by Carrie Lomax
Harper fought the urge to lean over and trace its path with her tongue. Instead, she pretended to focus on retying her boot. While she watched him from the corner of her eye, he stared at her drawing of him and the laborers for a long time. Then he closed the book and handed it back to her. Without a word, Edward pushed off the ground in a fluid motion and returned to the other men and accepted a long drink of water from a flask. Harper watched the long convulsion of his throat as he swallowed. The men returned to their mess of rocks and mortar.
Harper fanned herself with the journal. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. It was wrong. Edward needed her help, not her unbridled lust. He didn’t need this from her. He had enough problems.
“I’ll meet you at the house when you’ve finished,” she called. The men ignored her. Harper trudged back to the house and up the stairs to her bright little room. She’d only been here for one week, but she had stopped counting the days before she returned home. She was beginning to understand what Dr. Patton had wanted her to understand before she committed to the asylum. Could she really endure the life of isolation pursuing her dream required? Harper had never realized how comfortable she had been in the cocoon of the Pattons’ care until she had been forced to leave it.
With a shuddering sigh, Harper pushed away the ruined paper and took a fresh sheet.
Dear Viola, I expect you are busy with your family and I hope this letter finds you well. I missed hearing from you this past Christmastime.
Harper stopped. She had not seen her sister in nearly a decade. She knew there was a son and that there had been a stillborn daughter, but her sister’s letters had always been scant on detail. Viola had been her only protector after their mother had died of consumption and their father had shot himself in despair. Harper had been eleven, and Viola just turned fifteen. If Harper hadn’t needed so badly to unburden herself to someone, she wouldn’t have picked up the pen.
I need your help, she wrote in neat lines. I’ve developed an affection for a patient. It is best for everyone if I leave, only I cannot do so gracefully. I ask you to send word to Dr. Patton that you need me to come to you. I won’t be a bother. I promise.
Miller’s ungracious compliment nagged her. Beddable enough, for a know-it-all shrew. She placed her thumb over the smudge of Edward’s thumbprint at the bottom of the page with the picture she had drawn. Her colleague was wrong. She didn’t know much of anything, about anyone—herself least of all.
Chapter 8
Harper had not come down to supper. Edward watched the door with some anxiety, but she did not appear. At last his father noticed his agitation and explained, “Miss Forsythe has a headache and will not be joining us.”
Edward nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. Here he was ready to embark on his new life as an English aristocrat, and she wasn’t even here to watch. Every muscle ached from working on the wall, but the hot bath had been restorative. For the first time in a long time, he felt calm.
Richard entered the room and waited for the servant to pull out his chair. “You will both be delighted to know that urgent business calls me back to London tomorrow.”
“Excellent news,” Charles commented acerbically. “I am certain your mistresses are feeling neglected.”
Richard gave his father a hurt look. “This has nothing to do with my lady companion—singular—and I am nothing less than shocked that you would broach such an indelicate topic at the table, Father.”
Charles’s soup spoon paused midway to his mouth. “The man who stormed in and shamelessly accused his own brother of threatening the servants presumes to lecture me about manners?”
He calmly continued with his meal.
“Richard, a gentleman is more than the gloss on his boots and the cut of his jacket. A gentleman’s moral deportment is evident in his manner and his bearing. You are nothing but a popinjay, my son. You are pewter shined to ape silver.”
Richard swallowed and turned red. “I see I shall not be missed,” he said stiffly.
“Nor welcomed back for some time. Go back to London, to your gambling, to your light skirts, to your friends. The sooner the better.”
For once, Richard did as he was asked. He shoved back his chair and stomped noisily from the room. Edward eyed his father speculatively.
“What is it, son?” the earl asked after a few minutes.
“Why are you cruel to Richard?” Edward demanded.
“Cruel? I?” Charles paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I have raised a son who out-louts the average aristocratic rakehell entirely by accident. There are moments I wish Briarcliff had never passed to me. Excessive wealth has ruined him. Your return is the best possible cure for Richard’s irresponsibility.”
“We are not children,” Edward said slowly. His father couldn’t see how he’d grown, and he couldn’t see how badly Richard wanted his affection. Thinking back to the childhood he’d purposely spent years forgetting was painful, but he realized it had always been this way.
“No,” the earl replied curtly. “You are not. Why my eldest and second-eldest sons insist upon acting like overgrown brats is beyond my comprehension.”
Courses of food passed before him untasted. Though he was hungry, the tension had stolen his appetite. He wished Forsythe was here. She would have known how to deflect Richard’s barbs.
“Is Forsythe all right?” he finally asked. His father was so startled that he dropped his fork.
“Oh, yes, of course, son. A headache is the universal female complaint, and for all her wisdom Miss Forsythe remains, inevitably, a woman.”
Undeniably so. Edward thought of her tumble from the roof. It was her job to watch him. Knowing this did not diminish his sense that she did so with a carefully guarded hunger. Technically, the picture in his patient record was well-done and descriptive of the manual labor she’d assigned him to do as part of his reintegration process. Yet a slow glow of warmth spread through his chest at the thought of how he’d been drawn with considerable detail, his companions less so.
Edward thought of the way she had stared at him in the pond.
In the apple orchard.
When he’d gone to her room.
This morning, in the field.
His cravat seemed to have shrunk in the past few minutes. His jacket, which like all his clothes had come from Richard’s wardrobe and was a hair too small, felt like it was cutting off circulation to his arms. The instant his father ended his meal, Edward followed suit. He restrained himself from running through the halls to Forsythe’s room. He ambled, aware of the servants passing silently in a way that a true aristocrat would not be. He paused outside her door, leaning close to the wood.
A gentleman wouldn’t be here, intruding on her private space. But Edward didn’t want to be a gentleman. He wanted to barge through the door and see the rise and fall of her chest.
He tried her first name, a whisper of breath past his lips. The door remained silently, stubbornly closed. If a flutter of movement penetrated the thick doors, it was not loud enough for him to be certain. He placed one palm against the warm oak barrier and breathed her name again, testing the syllables.
Harper. The soothsayer, the woman who peered into his soul and saw promise, potential—and a future he couldn’t yet imagine. Yet Edward knew that whether his future meant confinement to an asylum or taking his place among England’s aristocrats, he had no future without her.
One day, he would kiss her for real—and then she would know the truth of his feelings even though he couldn’t seem to find the right words to say.
* * *
The next morning, Harper assessed the sad state of her clothing and resolved to have a new gown made. Though prohibitive in cost, the loss of her damaged dress from her fall off the rooftop left her three remaining outfits in short supply. Yet when she found the earl in his study to request an afternoon in town, he scowled.
“Is it truly necessary that Edward work in the fields? That is why there are laborers and sta
ble boys.” The earl placed his paper neatly beside his plate. Dark shadows smudged beneath his eyes.
“Physical labor is an essential component of treatment. It provides focus and distracts the mind from dwelling on less pleasant topics,” Harper said firmly. She glanced at the window as a flush of heat at the memory of watching her patient’s muscles move under the bright sun played through her mind. “It’s foundational to Dr. Patton’s method.”
“I’d vastly prefer you have Edward attend to his sadly neglected studies.” The earl tented his fingers and touched them to his chin.
Harper brightened. “A delightful idea, your lordship. I may observe for a few minutes to track his progress. I may use the morning to go into town and order a new dress made. The one I was wearing when I fell off the roof is a total loss.”
“The dressmakers in town aren’t particularly skilled. Perfectly nice, but nothing like London quality. If you can wait a day or two, I shall send for someone suitable from the city. After all, it’s about time we get Edward his own set of clothes. Richard’s are a hair too small. They fit him badly, and now that he can be trusted to wear them, it is time to have some properly fitting garments made up.”
Harper started. No wonder Edward had been so eager to leave his clothing off at every turn. Richard’s clothes must have been torturing him all this time.
“You are full of excellent ideas this morning, your lordship. I regret that London tailors are not within my means. A local dressmaker suits me perfectly well.” Harper ignored the earl’s skeptical glance at her dowdy dress. Fashion was for frivolous women with too little to do. She was a busy woman doing important work, and she wasn’t about to let a society gentleman’s opinion of her practical approach to clothing bother her.
Truly.
“I would like you to supervise Edward’s education personally, Miss Forsythe.”
Harper blinked and resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest.
“I regret I am unqualified as a teacher, your lordship.”
“Are you refusing?”
“I am not…refuse-” Harper began slowly, but the earl cut her off.
“Excellent. Then you shall begin with improving his literacy skills, and a focus on mathematics, history and science. I trust that, as a doctor, you have some experience with these topics?”
“I—yes.” She swallowed. What could she say, that she was uneducated? A flush of anger scorched her skin. He had asked. She had declined as politely as she knew how to. Now the man was acting as if her distinct reluctance was consent. Yet he was her employer, and the earl’s good opinion was the key to her future. Harper hated being railroaded, but she had little choice.
“I shall inform Lord Northcote after my journey to town.”
“Yes, of course. Have the butler arrange a carriage and a maid to accompany you.”
“There’s no need. I can walk.”
The earl slapped closed the leather-bound book before him.
“Go, Miss Forsythe. Finish your errand, then set to the task I have set before you. I will see my son rehabilitated—and you are the only one who can reach him.”
Harper rocked back on her heels. She dropped her gaze to the floor and made an awkward curtsey before murmuring, “Yes, sir.” Her clenched teeth held back the words she wished she had the freedom to say.
I wouldn’t be the only one who can connect with Edward if you or Richard would make the smallest effort.
* * *
Edward strode in from the fields as Harper stood in the hall awaiting the carriage. His shirt was damp and clinging to his body, unfastened halfway to the waist with his linens visible beneath.
“Are you leaving?” he asked, stopping short. He wore boots covered in mud. “It’s raining.”
“As is often the case in England.” Harper smiled.
“You’ll get wet.”
Harper took a breath, trying to control a sudden blush. From the way he was staring at her, she had the strange impression that he wasn’t talking about the rain.
“I’m not made of sugar. I won’t melt,” was all she said as she pulled her wrap tighter. It was poor defense against the hunger in his gaze. Harper shivered. Edward didn’t seem to care one way or another about her dowdy dresses. Their usual power to deflect masculine attention was not working on him.
“It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to let you go alone,” he tried again, and Harper shot him a look. The look clearly said what do you think you’re doing, you idiot?
Her fears were realized by the unmistakable sound of the earl’s footsteps behind them. Behind him were the butler and a maid.
“Your lordship, I shall complete my errand by early afternoon and be back in time for tea,” Harper said with excessive formality. “I believe your father has a new project for us to work on together. I’ll allow him to explain it to you over luncheon.”
The earl shot her a glare. Well, too bad. Harper was not a governess. She was a doctor, or at least trained as one.
“Yes, quite. Edward, your sentiment is noble, but Miss Harper is perfectly capable of making a shopping trip on her own. About your clothes not fitting properly, I shall have my secretary send for the tailor posthaste. Now, come with me. You’re making such excellent progress under Miss Forsythe’s guidance, I believe it is time for you to pick up where your education was left off.”
The village was a half-hour drive down soft but not too muddy roads. A young maid accompanied her like a shadow, utterly silent except when spoken to. Harper gave up trying to draw the girl into conversation after a few minutes, surmising that the girl had been instructed not to speak unless spoken to.
At the dressmaker’s, Harper ordered two new gowns of calico. By her standards, the fabrics were even attractive, one a roller-printed sage-and-cream-striped calico with a small blue floral motif and the other a beige and pink botanical pattern on a gray background.
“Someone of your coloring oughtn’t be wearing dull colors,” the seamstress told her earnestly. “The green is all right, but you need a brighter color to bring out your eyes.”
“I don’t want to bring out my eyes. Bring the bodice up another inch, please. Another. More still. There. I don’t want even a hint of collarbone showing.”
“You’ll stifle.”
Harper laughed, though the woman’s effrontery annoyed her. “I have survived worse than an English summer.”
The seamstress eyed her skeptically as if to say there was nothing worse than suffering through a summer heat wave. “You’ve a lovely figure. Why do you hide it?”
Harper looked the woman in the eye.
“I don’t even think about such things. I haven’t the time.” The implication that the seamstress was insufficiently busy did not escape the woman’s notice.
She nodded stiffly. “Your dresses will be ready in a few days, miss.”
After visiting the seamstress, Harper trudged through the rain to post her letters, the little maid at her heels like a spaniel. The girl was probably twenty but looked younger, closer to fifteen. Every few minutes she would catch the girl glancing in her direction. During the short drive, back to the Briarcliff estate, Harper finally caught the girl’s eye like a fish on a hook.
“Is there something you’d like to ask me?”
“What’s he like?” the maid blurted, then swallowed visibly.
“Who?”
“The wild lord.”
“Are you new to the house staff?” she asked, though inwardly, she groaned. Harper hadn’t forgotten the cursed moniker. She was reminded of it daily in the newspapers that she now read diligently.
She nodded, all big brown eyes and freckled earnestness. “Aye, ma’am, I arrived from the agency but a week ago. Sara is my name.”
“Welcome, Sara.” Harper could use any allies she could get, especially amongst the staff. “And what have you observed about him?”
“He lives up to his name, but he doesn’t seem dangerous. I don’t know why the other girls are so upset by him
. What do you think? You’re the one they called in to help find out what’s wrong with him, right?”
Sara’s question was so genuine that Harper didn’t have the heart to comment on her impertinence. “I don’t think he’s frightening either. He does some unsettling things, but he is learning not to do them.”
“Why’s everyone so afraid of him, then?”
Harper chose her words with care. “There is much about himself that Lord Northcote does not discuss with anyone. People are often afraid of what they don’t understand.”
Sara accepted this, though she looked as if she had more questions. They lapsed into companionable silence, and Harper hoped Sara would whisper her message of compassion and understanding among the house staff.
* * *
Edward looked heartbreakingly correct at tea, and though it was hardly fair of her, Harper found herself missing the disheveled imperfection of his very recent wild days. Not only was he wearing shoes and a jacket, his collar was spread fashionably wide and a black cravat hung from his neck. He fiddled with it uncomfortably.
“You look very proper, Edward. How did your studies go this afternoon?” Harper shot him an encouraging smile.
“Swimmingly!” the earl answered for his son, beaming. Edward scowled. Harper returned Charles’s genuine smile and turned back to Edward.
“Tell me all.”
“He shows considerable aptitude at grasping the basics of accounting,” Charles told her proudly.
“Father, it was addition and subtraction. I learned that as a child.”
Harper shot Edward a quelling glare and shook her head. Now was not the time to assert his independence. She understood that it rankled when his father treated him like an imbecilic ten-year-old, but Charles needed to experience and express his pride in Edward if he was ever to see his son as more than an overgrown, half-civilized child.
“There is something very pure about accounts. The numbers tell stories about the lives of the residents. I have always found it interesting, even when struggling to make the numbers reveal their secrets.”