Lady of the Rose (2 page)

He was tall and broad shouldered
with large forearms and hands.
She noted that his shirt-sleeves
were rolled back and the hands were quite dirty.
He had a thick
wave of black hair combed back from his forehead, and he peered at
her with startling gray eyes.
The eyes widened at the sight of her
pushing her way into the hall, and for the first time, Harriet
realized what a sight she must make, flushed and wind-blown with
wayward curls escaping undone pins.

She stopped short at the sight of
the black draping on the windows and staircases.
Only the
remembrance that she was in a house of mourning kept her from
rushing up the stairs and opening every door until she found
Margaret.

“I'm here to see my sister, Margaret
Davenport.
I was told she is hurt,” she said
breathlessly.

The man nodded curtly.
“Of course.
Jonah will show you the way.” He jerked his head at the man who had
opened the door, a butler or footman perhaps.
Jonah hurried toward
the large, center staircase, Harriet close on his heels.

~~~

Margaret was settled on a bed in one
of the guest bedchambers just off the main hall.
Though she looked
pale and strained, Harriet exhaled when she saw her sister's smile.
She had not even realized she had been holding her
breath.

“Oh, thank goodness.
I was so
worried.” Harriet ran to Margaret's side and took her sister's
hand.

“Shh, Harriet.
I am quite all right.
It is a little painful to be sure, but I believe I am in no
danger.”

It was then that Harriet saw the
bandages encasing Margaret's right leg.
She gasped, “What has
happened?”

Margaret sighed and shifted the
appendage, wincing at the movement.
“It was my own fault.
I am no
horsewoman, as we both know.”

Harriet nodded.
Margaret was neither
talented nor even very comfortable on a horse.

“Janet wanted to go riding, and I
thought I must oblige, though goodness knows I was reluctant to be
astride an unknown horse.
In the end, I fell when the horse tried
to jump a small log.
It was the smallest nothing!
No doubt, you
would hardly have felt the jump at all!
But, the doctor says I was
very lucky.
No more than a broken leg.”

“Margaret, what were you thinking
of?
You could have been killed!” Harriet clutched Margaret's hand,
as though afraid that she would disappear if she let go.
Always the
smallest and daintiest of the three, she looked almost frail
propped upright on the giant bed.

“But I was not seriously harmed,
sister,” she said softly, brushing Harriet's hair back with her
fingertips.

“This is all wrong, Margaret!
You
have a broken bone, and yet you are comforting me!” said Harriet,
between sobs.

“Oh hush, my dear.
It was my fault I
alarmed you.
I wanted to see you, and Janet, being such a dear,
said you might stay here until I can be moved.
It was selfish of
me, I know.”

Harriet pulled her younger sister
into her arms.
“I have never known another being less selfish than
you, Margaret.”

“How silly you are,” said her
sister.

~~~

Harriet stayed in Margaret's room
until it was time for her to go down to dinner.
Her valise had
arrived a short time after she did, for which she was very
grateful.
The dress she had worn since that morning was wrinkled
and rather dirty from her travels.
She changed into one of her
favorite dresses, a pale green silk that paired admirably with her
auburn hair.
She spent a few moments re-pinning her hair and
studying the effect in a mirror.
Her hair was thick and curly and
usually sat well when properly pinned.
Her eyes, though an
unremarkable middling brown, were clear and framed by thick, dark
lashes.
Her only adornment was a simple pearl necklace, but
overall, she declared herself passable.
Good enough for present
company, she thought.
If she had her way, she would have eaten with
Margaret in the bedroom, but Margaret had quickly
refused.

“You must be there for Janet, now
that I am disposed.”

Harriet had little desire to be
anywhere near the Lady Whitney in mourning.
Janet Whitney was
formidable under normal circumstances.
She cringed to think of her
while grieving, but for Margaret's sake, she agreed.

“Of course, I will do whatever you
would wish, Margaret,” she said with a sigh.

Harriet was resigned to a rather
depressing evening surrounded by the late Sir Frederick's wife,
mother, and sister, but the first person she saw upon entering the
room was the same large man she had nearly collided with in the
entrance hall.
He looked different in evening clothes, and she
realized that her assumption that the man was a gardener or some
other servant was wholly inappropriate.
She recalled the way the
butler had responded to him, and the thought occurred to Harriet
that he must be a member of the family.
He wore full dinner dress
and carried himself like a gentleman.
He bowed stiffly to her, but
she thought she saw a ghost of a smile on his full lips.

“Miss Davenport, how is your
sister?”

Harriet curtsied to the Dowager Lady
Whitney, a formidable woman in her sixties with tight, iron gray
curls and a regal manner.

“She is doing as well as can be
expected.
I thank you for your attentions to her,
milady.”

“Think nothing of it.
I am sorry
that such a thing should befall her while she was being so kind to
our Janet.”

Lady Whitney smiled thinly at her
mother-in-law and nodded in Harriet's direction, the sort of nod
royalty gives in recognition of a lower being.
She wore a black
crepe dress for mourning, but Harriet noted that the neckline was
ever so slightly lower than was appropriate for a new widow, though
it was very fashionable.
Having always been on the tall side, being
around Lady Whitney, who was elegant and petite, made Harriet feel
gangly bordering on oafish.
Lady Whitney did nothing to ease her
discomfort, and instead, seemed to thrive on it.
She preened and
presented herself to the room at large, as though knowing she was
its main attraction.
Harriet noticed that every few seconds, Lady
Whitney would cast a furtive glance in the direction of the tall
stranger, and she was suddenly much more interested in finding out
who he was.

The Dowager provided the
introduction.
“Louisa, come say hello,” she said, indicating the
third woman in the room.
Louisa Whitney was a plain creature with
the same curls as her mother, though Louisa's were blond, and none
of the Dowager's presence.
Harriet had always found Louisa to be
both pleasant and unassuming.
The Dowager continued, “But, I don't
believe you have seen my son for many years.
Miss Davenport, Sir
George Whitney.”

The man flinched slightly at the
title but bowed neatly to Harriet.
“We actually became reacquainted
earlier, Mother,” he said, a slight curl to one side of his
mouth.

“Indeed?” If the Dowager noticed a
mocking note in his tone, she did not mention it.
“When was that,
may I ask?”

“When Miss Davenport arrived earlier
today, bursting in through the front door as though demons were
chasing her.”

Janet Whitney pressed a gloved hand
to mouth and snorted.
Even her snorts are ladylike, damn her,
Harriet thought.

Blushing to the roots of her hair,
Harriet replied in her best imitation of Mrs.
York's disapproval,
“And as I recall, sir, you were up to your elbows in mud.
I nearly
took you for a gardener.”

If Harriet expected him to become
angry, she was disappointed.
The gray eyes remained inscrutable,
but the same ghost of a smile appeared across his
features.

“Yes, quite right, Miss Davenport,”
the Dowager was saying.
“It is simply horrifying the way you root
around in that garden, George.
It must stop.”

“Yes, Mother,” George Whitney said,
but he didn't take his eyes off Harriet.

She was becoming quite uncomfortable
under the scrutiny when he finally offered her his left arm.
She
was so surprised that she took it.
He gave his mother the right and
led them both into the dining room, leaving Lady Whitney and Louisa
to follow.

~~~

The meal was more sumptuous than
anything Harriet would have at home, even when they had guests.
There were so many courses that Harriet had to confine herself to
small bites of each.
Janet, she noticed, ate barely anything and
spent the whole evening engaging George Whitney in conversation.
Harriet watched her lean towards him and whisper into his ear for
the fourth time.
He smiled at whatever she had said, then turned to
speak to his mother.

Harriet spent most of the evening
talking to Louisa, which suited her fine.
Louisa was by far the
easiest companion in the group.
Though, she seemed to miss her
brother greatly.

“Frederick was a very good brother,”
she said openly.
“He always took care of Mother and I after Father
passed away.
I shall miss him.”

Harriet was surprised and
appreciative of her candor.
“You are very lucky to have had such a
brother.”

Louisa sighed, “Yes, and now there
is George.
We are still lucky.” She smiled fondly at her brother
across the table.

Harriet, too, looked in George's
direction.
She thought briefly of her own brother, Lucas, away at
university.
She had not seen him since he left, not even when her
father became ill.
She had sent him a few letters, but not in
several months.

As though he sensed her eyes upon
him, George Whitney looked across the table at Harriet.
Their eyes
met for a single, brief moment.
Harriet was about to turn her head
away, when George Whitney slowly and purposefully winked.
Harriet
did not know whether she should laugh or be offended.
She settled
with shaking her head and staring determinedly at her plate.
When
she looked back up, George was talking to his mother once again,
but Janet Whitney was staring at her with wide, dark eyes.
Harriet
had never seen anyone look at her with such hatred before, and she
flinched, as though slapped.

It happened so quickly that Harriet
thought she must have imagined it.
Neither George nor Janet Whitney
were looking at her, indeed they were talking quietly to each
other.
Louisa certainly hadn't noticed anything and was still
contentedly extolling the virtues of both her brothers.

“It came as quite a shock,
Frederick's passing,” she was saying.
“He had always been so
robust, so healthy.”

Harriet remembered Sir Frederick as
a rather obese gentleman with a red, puffy face and swollen limbs.
She, for one, had not been shocked when his heart had simply
refused to beat anymore.

“But then George came to us,” Louisa
sighed.
“He has been such a help during this time.”

“Yes, I'm surprised I haven't seen
him here more often.”

“Well, he's always so busy.
He lives
in London, or he did until now.
He was studying the law, but with
Frederick gone, he's had to give it up.” Louisa frowned into her
pudding.

Harriet wondered if the new Sir
George would actually miss the law.
She knew of few men who would
pine over a profession once given a title.

Normally following such a rich
dinner, the women would retire to the sitting room to give the men
time to drink and smoke and otherwise entertain themselves.
However, since the new Sir George was the only man at the table
that evening, he elected to join the women.