. Would she be able to find that almost forgotten world? Could she observe the surrounding countryside as Chris had once done? Or would all her years of learning how to be a proper young lady take the magic away?

  Whether it was the wretched night’s sleep or a fierce desire to escape, Harriett came to the conclusion that she very much wanted to climb that tree. The hour was still early, and if she hurried, she could probably do so without being noticed and be back before the others awakened.

  As her mother had often told her, there was no time like the present.

  Christopher sat on the edge of his bed after a sleepless night and raked his fingers through his hair. He had kissed his share of women in his time, but the memory of Harriett’s touch, her softness, her curves, and her scent had kept him awake the entire night. Every time he’d closed his eyes, her image spun like a whirlpool in his mind, pulling him around and around. It felt like a mix between a dream and a nightmare because he did not know what lay at the bottom of it all.

  Why did he feel so unsettled about her? Not only had Harriett allowed him to kiss her, but she had kissed him in return. She’d pressed against him, and her fingers had threaded through his hair, wreaking all sorts of havoc on his emotions. With any other woman, he would have been confident where he stood, but with her, everything felt tenuous, like the rocky waves before a storm. At first, he attributed it to her unpredictability, but in the wee hours of the morning he realized the truth of it. When it came to Lady Harriett, there was too much at risk, too much to lose. It’s what made opening up to her so blasted difficult. And now that he’d been given a glimpse of what he could have with her, the fear of her not returning his affections made him as skittish as a newborn kitten.

  He combed his hair away from his face once more and pulled himself up. What he needed was a long and hard ride through the damp, brisk air. Perhaps that would clear his senses.

  He poured cold water into the wash basin and splashed it over his face, not taking the time to shave. As he buttoned his shirt, he glanced out of his window and caught sight of a deep blue dress nearing the large oak tree. Intrigued, he approached the window and squinted. There was no mistaking Harriett’s graceful gait, her dark curls, or her burgundy pelisse.

  What was she doing out at this time of the morning?

  Christopher quickly tugged on his boots and shoved his arms into his coat as he strode out the door. On his way to Jonathan’s study, he dispatched a footman to the stables with a message to have Wicked readied. Then he rapped lightly on the door of the study, and when no one answered, slipped inside. On the top of the far bookcase rested a spyglass that Christopher grabbed before returning to his room. It was probably ungentlemanly to spy on her, but he could not leave the house without discovering what she was up to.

  Looking through the small eyepiece, he focused on Harriett, who, much to his surprise, had climbed upon the lowest branch of the tree. At first, she tried to balance and walk along it, but when she wobbled, she dropped down on her hands and knees and began crawling, constantly tugging at her skirts to free them. She must have become frustrated by her slow progress because she finally pulled her skirts to her knees, revealing shapely calves. Christopher couldn’t help but admire them for a moment before forcing his gaze elsewhere.

  When she reached the trunk, she awkwardly pulled herself up, keeping her skirts tucked over her arm. Christopher had to grin at the sight. Apparently Lady Harriett was not so ladylike after all. He watched her struggle to climb up a few more branches before he tossed the spyglass on his bed and went to retrieve Wicked from the stables.

  It didn’t take long before he was cantering across the meadow, feeling the bite in the early morning air as he directed Wicked towards an area to the left of the large oak. When he arrived, he slowed his horse to a walk and looked around as though he found a sense of peace and enjoyment in his surroundings. Not far from the tree, he hopped down and allowed Wicked to graze.

  With thoughts of Harriett high above him, Chris clasped his hands behind his back and wandered towards the tree, wondering what she might do. Would she call down to him and alert him of her presence, or would she remain silent, hoping he would go away before he saw her? Probably the latter. Knowing Harriet, she would not want to be reminded of her assertion that ladies did not climb trees.

  He had to hold back a chuckle as he reached the base of the tree and casually leaned a shoulder against it, listening close for any sounds from above. But other than the chirping of birds and Wicked’s munching, he heard nothing.

  Christopher waited a little while longer before grabbing hold of a branch and swinging himself up. He settled in with his back against the trunk and one leg bent in front of him, as though he planned to stay a while. He began whistling and even broke off a young and tender limb, molding it into a circle.

  Still no sounds. He had to give her
credit for her ability to remain still. The higher one climbed a tree, the narrower the branches became, which made them far less comfortable to sit upon. Not many people could stay quiet for this long.

  Another fifteen minutes passed before he heard a slight rustling, followed by the snap of a twig.

  Chris looked up to find her sitting precariously on a branch with her feet dangling below her. She looked a bit wild and untamed, with several tendrils of hair flying about her face, but still beautiful. Always beautiful. Whether her cheeks were ruddy from the cold or embarrassment he could not say. Nor could he stop the grin that lifted his lips.

  “Hello, Harriett.”

  Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “You knew I was up here, didn’t you? You’ve known it the entire time.”

  He shrugged, not confirming or denying the accusation, and casually brushed some dust from his trousers. “I thought ladies did not climb trees.”

  He expected some sort of rejoinder or set down, but she said nothing. Instead, she began lowering herself down, using fast and deliberate movements as though he’d angered her. Christopher frowned and drew himself up, climbing up to another branch where he could assist her down. She ignored his proffered hand and continued on her own, moving around the tree and away from him.

  “Harriett, won’t you take my hand? There is not a pond below us to soften the ground should you fall,” he said, trying to maneuver closer to her.

  Her skirt snagged on a branch, and she yanked it free, tearing the fabric in the process.

  Attempting to lighten the mood, Christopher clicked his tongue. “There goes another gown. Your trip to Tanglewood has not been good for your wardrobe, has it?”

  Still no response. She didn’t even glare at him again.

  When she reached the last branch, she did not attempt to slide or crawl down it. Instead, she jumped from where she stood and landed with a small cry in the grass. Then she began limping forward in the direction of the manor.