Lady of the Rose (4 page)

Lillian became serious.
“The same,
Harriet.
You know he is always the same.” Her voice was tender, and
she squeezed her sister's arm.

Harriet nodded and made to rejoin
the party, but Lillian held onto her arm.

“There is some other news, though,
sister.”

Harriet felt suddenly alarmed.
“What
is it?”

“Lucas came home today.
He wants to
see you.”

Harriet shook off her sister's arm.
A chill settled itself across her shoulders and infused her voice
with coldness.
“I can think of nothing I would have to say to him.
Come, let's join the others.” She strode off ahead of Lillian, who
had no choice but to follow.

The rest of the group was settling
in for the picnic luncheon.
The other man of the group, who Louisa
introduced as one Harold Gregor, was monopolizing Lady Whitney to
excess.
He doted on her, serving her lunch and hanging on her every
word.
He seemed to find her soliloquy on Mrs.
Wilson's choice of
dress to be fascinating.
Louisa and Lillian, close in age and long
friends, were talking quietly, heads together, leaving Sir George
and Harriet a little apart from the others.

“So you planned this party from the
start?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He couldn't keep the smirk
completely off his face.
“Of course.
The two of us alone in a
secluded wood for hours?
Whatever would people say!” He spoke
mostly in jest, but he was also right, Harriet knew.

“Nothing good, I can assure you.
At
least not about me,” she said dryly.

He looked up at that.
“I am sorry if
I upset you earlier.
I wanted you to see this place, and I wanted
to see your reaction without any...
distractions.” He cast a
meaningful glance at Lady Whitney, who was looking periodically in
their direction with a frown plastered across her features.
Harold
Gregor did not seem to notice and continued to talk to her, eyes
filled with open admiration.

Harriet laughed softly under her
breath, but he was close enough to hear it.

“You do laugh quite often, don't
you?”

“Yes, I suppose I do.
I've often
been told that it is not acceptable behavior in a lady to be so
quick to laughter.
Perhaps I am meant to make you work harder for
the pleasure of my amusement.”

“I don't know, I quite like it.
And
as far as laughs go, yours is very ladylike.
Small and clear, like
a fast-moving stream over rocks.
It would be different if you
sounded like a choking mule.”

Harriet didn't know whether to be
flattered that he liked her laugh or to laugh again at such a
ridiculous description.
She settled on a small smile and taking a
bite from her lunch to compose herself.

She cleared her throat and tried to
turn the conversation onto safer ground.
“This really is the most
beautiful spot for a picnic,” she said, in all honesty.

George looked around at the woods.
“Yes, it is one of the few things I missed about this
place.”

She could have let the comment pass,
smiled politely and continued to talk of trivialities, but
something in his voice made her ask.
“One of the few?”

George sighed and looked directly
into her eyes.
There was a storminess to the grey orbs - sadness,
she thought,or even anger.

“I was happy in London,” he said,
simply.
“We have family there, I had friends, and a vocation to
keep me busy.
I know it is not a popular sentiment, but I enjoyed
my profession, and I was damn good at it,” he added fiercely.
He
turned to look across the expanse of trees and shrubs.
There was
tension in his shoulders, his entire body seemed on a fine edge,
and then suddenly he relaxed, as though deflating.
“I mourn
Freddie, for the loss of my brother and friend, but I mourn, too,
the life I had.
That life died with him.”

Harriet was consumed by the need to
comfort him.
She reached out and placed a hand on his forearm.
He
placed his own hand over hers.
It was warm and solid, and she moved
her thumb across the top of his hand in an unconscious caress.
She
heard a gasp from somewhere across the picnic blanket, and she
quickly tried to pull her hand away.
He held on for a just a
moment, and then released her.

“And what of you?” he asked
suddenly.
“Louisa tells me you have relations in London, as well.
Why do you not go visit them for a season?” And find yourself a
husband, hung in the air unasked.

Harriet could have told him what she
told everyone else, that she had no love for London, that she found
the company plenty varied and lively at home, that her mother liked
her to remain close, but after his own revelations, she could not
bring herself to lie.

“My father.”

George's eyebrows rose in surprise.
It was obviously not the answer he had expected.
“Your
father?”

She nodded and cleared her throat,
for a moment unsure whether or not she could continue.
“I told you
my father was ill?”

George nodded his head but said
nothing.
He seemed to sense that she could not take any
interruptions.

“He isn't merely ill.” Harriet was
shocked at how clear and normal her voice sounded.
“He suffered an
apoplexy last spring.
He hasn't been himself since.”

Wondering if that was enough, she
paused, waiting for the customary consolations that came whenever
she revealed anything about her father's condition.
George merely
waited, staring at her with those deep gray eyes, eyes that did not
show pity, or worse, revulsion.
They were only calm and
questioning, and undeniably comforting.

“He hasn't said a word or been able
to move more than a finger on his own since it
happened.”

Now he knew it all.
The only person
outside her own family and the Fischers to know the extent to which
her father was incapacitated.
The neighborhood thought him feeble,
perhaps even slightly touched in the head, but no one knew that he
could neither move nor speak at all.
She was looking down when his
hand moved over hers.
She looked up at him, surprised to see that
he was smiling at her.

“Thank you for telling me,” was all
he said.

Stunned, Harriet smiled back.
“You're welcome,” she said, not knowing what else to
say.

The picnic did not last much longer
after that.
Lady Whitney, in particular, seemed anxious to leave.
As it was getting on in the day, no one argued with her much.
The
driver returned to pack the lunch basket and preceded them down the
hill.

“George, dear,” Lady Whitney's
falsetto voice grated against Harriet.
It seemed incongruous in the
quiet, ancient woods, like a tropical bird squawking from the top
of one of the birch trees.
“You must help me down this dreadful
hill.
Whatever encouraged you to come up here, I'll never know.”
The look she gave Harriet, however, said she had ideas about the
source of the bad influence.

Although she was grateful to him for
showing her this beautiful place, Harriet was glad that George was
gone.
She wanted a moment to take her leave of the place in peace,
in the solitude it demanded.
She closed her eyes and breathed
deeply, listening to the soft calls of birds and tittering of tiny
insects.
So much life in a place so old.
With one last look at the
wild roses, she turned away from the wood and walked slowly down
the hill alone.

By some design or lucky
happenstance, Harriet was placed in a carriage with only George and
Lillian for the ride back to the Hall, so it was a very pleasant
trip.
Between George's dry humor and Lillian's exact impressions of
everyone from Lady Whitney to Mrs.
York, Harriet did not stop
laughing the whole way back.
She stepped down from the carriage
feeling light and warm, seeking only an hour or so in Margaret's
company to make her contentment complete.

~~~

Part Two

Over the next few days, Harriet was
a part of several parties, picnics and walks and rides across the
grounds.
There were always many people, sometimes people Harriet
had never seen before, and yet somehow, Harriet and George were
almost always left on their own for a large part of the afternoon.
They were just returning from a walk through the garden, during
which an increasingly irate Lady Whitney had been forced to explain
the qualities and origin of every plant they came across to a
rapturous Lillian, leaving George and Harriet to walk the rest of
the path together.
Despite herself, she was enjoying her time at
the Hall, and smiling, she turned to tell George, when a waiting
figure caught her eye.

Standing in front of the entrance to
the Hall was a man, tall and well-dressed with a shock of bright
red hair and deep brown eyes behind large circular glasses.
At the
sight of him, all the pleasant, warm feelings inside Harriet
evaporated, replaced by an empty cold space under her breast
bone.

“Are you alright?” George's voice in
her ear and his hand on her elbow made Harriet realize that she had
stopped right in the middle of the path.
Louisa looked at her, eyes
filled with concern.
Lillian rushed past her, head down, eyes
averted, brushing against her side in her haste.

Harriet spoke through clenched
teeth, “I'm fine.” She pulled her arm out of George's grasp and
approached her brother.

“Harriet,” he smiled and moved
towards her, arms wide.
Harriet stepped back, and his arms dropped,
though the smile did not waver.
“I am glad to see you.”

“Why are you here,
Lucas?”

Lucas shrugged, “Mother said you
would be here, and I wanted to see you.
It has been some time since
we've seen each other, after all.”

Harriet laughed, but this time, it
was a cold, derisive noise, and she hated the sound of it.
“Yes,
some time.
Nearly a year, as I recall.”

Finally, the smile dropped off his
face.
He looked tired, and somewhat sad.
“I've been busy, Harriet,”
he spoke quietly.

The cold place inside her was
suddenly full of fiery, burning anger.
It rose up her throat, and
she had to open her mouth and let it out, or be consumed by it.
She
didn't bother to keep her voice down as she advanced on him, “Much
too busy for your family, I see.
Whatever could have happened now
to pull you away from your busy and important life?
Father's
illness wasn't enough to make you leave.
Letters from your family
begging you to come home weren't enough.
You left me here then to
attend to it all alone.
What is it then, Lucas?
What, tell me,
finally got you here?”

“Harry, I'm getting
married.”

The rest of her tirade died in her
throat, “Married?
When?” She was still angry, but curiosity
overtook all other emotions.
She had heard nothing of a courtship
or an engagement from any of her relatives.
“And to
whom?”

“Her name is Violet,” he said
through a goofy grin.
He looked absolutely smitten; there was no
other word for it.
“She is the most lovely creature I have ever set
eyes on.
We will be married at once.
I came to introduce her to...
my family,” he finished, after a pause.

Harriet knew that he had been about
to say Father's name and realized the error, but not in time to
stop her rage from returning in full measure.

“Congratulations, but I, for one,
will not be able to attend.
Someone has to stay here and take care
of Father while the rest of the family traipses off to Oxford for
your wedding.”

Lucas looked quietly at his sister
and shook his head.
“My wedding will not be in Oxford, Harriet.
It
will be here, and Violet and I will be returning after the
honeymoon.
To stay,” he added, unnecessarily.

She stared blankly at him.
She had
heard the words but did not dare to believe them.
Lucas had always
been the irresponsible one, in spite of being the only male
Davenport child.
After all, he had run off to university the first
chance he got and never come back.
And now, he was saying that he
and his new bride were moving to Thornwood Park to stay?

“Harry,” Lucas hesitated for just a
moment before grabbing both her hands and holding them in his own.
“I know this does not change anything, but I honestly did not know
how hard it has been for you these past months.
Mother and Margaret
were always vague but upbeat in their letters; yours were fewer and
farther between.
When Violet found out about Father, she asked me
to cancel the honeymoon altogether, so that I could take away the
burden you've been under immediately.
Mother talked her out of
that,” he said, smirking.
“Still, I plan to make certain everything
is in order before the wedding.
I promise, Harry, I will not let
you down.”

He looked so earnest, eyes staring
directly into her without guile.
Harriet felt tears forming, and
she blinked them back, but she did not stop herself from being
pulled into her brother's embrace.

When she spoke, it was in a quiet,
slightly choked voice.
“I have missed you, Lucas.”

“Please do not become sentimental,
Harry.
It doesn't suit you.”

She laughed and pulled away from
him, wiping her eyes.

“Now, come, Violet wants to meet
you.
I've told her all about you.” Lucas smiled mischievously, and
Harriet guessed that not all his stories were strictly flattering
to her.

“Wonderful,” she
murmured.

~~~

Harriet could not remember a time
when her sister looked so happy.
She was still pale and thin, but
there was such joy in her eyes that it warmed Harriet's
heart.

“You have truly reconciled?”
Margaret whispered, tears gathering in the corners of her
eyes.

“I don't know that I would say
that,” Harriet said, “but we will see.
I promised I would come meet
his Violet tomorrow.”

Margaret's smile widened even
further, stretching the limits of her face.
“You have
reconciled.”

Harriet shook her head.
There was no
use arguing with her sister when she was in such a mood.
She
honestly didn't know if she was ready to forgive Lucas or not.
She
had felt so abandoned, so betrayed when he didn't come home after
her father's illness that it was difficult to let go of those
feelings.
She realized with a small shock how much they had been
festering inside her over the past months.

Patting Margaret's hand, she stood
to leave.
“I am going for a ride, my dear, but I will come see you
tonight.”

Harriet asked the stable lad to
saddle her horse, and she went for a ride to clear her head.
She
felt at home on a horse, and normally, nothing made her feel more
completely alive than a ride, but today, she could not stop
thinking about Lucas.
He seemed truly different than the last time
she had seen him.
She would not allow herself to become too hopeful
- he had disappointed her too many times in the past - but she
allowed for the possibility of change.
Perhaps this Violet was a
good influence, she thought.
Her revery was broken when a sharp
wind blew across the field, chilling her to the bone.
The day,
though it had started out pleasant, was turning dark and cold.
Shivering, she gathered her cloak closer around her and turned back
towards the Hall.
A lone rider, unnoticed until she turned around,
was riding swiftly towards her.

“Oh!
Sir Whitney.
I wasn't expecting
to meet anyone.” Harriet felt a flush creep up her neck into her
cheeks.
She hoped the faded light hid it sufficiently, but she
doubted it once she saw the look on his face.
His eyes twinkled in
blatant amusement, clearly enjoying the fact that he had caught her
off-guard.
She coughed slightly and asked, more to cover her
embarrassment than out of an actual desire to know, “Are you on
your way somewhere?”

“Actually, I was coming to meet
you.”

Harriet's eyebrows shot up.
“Meet
me?
Why?”

“There is something I would like to
show you, if you have the time.”

Though the sky was filled with
clouds, Harriet knew the hour was not so late that she would be
missed at the Hall.
“I suppose I could spare an hour.
What did you
want me to see?”

“It is a bit of a ride.
Do you think
you can manage?”

Harriet, who was an excellent
horsewoman, bristled slightly at this, and her tone was colder than
she intended when she answered.
“I will manage.
Which
way?”

They rode in silence for several
minutes before either of them spoke.
Finally George broke the
silence, “Who was that at the Hall earlier?”

Harriet thought she sensed a strain
in his tone of voice.
Remembering her behavior in the front walk of
the Hall when she first saw Lucas, she blushed once more.
She
rushed to explain, “That was my brother, Lucas.
I have not seen him
for many months, as he has been living in Oxford.
It was quite a
shock to see him standing there.”

George's face lit up in recognition,
“Yes, I should have recognized him from the first!
I wish I had
realized.
We used to play together a bit as boys.”

Harriet smiled, “I
remember.”

The clouds, which had before been
grey but not threatening, were steadily becoming darker as they
rode farther into the woods.
Harriet began to feel nervous that the
storm would break before they reached their destination.

“Is it much farther?” she
asked.

“No, it is just there, near the
river.” He pointed to a small cottage in the distance, partially
blocked by an outcropping of trees.
Harriet could only see part of
the roof and one wall, but she noted that there was no smoke rising
from the chimney.
She didn't have time to consider this, however,
since at that moment the skies opened and water started coming down
on them in sheets.
She was soaked to the skin within
seconds.

Pushing his horse faster, George led
the way to the cottage.
The rain was so thick that Harriet could
hardly see where she was going, and she did not resist when George
opened the door, without so much as knocking, and pushed her
inside.

She stood, dripping a puddle onto
the rough wooden floor, in a small room containing a table and
chair, a small cot on an iron frame with a wooden chest at the
foot, and the fireplace.
Other than the door they had come through,
there seemed to be only the one window, luckily tacked over with an
oiled skin that was keeping out the rain, and another door at the
back of the room.

George moved quickly, kneeling
before the fire to check for kindling and wood.
He had the blaze
going in moments, and Harriet sighed as heat filled the room.
He
must have noticed her shivering because she felt a weight settle
itself across her shoulders.
She pulled the quilt closer and hugged
her arms against her body, willing some of the cold from her
body.

“Sit here,” George said, his voice
wavering slightly, and he pulled her towards the fire, where he had
placed the single wooden chair.

“I'm all right,” she assured him.
“Just a bit damp.”

He laughed softly but still made her
sit in front of the fire.
After a few moments, she was still wet,
but she was warm, and steam was rising from her clothes.
It was
only then that she noticed that George was still dripping, and his
lips had started to turn slightly blue around the edges.