Page 16 of Their Wildest Dreams

Benedict looked sharply at his mother. Her face remained serene. If she guessed that privacy held a meaning beyond freedom from parental interference, she gave no indication of it.

Lord Denham passed the document across the table. “Pritchard sent men over this morning to inspect the roof, the chimneys and every grate. Your mother dispatched Mrs. Grieves with several maids to air the rooms, turn the mattresses and examine the linens. The kitchen range will be inspected tomorrow. Cook will go with you tomorrow to ensure it is all in working order… but you’re not keeping her. I’ll not be sacrificing her roast duck for anyone, not even my son.”

Benedict unfolded the paper. It was not a deed, as he had first supposed, but a list in Pritchard's precise hand. Rooms, repairs and names of servants filled both sides. “You have accomplished a remarkable amount in the hours since we left for the church.”

“Your father gave the orders three days ago,” Lady Denham said. “Only the more visible work was delayed until Harriet had agreed. We did not wish half the village to know of the marriage before she did.”

Harriet's eyes widened. “Three days ago?”

“My wife has been confident of the outcome from the beginning,” Lord Denham said. “I considered her optimism ill-advised given your often contentious exchanges, but I ceded to her excellent judgment as always. It appears I was wise to do so.”

“Your mother has been confident of this outcome since you were both in the nursery,” the earl added to Benedict. “I have merely endured the prophecy.”

Lady Denham ignored him. “The house is ready for you to take up residence as early as tomorrow, if you choose. It will be rustic but I daresay that until you are in residence you will not know what it requires. You may choose the remainder of the servants yourselves, though Pritchard will send a few from here who will see to your comfort and do so with discretion and utmost loyalty.”

Benedict heard the care beneath that last provision. His parents did not know the terms upon which he and Harriet had married, but they knew them well enough to anticipate difficulty. The smaller household would protect Harriet from speculation as much as it granted them independence. He could not object to their interference when it had been conducted with such unerring good sense.

“There is an estate room adjoining the library,” his mother continued, addressing Harriet. “It is small, but the windows overlook the eastern fields. I thought you might prefer it to the larger room at the front of the house.”

Harriet's face softened. She thanked Lady Denham and asked about the ledgers, then the tenants attached to the few acres surrounding the house. Benedict listened as the reserve left her voice. She no longer looked like a woman awaiting the next unwelcome alteration to her life. She looked interested. Almost eager.

That change mattered to him more than the house itself.

He had entered the dining room prepared to oppose his parents' scheme. Instead, he imagined Harriet at the desk near Everton's eastern windows, Alderley visible across the fields, with no one to tell her how her day should be spent. He imagined returning from Denham and finding her there. The ease with which the picture formed disturbed him.

It was one thing to marry Harriet in order to protect her family. It was another to discover that he had already begun constructing a life around her.

When at last his mother rose, Harriet followed her. Benedict stood with his father and watched the two women leave the dining room together. Harriet paused at the threshold and glanced back at him. Her smile was faint and uncertain, but it was a smile nonetheless.

His father waited until the door had closed before observing, “You appear pleased.”

“I am relieved Harriet is pleased,” Benedict corrected. “There is a difference.”

“Of course there is.” Lord Denham's agreement was far too mild to be sincere. “I daresay you will explain it to yourself eventually.”

Harriet had nearly reached the stairs when Lady Denham touched her arm. “Walk with me for a moment, my dear. There is a matter upon which I would like to speak with you privately.”

The countess led her into a small morning room and closed the door. The lamps had not been lit, but firelight from the grate cast a soft glow over the chairs gathered near it. Harriet remained standing. Something in Lady Denham's manner—kind, deliberate and faintly uncomfortable—gave warning of the subject before she spoke.

“Your mother is not here to advise you,” Lady Denham began, “and while I would never presume to take her place, I could not allow you to retire without asking whether you understand what may be expected of you tonight.”

Heat swept from Harriet's throat to the roots of her hair. Of all the conversations she had imagined upon becoming Benedict's wife, an explanation of the marriage bed delivered by his mother had not been among them. “You need not concern yourself, ma'am. I understand perfectly.”

This was not precisely true. Harriet understood the purpose of the act and possessed a general notion of its mechanics, gathered from whispers, an ill-concealed book and observations of breeding horses she would rather not recall. The details remained mercifully indistinct. Even so, uncertainty was preferable to hearing Lady Denham explain what her son might do once the bedchamber door was closed.

The older woman was plainly unconvinced. “There is no shame in ignorance, Harriet. Young women are too often protected from knowledge until the very hour they are expected to possess it. Nor does marriage deprive you of the right to kindness and consideration. Benedict knows his duty in that respect.”

Harriet's embarrassment eased enough for affection to intrude. Lady Denham was not attempting to frighten her or persuade her to submission. She meant to arm her with whatever knowledge she could provide and to assure her that she had an ally beneath this roof. “I know that he does. Benedict and I have spoken of the matter, and he has given me no cause to doubt his word.”

It was the most she could say without betraying the private terms of their marriage. Lady Denham seemed to understand that a boundary had been drawn. She took Harriet's hand and pressed it gently. “Then I shall say only that you may come to me if ever you have need of advice. About this or anything else. You are not merely Benedict's wife now. You are part of this family.”

The kindness threatened Harriet's composure more than the proposed instruction. She thanked Lady Denham and escaped before gratitude compelled some display she would regret.

Mrs. Mercer and a chambermaid awaited her in Benedict's apartments. The chamber had been transformed in her absence. Her wedding gown had been packed away and soon the green silk she’d worn for dinner would be packed into her trunks as well. The bed covers were turned down and another log had been placed upon the fire. Across the bed, her nightrail and wrapper had been laid out for her.

Benedict stood near the writing desk, speaking with his valet. He had not yet undressed, and the ordinary formality of his coat and cravat offered Harriet a momentary reprieve.

He dismissed the man almost as soon as she entered. “I shall use the dressing room. Mrs. Mercer may attend you here.”