Seductive Lies (Secret Lives Series) (6 page)

Bessie shook her head in disbelief. “Truly! How is it that I know nothing about this? Why do you keep things from me?”

“Because you tell everything to Mother, dearest.” Clarissa broke from Harriet and faced her sister. “I dare not hope, but after Harriet’s engagement, Lionel feels more optimistic Father will accept him.”

Harriet slipped down onto the sofa beside Clarissa. Long had she known Clarissa loved Lionel. After relaying her news, Clarissa seemed to have discovered a newfound confidence. Even joy beamed from Clarissa.

“Mother will never have it! Clarissa, Lionel Rutland is a solicitor!” Bessie’s face drained of all color. “Oh, this will never do. Mother has such plans.”

Harriet took a hard look at Bessie. The poor dear. Bessie had tried so hard to please her stepmother. Harriet and Clarissa had been under no illusion that Bessie tattled on their every move to the woman in an effort to gain favor
…love from the woman. Why, Harriet suspected it was the reason Bessie carried those silly books around with her.

Bessie hadn’t a clue what any of those books meant. Greek mythology.
William Shakespeare. Harriet was quite certain Bessie hadn’t a notion who Zeus was, much less King Lear…only the books were her stepmother’s from her days as a headmistress.

Most attempts failed. Harriet’s aunt had little patience for the impetuous girl, but Bessie never ceased trying.

“Please, Bessie, Mr. Rutland is from a good family. It is not his fault he is the youngest son,” Harriet interjected.

“He is a solicitor! Mother…”

“Mother will be relieved she will no longer have to parade me about,” Clarissa said firmly. “The whole of her attention can be placed upon you. Lionel wants a small, quiet ceremony. We will be happily settled before the Season begins.”

“This will never do,” Bessie practically hissed. “Mother won’t have it. She has been so excited about this Season. Why…”

“I know what Mother has planned,” Clarissa interrupted her sister. “I have no desire to marry Ewan.”

“Marry Ewan,” Harriet gasped in bewildered horror. “Aunt
Constance wants a match with Ewan? Arthur’s brother?”

“Come, Harriet. Have you not noticed that Mother has thrown us in with every invitation that comes from
Ayercombe Manor?” Bessie prodded Harriet’s memory. “She is determined to use your good fortune to our benefit. Why would she not?”

Harriet looked at Bessie as if she had gone mad. “Because Ewan is the most outrageous bore! He has a high opinion of himself. I cannot for the life of me see Ewan ever in love with anyone but himself. But there is Boult…”

“Mother says marriage is not about love. It is a business arrangement,” Bessie said serenely. “Love comes later.”

Harriet contained a giggle that swelled within her. Bessie looked quite serious. Instead, she teased her cousin, “Then you can have that pleasure of being Ewan’s wife. Why
, then you can be my sister.”

“Oh,” Bessie stammered. The thought had not crossed her mind. Seeing the look on her face, she
, too, held reservations on such an attachment. “But…but…Mother said that I would have my pick of suitors with my connections. Of course, I would not mind at all being your sister…it is only…”

“Calm yourself, Bessie,” Harriet said. “It is of no matter. Of course, you will make a wondrous marriage of your choosing. I will insist
, as the future Vicountness of Daneford. No one will dare go against my wishes.”

Bessie gave her a dubious look and glanced over at Clarissa. Then in unison the girls broke out into laughter.
A sudden knock on the drawing room door disturbed their amusement.

Baines opened the door without waiting for a reply. “Miss Harriet, your presence is requested in the study.”

Not realizing at first that Baines was talking to her, Harriet glanced over at Clarissa for a brief moment, expecting her to rise. When all eyes fell upon her, Harriet smiled a little. Standing, she straightened her skirt. “Uncle Walter wants to see me?”

“It is not your uncle
who requested your presence, Miss Harriet. Lord Daneford has arrived.”

“Lord Daneford
.” Harriet uttered the name under her breath. Suppressing the alarm rushing through her veins, she followed Baines.

From the moment of her engagement, Lord Daneford had received Harriet in a polite if not a distant manner. Once a week, Harriet dined with the immediate family. She had been introduced to the extended family at Christmas. Though never once over the last few months had Lord Daneford ever held a private audience with her.

Answering the summons, Harriet walked in silence. The door was ajar and she found Lord Daneford sitting in the high wingback chair near her uncle’s desk. Her uncle was nowhere to be seen.

Harriet didn’t notice Baines withdrawing from the room until she heard the click of the door shutting behind him. Ignoring the pounding of her heart, she focused on the man sitting stoically before her.

An ominous sensation overcame her as she stared at Arthur’s grandfather. She took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the news. She knew before he uttered a word. It was written on his face.

Lord Daneford spoke, but it was all lost in a fog of words that held no meaning or none that Harriet would accept.
Special assignment. Missing in action. Presumed dead.

Not her Arthur! No, she would know if he no longer walked on this earth. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably. She had no control. Slowly the words sank into her consciousness
, leaving her with only one conclusion—the world she had known had fallen into a downward spiral where there was no end.

Harriet found little comfort. She lived in a state of limbo where she
only existed. There would be no dances, carriage rides, or the acknowledgement of her attachment to the man she loved more than life itself. The excitement she held for a London Season dissipated. She cared little. It held no meaning without Arthur.

To Harriet’s surprise, Clarissa’s marriage commenced quietly with her parents’ blessing. Though Harriet understood quickly her aunt’s goodwill didn’t extend toward herself. Harriet was more reduced to a lower status
, even lower than before Arthur’s proposal.

“I do not know what we will do with you,” her aunt complained. “Your presence here in Torquay serves only as a reminder to Lord Daneford. I believe it would be best if you left for the time being.”

“Where, pray tell, would you have me go? The only home I know is here,” Harriet protested. “I can’t go. Word will come of Arthur. I need to be here.”

“It is foolishness on your part if you cling to false hope.
Reginald says that it could be years before he is declared legally dead, because they have no body. But there is little hope he is alive.”

“It is my hope,” Harriet responded, adamantly refusing to leave.

She couldn’t. She had to be there when Arthur returned. She wrote continually to Arthur, but now she had nowhere to send the letters. She kept them in her dresser drawer. When Arthur returned, she would give them to him to show him she never gave up he was alive.

The only solace came upon her rides and walks. She would walk for hours on end. Clarissa urged caution
, for Harriet walked close to the edge of the cliffs, but to Harriet, it was where she could feel Arthur.

He was out there. She was certain of that fact. Staring down at the ocean below, she swore she heard Arthur call to her in a whisper
. Do not doubt me now. Have faith
.

Less than a month after the news of Arthur’s disappearance, Harriet rose from her bed. Sleep once more evaded her. The moment she closed her eyes, Arthur haunted her. She walked to the open window. A brisk sea breeze greeted her.

Dark clouds loomed on the horizon. A storm brewed. She smelled it in the air.

Harriet.
Startled, she turned round. She was alone in her room.

Harriet.
There was no mistaking it was her name. She turned back around.
Harriet.

A voice beckoned. Barefoot with only her nightgown upon her, Harriet answered the call. She ran out of her room, down the stairs, and out through the veranda into the fog. She followed the voice. Before her, a presence called to her in a dark swirling haze.

Harriet. He lives.

Was it a woman’s voice? Suddenly, a magnitude of shadows encompassed the presence. A chill rushed through Harriet. Below her, the sounds of waves crashing against the rocks echoed. She collapsed upon her knees. The wind blew harder as the rain descended from the heavens.

Looking upward, the presence disappeared. She was alone, oh terribly alone. She cried and the rain fell.

In the distance, she heard her name again. This one she ignored. Her outburst must have given cause for alarm. It sounded as if the whole of the household searched for her. Harriet wanted nothing more than for the world to open up and swallow her. Oh, the looks she would receive! She knew well the meaning of such looks.

Through the fog, a figure appeared and walked toward Harriet. He said nothing, but bent down and lifted her back to her feet. James Carlisle. Harriet recoiled, but he caught her, for she stood dangerously close to the edge. Not asking permission, he picked her up and brought her into Beebe Manor.

He did not release Harriet. Instead, he carried her up the stairs behind one of the maids and placed her down on the floor of her chamber. Glancing round the small room, his eyebrows rose. “This is yours?”

Flicking her wet hair back from her face, Harriet regained her balance. She answered simply, “Yes.”

He nodded in a way that he thought the information interesting. “Change into dry clothes. Then we will talk.”

“Do you have a suicide wish?”

The words hung in the air. Harriet stared at Carlisle, irritated beyond measure at the man and his arrogance. What did he know of her loss? She fought the impulse to tell him frankly, but her actions could not be explained away with words.

Harriet had taken her time getting dressed. She hoped the man would be gone before she made her appearance downstairs, but he had waited in the drawing room. Impatiently, by all appearances.

“I do not have to defend myself to you
.” She shook her head in silent anger. Refusing to be intimidated, she met his gaze, though her heart felt as if it were beating in her throat. “You came for a reason. Did you bring word of Arthur?”

“Unfortunately, there has been no change in his status,” Carlisle said. He wasted no time explaining his appearance. “I came at Lord Daneford’s request.”

“Lord Daneford?” she questioned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Is he upset I haven’t come for our dinners? I will write and explain. I assure you I meant no disrespect. It is only I have been quite…”

“Miss
Burke,” Carlisle broke her thought. “I am not here about any dinner arrangements or social activities. I have come for a different reason.”

“And that would be?”

“Please, sit. You are making me nervous.” Carlisle gestured toward the sofa.

Harriet made no movement, stubbornly standing in her spot. He studied her for a moment and shrugged.

“So be it,” he said. “You have shown you are a forthright person. So I will respect you well enough to be so with you. I have come for your ring.”

A flood of crimson swept upward into her cheeks. Carlisle had not come to save her, to offer her comfort, or to share in a loss of her fiancé, his friend. No, he had come to insult her—to humiliate her.

“It is mine,” she whispered. Instinctively, she reached down to her finger and pulled it off. “Arthur gave it to me. Why…why…why would you ask for what has been given?”

“I do not relish this in the least, Miss
Burke. You must understand that not only is the ring quite valuable, it also holds sentimental value to the family. It is my understanding it was his mother’s.”

“No.”

The word echoed in the stillness of the room. Carlisle seemed unmoved by her proclamation. He made a slight movement towards Harriet. She stepped backwards and shook her head.

“No,” she repeated. “I don’t believe Arthur is dead. He isn’t. He can’t be.” She paused. A sudden thought of Carlisle’s actions swept through her. Looking dubiously at him, she pressed, “Why are you being so cruel? I thought you gave your word to Arthur to care for me. This is how you treat me!”

“Treat you? May I remind you of your behavior only a short while ago? What were you thinking? If you believe that Arthur lives, what were you doing?”

Her chest heaved with a growing rage. “Do you want me to confess I am grieving? Do you want to know it feels as though my heart has been ripped out of me?”

Drawing in a deep breath, she feared she would burst into tears and lose the little control she had. Gripping tightly to the ring, she swallowed hard. Never had she been good at deception. Pressing her lips tightly together, she shook her head in dismay.

“It is the only place I feel close to Arthur.” She looked up at Carlisle. The pain of losing Arthur surged through her veins. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I wanted the hurt to go away. I wanted to call him home. I…I wanted Arthur.”