The dull ache of loneliness gnawed at her. Arthur would not be returning. Never had life seemed so bleak.
Harriet hadn’t the strength to fight her aunt on her suggestion Harriet visit distant relatives, Captain Jago Waverly and his wife, Polly. Harriet had never heard of the couple, much less met them, but the wife was a cousin of Aunt Constance.
“Polly has been ill. With Captain Waverly leaving months at a time, it would alleviate a worry. A different environment will also do you good,” her aunt said in a surprisingly sympathetic voice.
Inexpressible sadness weighed upon Harriet. Harriet didn’t care where she went. Nothing mattered.
Harriet stepped out of the carriage into a ray of sunlight. Even in her state, the beauty of the view touched her. Embedded into the hillside, the cottage overlooked the bay, a whitewashed thatched home with a neat colorful flower garden. Not overly large, the steps led up to a n ivy-covered front porch with a distinctive railing overhead.
On the side , a turret extended above the roof line with high windows, giving way to an observation post. From her view, Harriet made out an old chair and a telescope that pointed out toward the ocean.
She walked silently up the walkway while her trunk was laid upon the ground. Strange, no one rushed out to greet her. She stood at the door to knock, but noticed the door was already opened.
“Hello!” Harriet called, pushing the door wider.
A stout elderly lady rushed out into the foyer , drying her hands against her apron. “Oh, my goodness! You must be Miss Burke. Come in. Come in. I’m Mrs. Frant. I’m so sorry. I was cooking. It’s a small household. Smaller than I imagine you are used to, but you will adjust.” She paused for a moment. She looked Harriet over frankly from head to toe. “My, you are a pretty one.”
What an odd welcome . Harriet glanced around the cottage. It was indeed small. A quaint drawing room was to her left and the dining room to her right. The stairs lay in front of her. Harriet wondered whether the house held enough bedrooms. She supposed the size of the house mattered little. It served only as a place to heal… if she could.
Chapter Four
It was midday, but only traces of sunlight bled through the heavy velvet drapes. Candles burnt down to the wick littered the room. The room smelt of brandy and port. A broken decanter lay in a million pieces beside the smoldering fireplace.
The continual pounding on the door stirred the occupant in the bed. With the greatest reluctance, the man swung back the covers. Swearing under his breath, he stumbled over to the origin of the noise. He fumbled with the lock until the door flew open, striking the wall with a force that the whole of the room shook.
“Bloody hell, Arthur! Look at yourself!”
Arthur looked up, catching his reflection in the mirror over the chest. He blinked at the sight, trying to focus on the figure before him. If he hadn’t known who it was, he wouldn’t have recognized himself.
His tawny hair hung well past his shoulders, disheveled and unkempt. He still wore his clothes from the previous day . Or was it the day before that? He couldn’t remember. A rumbled cravat hung loose about his untucked shirt, which had lost half of its studs.
“You have been home over a month. I would have thought you passed this stage by now!”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Carlisle, old boy. Didn’t realize there was a timetable for such things. They should put it in a book… there’s a time limit when recovering from one’s fiancée running off with another man!”
Arthur reached down and pulled out the necklace around his neck. He gripped tight the ring he had given to Harriet. Never would he believe she would desert him. He denied it until his grandfather gave him the ring.
“She sent it over by messenger. Nothing else,” his grandfather said. “No explanation. I suppose she thought she didn’t need to say anything else.”
The Harriet he knew
Harriet hadn’t the strength to fight her aunt on her suggestion Harriet visit distant relatives, Captain Jago Waverly and his wife, Polly. Harriet had never heard of the couple, much less met them, but the wife was a cousin of Aunt Constance.
“Polly has been ill. With Captain Waverly leaving months at a time, it would alleviate a worry. A different environment will also do you good,” her aunt said in a surprisingly sympathetic voice.
Inexpressible sadness weighed upon Harriet. Harriet didn’t care where she went. Nothing mattered.
Harriet stepped out of the carriage into a ray of sunlight. Even in her state, the beauty of the view touched her. Embedded into the hillside, the cottage overlooked the bay, a whitewashed thatched home with a neat colorful flower garden. Not overly large, the steps led up to a n ivy-covered front porch with a distinctive railing overhead.
On the side , a turret extended above the roof line with high windows, giving way to an observation post. From her view, Harriet made out an old chair and a telescope that pointed out toward the ocean.
She walked silently up the walkway while her trunk was laid upon the ground. Strange, no one rushed out to greet her. She stood at the door to knock, but noticed the door was already opened.
“Hello!” Harriet called, pushing the door wider.
A stout elderly lady rushed out into the foyer , drying her hands against her apron. “Oh, my goodness! You must be Miss Burke. Come in. Come in. I’m Mrs. Frant. I’m so sorry. I was cooking. It’s a small household. Smaller than I imagine you are used to, but you will adjust.” She paused for a moment. She looked Harriet over frankly from head to toe. “My, you are a pretty one.”
What an odd welcome . Harriet glanced around the cottage. It was indeed small. A quaint drawing room was to her left and the dining room to her right. The stairs lay in front of her. Harriet wondered whether the house held enough bedrooms. She supposed the size of the house mattered little. It served only as a place to heal… if she could.
Chapter Four
It was midday, but only traces of sunlight bled through the heavy velvet drapes. Candles burnt down to the wick littered the room. The room smelt of brandy and port. A broken decanter lay in a million pieces beside the smoldering fireplace.
The continual pounding on the door stirred the occupant in the bed. With the greatest reluctance, the man swung back the covers. Swearing under his breath, he stumbled over to the origin of the noise. He fumbled with the lock until the door flew open, striking the wall with a force that the whole of the room shook.
“Bloody hell, Arthur! Look at yourself!”
Arthur looked up, catching his reflection in the mirror over the chest. He blinked at the sight, trying to focus on the figure before him. If he hadn’t known who it was, he wouldn’t have recognized himself.
His tawny hair hung well past his shoulders, disheveled and unkempt. He still wore his clothes from the previous day . Or was it the day before that? He couldn’t remember. A rumbled cravat hung loose about his untucked shirt, which had lost half of its studs.
“You have been home over a month. I would have thought you passed this stage by now!”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Carlisle, old boy. Didn’t realize there was a timetable for such things. They should put it in a book… there’s a time limit when recovering from one’s fiancée running off with another man!”
Arthur reached down and pulled out the necklace around his neck. He gripped tight the ring he had given to Harriet. Never would he believe she would desert him. He denied it until his grandfather gave him the ring.
“She sent it over by messenger. Nothing else,” his grandfather said. “No explanation. I suppose she thought she didn’t need to say anything else.”
The Harriet he knew
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