Courting Miss Lancaster (18 page)

Chapter 20

“I find myself struggling to believe that there is anything so enthralling about the back gardens as to have captured your undivided attention for a full thirty minutes.”

Athena smiled a very little, turning slightly on the window seat to look at Persephone as she sat beside her. “I was lost in my thoughts, I suppose.”

“A state you seem to regularly assume of late.”

“I have had a great deal on my mind,” Athena admitted, turning her gaze back to the frozen expanse of plants and walkways behind Falstone House, the window fogging with the warmth of her breath.

“This has been a busy few months for you,” Persephone replied. “Some moments of reflection are expected. However, I would have thought those recollections would be . . . happier. You have seemed a bit unhappy, dearest. I have been reluctant to ask why, as I do not wish to pry, but I find I am growing concerned. It is very unlike you to be in the dismals for so long a period of time.”

“I am not truly in the dismals—” Athena began the automatic protest. In all honesty, she was absolutely drowning in the dismals.

“Athena,” Persephone interrupted, “I know you better than that.”

Athena felt her sister take her hand, squeezing it the way she always had when they were young girls and Persephone was comforting her. There had been a great many circumstances during their childhood that had warranted reassurance: their mother’s death, pending financial ruin, the defection of friends as their situation grew more destitute, loneliness. Persephone had been almost as much a mother during those times as she had been a sister. Athena needed a mother’s wisdom and advice then more than ever.

Athena sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, even to her own ears. “These past weeks have not gone at all as I anticipated.” The slightest catch in her voice gave away the level of her distress, and Persephone squeezed her fingers more firmly. It was comfort enough for Athena to continue. “I have dreamed for years about having a London Season, and instead of being delighted, I find I am . . . disappointed.”

“Your experience did not match your dreams?” Persephone asked gently.

Athena shook her head, forcing back the sudden ache of tears in her eyes. Crying would not alleviate her frustration.

“What, precisely, has not occurred during these past weeks that you so desperately wish had?” Persephone asked.

“I didn’t fall in love,” Athena admitted before realizing she had spoken out loud. An embarrassed pink stained her cheeks—she could feel the heat of it.

In a voice even softer and kinder than she had used moments before, Persephone asked, “And how do you know you did not fall in love?”

Athena shifted to face Persephone again, confused at her question. “I would know if I was in love,” she insisted.

“Oh, Athena,” Persephone said, her tone suddenly very empathetic. “I have found that sometimes a person is the last to know when she is in love. One’s heart does not always share its secrets with one’s mind.”

“But I know how I would feel if I were in love, and I don’t feel that way,” Athena protested. She had spent the past several days fluctuating between sadness and frustration. The pendulum was arcing once again.

Persephone’s small laugh was ironic in timbre. “How would you know how it feels, Athena, if you have never been in love?”

That was an argument she had not considered. Did a person not know, instinctively, how love felt? She had always assumed so.

“Come,” Persephone said, wrapping an arm around Athena’s shoulder and all but forcing Athena to shift in her seat and lean against her. “It is time for an older-sister confession.”

“Oh, dear,” Athena answered, surprised that she was smiling, even if the effort was probably an abysmal failure.

“When I first met Adam—when I first
married
Adam, the two were essentially simultaneous, you know—I had what I felt was a pretty solid understanding of what love is and is not and what makes a happy and successful marriage. I had so many vivid and detailed dreams of my future.”

Athena silently sighed. She had a great many dreams as well.

“I had always pictured living in a small, cozy home with a great many chickens just outside the front door and a large number of perpetually happy children running about the yard.” Persephone gave Athena a look that clearly communicated that she understood the irony of those expectations. “My home ended up being a drafty castle that could easily house a substantial portion of the London populace. There are no chickens anywhere near the front doors of Falstone Castle and, thus far, no children.

“I had further envisioned myself married to a gentleman who was openly affectionate, inherently gentle, and constantly offering tender words of adoration.”

Athena actually laughed out loud. Adam was the polar opposite of Persephone’s described dream husband.

“Before you snort too loudly in derision, allow me a moment longer to further my embarrassment.” But Persephone was laughing as well. She understood the discrepancy. “Father had always been that way with Mother, and it was, in my mind, firmly set as the only way two people in love interacted. I expected Adam to fit that mold so precisely that when he didn’t, I was discouraged, disappointed.

“The more I got to know him, the more I found about him that I admired and liked and preferred in a husband over the traits I saw in our father. However, my predetermined ideas of how love plays out did not allow me to realize that I was falling in love with him. Adam is not openly affectionate, and, in public, he is neither gentle nor tender. He is, in his own way, all of those things. I simply needed to open my heart in order to see him as he really was.”

“Then I should give up on all my dreams?” Athena couldn’t prevent the break that accompanied her words.

“Oh, Athena.” Persephone sounded a touch exasperated. “Artemis is supposed to be the dramatic one.” She shook her head even as she pulled Athena closer. “You can have all those things that are most vital to you. Think of what it is you truly wish for in a companion, a friend, a lover—for a husband is all of those things. I believe you will find that the exact events surrounding falling in love can differ dramatically but have the same end result.”

“I may not be swept off my feet by love is what you are saying.” The words felt both disappointing and oddly hopeful. How was it possible to be both at the same time?

“Love may very well creep up on you,” Persephone answered. “You will find yourself thinking about some gentleman who makes you smile just by smiling at you, who lightens your burdens simply with his presence, a gentleman whom you miss when you are apart and about whom you think during a separation, a gentleman you could not imagine never seeing again.”

Persephone’s words conjured up thoughts of Harry. She had missed him, thought of him in the days since he’d left. He had always brought a smile to her face, had always known how to make her feel better when she was discouraged or upset. But Persephone was supposedly talking about love. Harry was a friend.

Persephone continued. “And quite suddenly your stubborn mind will realize that while it was logically and systematically searching for love, your heart had already found it.”

Her heart had already found love? But Persephone had described Harry. He was a friend, albeit a
good
friend, but nothing more. Wasn’t he?

Athena closed her eyes, her mind immediately filled with thoughts of him. Harry had lightened her burden so many times. He had held her so comfortingly and gently the night of Mr. Rigby’s assault. Harry had spent countless hours with her at Falstone Castle talking about more topics than she could even remember. He’d held her hand when she was in need of support. But where was the pounding heart, the symptoms of love and passion?

As if in response to her unspoken question, Athena’s heart leaped in her chest. One single recollection brought about the phenomenon. Harry had held her hand at the theater that evening. He had caressed her fingers in a way that had made her heart stutter and lurch. Then it all flooded in, memories of a look or a word from him that had brought a stain to her cheeks or a greater rapidity to her pulse. She had always dismissed the effect before.

“Oh, my heavens,” Athena whispered.

Persephone’s arm tightened around Athena’s shoulder. “I wondered when you would finally realize what I had long suspected.”

“But he sabotaged me,” Athena insisted, confusion warring with the heady rush of realization. “He intentionally introduced me only to gentlemen I could never have been happy with. How could I love someone who despises me enough to do that?”

“Athena,” Persephone said, an almost scolding edge to her words. “I know Harry nearly as well as you do, and I do not for one moment believe him to be the sort of gentleman who would act as a saboteur.”

“He as much as admitted it,” Athena said.

“It is not Harry’s actions that I doubt,” Persephone answered. “It is his motivation. You believe he acted out of ill will or malice.”

“You think differently?” Athena knew there was a hint of desperate hope in her voice, and she did not at all care. She had wanted to believe that Harry was still her friend ever since his departure from London, but realizing now how she had grown to love him, Athena needed to know that he did not despise her.

“I
know
differently,” Persephone said. “Adam asked Harry to help with your come-out.”

Being forced into service was almost as bad as purposefully undermining Athena’s debut.

“Adam, unfortunately, is a little too unobservant to realize what he was asking of Harry,” Persephone continued. “You know that Harry is as poor as a church mouse. His situation in many ways is even more desperate than ours was. A young lady without a dowry has a greater chance of marrying than a man who is destitute. He is labeled a fortune hunter by society, shunned by fathers of dowered young ladies, and too poor to marry a girl without a dowry. Harry has no title to induce a father to consider his suit and has no means of acquiring wealth of his own.”

Athena nodded. She knew all that. Harry had been particularly empathetic when she had spoken of the difficulties they had passed through during the years of financial hardship. He had shared many of his own struggles and worries with her in return.

“Harry is a gentleman of the world, and though he can be quite absurd and jovial at times, he is realistic. He knows that, for all intents and purposes, he is considered ineligible.”

Eligibility.
It was one of the requirements on Athena’s list; the list she had first concocted and shared with Harry. Would he have seen that as proof that his suit would not be welcomed?

“Looking back over the brief visit you made to Falstone Castle last Christmas and the time we all spent together last spring before the opening of the Season, I can see that Harry had grown very fond of you . . . perhaps more than fond. For Adam to ask Harry to help you find a husband when he himself would have liked to try for the position must have been torturous for Harry. I believe he did the best he could.”

Athena wanted to believe it, but the arguments were too strong. “If he truly loved me, why did he not say so? Why did he not at least try?”

“He is practically penniless, Athena. A basic requirement for any suit to be considered acceptable is a gentleman’s ability to support a wife.”

“But I have a dowry,” Athena said. “We would not be destitute.”

“Men have pride, dear. Living off one’s wife’s wealth would sting tremendously.”

“Is pride more important than love?” Athena asked, her hopefulness of a moment earlier dimmed by a feeling of sadness and frustration. Had Harry refused to court her because of pride?

Persephone sighed and gave Athena another squeeze. “You shall simply have to wait and see.”

Chapter 21

The Falstone butler smiled as he opened the door for Harry. The house was, Harry noted, still standing. Nothing appeared to be broken or in disarray. For a household supposedly on the brink of utter chaos, the atmosphere was remarkably calm.

“Where might I find His Grumpiness?” Harry asked, enjoying the sight of Adam’s very proper London butler attempting to keep a straight face.

“Their Graces are in the book room, Mr. Windover,” was the very professional reply.

Harry nodded his acknowledgment and made his way up the stairs. A hauntingly familiar voice floating out of the drawing room stopped Harry in his tracks.

“Is Artemis finally sleeping?” Athena asked. Harry’s heart thudded to hear her voice again. Heavens, how he’d missed her!

“Yes.” He was pretty sure that was the governess.

Harry peeked discreetly around the corner of the doorway, hoping to see without being seen.

“Before she fell asleep, Miss Artemis asked me to give this to you.” The governess held out a sheet of paper.

“A drawing?” Athena took the sheet and looked up at the governess.

Harry barely managed not to gasp. She was pale, just as Persephone’s letter had indicated, and her eyes were weary, the spark he was so used to seeing there having dimmed. Harry desperately hoped the blame for that did not rest on his shoulders. Although, if Dalforth had broken her spirit, Harry was going to fillet the man!

“I believe it is meant to depict Miss Artemis in the throes of a painfully fatal disease,” the governess explained.

Athena’s mouth twitched ever so slightly, but she did not smile. “Artemis ever was the dramatic sister.” Where was the laughter in her tone?

It took every ounce of Harry’s self-control not to rush to her side and hold her to him, to coax a smile back to her face. He had to remind himself that he had not the right, nor would his attentions be welcomed. She was angry with him, after all.

Harry waited until Athena’s eyes were directed at the drawing in her hand and moved quickly past the doorway and down the hallway until he reached the book room.

Adam looked not only surprised but happy when Harry walked in. Harry was grateful for that, though he knew Adam would not appreciate knowing as much.

“Perfect. Now I don’t have to go to the Techneys’ ball tonight.”

“Yes, you do, Adam,” Persephone replied with a smile. They were standing only a few feet apart, Adam with a book in his hand, Persephone looking out the window, though she turned her face to look at Adam as she spoke.

“But Harry is here,” Adam pointed out, snapping his book shut.

“Harry is not Athena’s guardian,” Persephone said.

“She has a point, Adam,” Harry said. He had come back to London in order to redirect Adam’s grumpiness. There seemed little point in delaying the undertaking.

“Shut up, Harry.”

Immediate success. Hearing Adam grumble wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it had once been. Of late,
nothing
was quite as satisfying as it had once been. It was not the most promising vision of one’s future.

“Remind me again why I volunteered to be responsible for your enormous family.” Adam’s mutterings were definitely directed toward Persephone. Harry, apparently, hadn’t been as successful a diversion as he’d thought.

Persephone shrugged and turned back to look out the window. “Because you love your wife,” she suggested, and Harry thought he caught a smile in her tone.

“Is that why?” Adam replied, setting his book down as he crossed to where she stood. He wrapped his arms around Persephone’s waist. “And is that also the reason I am attending this infernal ball tonight?”

Only Adam could say the word
infernal
and still sound flirtatious. “Would you two like some privacy?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Adam declared at the same moment Persephone said, “Not yet.”

“Apparently your marriage is not on the verge of collapse as I was led to believe,” Harry said, eyeing the rather telling embrace to which he was witness.

Persephone spun in Adam’s arms enough to look at Harry. “I only said Adam was grumpy.” She looked decidedly guilty, and suddenly Harry was feeling very suspicious.

“You also wrote that Artemis was ill,” Harry said.

“She has been ill, poor thing,” Persephone confirmed, though a smile was growing on her face.

Adam rolled his eyes. “That ‘poor thing’ has begun enacting overly dramatic death scenes on her bed, so I think she is going to recover.”

“And has Daphne returned from her state of abstraction?” Harry could hear the doubt in his voice. So much for coming to the rescue of a house in chaos.

“Actually, no,” Adam grumbled. “The one source of logical conversation in this entire household, and she has turned moody.”

“I am not sure if I am offended by that,” Persephone said, looking up at Adam. “Are you not impressed by my conversation?”

“At the moment, I am not particularly interested in your
conversation
.”

Harry shook his head, feeling decidedly de trop. “You two really ought to get your own place.”

“Leave and we’ll have our own place.”

Harry made a theatrical bow and turned to go.

“Wait, Harry,” Persephone called as Harry was certain she would.

“Don’t stop him; he was actually leaving. Do you have any idea how often I have tried to get him to do that?”

“You can toss him out onto the street in a minute, Adam,” Persephone reassured him. “I did ask him to come back for a reason.”

“And it apparently was not to relieve me of my onerous duties as sponsor and guardian to a suddenly weepy young lady.”

“Weepy?” Harry asked without really intending to. She had appeared sad, but Harry hadn’t realized that Athena had been crying enough for Adam to have taken note of it.

“That is why I wanted you to come back,” Persephone said. She motioned for Harry to sit in the chair nearest the fireplace. She took Adam’s hand and led him to the sofa where they sat, hand in hand.

“You think Harry can get the girl to buck up a little?” Adam asked doubtfully. “I am entirely in favor of inflicting painful punishments on Harry, but forcing him to take on a watery female seems a little harsh. Even for me.”

“I do not think you would have to force him,” Persephone replied. She had a look in her eye that Harry recognized. It was the same searching look he had fled from when Athena was ill.

“Oh, yes,” Adam answered sarcastically, “because Harry is such a pattern-card of Christian charity.”

“No, because Harry is in love with her.”

“What!?”

Harry actually flinched at Adam’s booming voice. “Thanks, Persephone,” he mumbled.

“How long has
this
been going on?” Adam demanded.

It was not at all how Harry had imagined spending a few days in London. Adam was never supposed to have learned about Harry’s feelings for Athena. The last thing Harry wanted was a “no fortune hunters” lecture from Adam, especially when he was in his overprotective guardian mode. Harry shrugged but didn’t offer a definitive answer.

“I believe”—Persephone began. Harry gave her a look of warning that was completely ignored—“he has been quite fond of her almost from their first meeting. Though, if I had to guess, I would say he fell quite decidedly in love with her this past spring, before we all came to Town.”

“Harry Claudius Windover.” Adam had never called him by his full given name. Harry actually stared, wide-eyed. What on earth did
that
tone mean? Adam spoke quietly—entirely
too
quietly in Harry’s opinion—but with an edge to his voice. “Do you mean to tell me that I have just endured weeks of society when I could have been at home, and all this time
you
were in love with Athena?”

Harry cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but ended by simply shrugging again.

“You worthless piece of maggoty mutton,” Adam growled. “I could have been home weeks ago if you’d just fessed up and married the girl. Bloody h—”

“Adam,” Persephone interrupted, effectively cutting off the curse they both knew was coming.

“The idiot forced me into an extra two months of this rancid London! I actually had to read an impertinent proposal-by-letter, attend balls—
balls,
Persephone—endure an entire house filled with weeping, emotional women when that blackguard”—Adam pointed at Harry—“was
in love
with her the entire time. If I had known, I would simply have handed the girl over and been done with the whole thing.”

“You expressly forbade fortune hunters,” Harry pointed out. If he brought the objection up on his own, Adam was less likely to explode when he remembered that difficulty himself.

“And?” Adam asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“And if any gentleman in the kingdom needs to marry for money, I do.” Harry rose abruptly from his seat and crossed to the fireplace, the warmth radiating from it penetrating his thick boots. “I know better than to contradict a directive from the
Duke of Kielder.
”

“If I thought you wanted to marry Athena for money, I would run you through in a heartbeat,” Adam declared, the sound of his footsteps indicating he had risen as well and crossed closer to where Harry was standing. “No lady should have to live her life knowing her husband married her because he needed her fortune.”

“But I do need the money, Adam.” Harry kicked at a log in the fireplace, sending sparks spiraling up into the chimney flue. “I have needed money since the day I was born.”

“Then it is a very good thing you fell in love with a girl who has plenty.”

“Like I said”—Harry turned to look at Adam—“a fortune hunter.”

Adam gave an exasperated sigh. “What an idiot. Well, I can see I wasted a great deal of money on your education,” Adam muttered as he moved back toward the sofa.

“What?” Harry stuttered out the word. “
You
wasted money on my education? What is that supposed to mean? How are your money and my education remotely connected?”

Adam rolled his eyes as he sat down next to Persephone, who was watching their exchange rather pointedly. “Your family has been destitute for fifty years, Harry. How did you think you went through Harrow and Oxford without resorting to being a charity student?”

“Some sort of family trust.” Harry automatically gave the answer he’d assumed to be true for twenty years.

“Yes, I trusted that your family wouldn’t tell you about it,” Adam muttered.

“
You
paid for my schooling?” Harry was torn between a surge of gratitude and the sting of injured pride. “You were only eight years old, Adam.”

“My mother paid for Harrow,” Adam answered, shrugging casually, but there was a surprising amount of emotion in his eyes that he was obviously trying to disguise. “I think she was so shocked that I actually had a friend that she couldn’t bear the idea of your not being at Harrow with me. When she heard that you were going to be pulled out for financial reasons, she arranged a sort of silent scholarship. I found out about it and took it over personally just before we left for Oxford.”

“I am
not
a charity case, Adam,” Harry protested.

“I rather felt like the charity case myself,” Adam said quietly. “I had to pay to have a friend. And I wasn’t ever entirely sure you didn’t stick around for the protection or because you felt like you owed me something. That doesn’t say much for the value of my friendship, does it?”

“It was never like that,” Harry insisted.

“It still is not like that,” Adam corrected. “On my side, either. You are like family, Harry. I take care of my family—the ones who aren’t imbeciles, anyway.”

Harry smiled. Adam even took care of the imbeciles, though he would never admit it.

“If you had fallen in love with a penniless girl, I would have found a way to see to it that you could marry, Harry,” Adam said, looking uncomfortable as he admitted to the kinder side of himself that he generally kept locked out of sight. “If it meant making up some dead relative of yours, or the girl’s, or something like that, I would have done it. Gads, man, I already did. Athena has a pathetically enormous dowry. Problem solved.”

“No, not solved. What marriage could be successful when one partner brings all the money and the other nothing but poverty?”

Persephone’s laugh caught Harry entirely off guard. What could she possibly find funny?

“It sounds as though our marriage is doomed, Adam.” Persephone grinned. “If only I hadn’t been so poverty-stricken and you so lopsidedly rich. I’m afraid there is absolutely no chance for us.”

Harry felt himself begin to smile again. “Touché,” he acknowledged.

“Well, where’s Athena?” Adam asked. “Let’s get these two engaged so we can pack up and return to Falstone Castle.”

“It’s not that simple, Adam,” Harry said. “Athena doesn’t return my feelings.”

Persephone laughed again. It was more of a snort, really. “Good heavens, Harry. Why do you think she has been so emotional since you left?”

“Because she is angry with me?” Harry replied.

“Because she finally realized she is in love with you and is afraid you won’t ever come back,” Persephone said. Harry looked for a twinkle of mischief in her eyes that would turn her words into a joke. Persephone was entirely serious.

“Are you certain?” Harry asked, his heart suddenly pounding in his neck.

“She told me so herself.”

Harry had to sit down.

“You see, Harry, Athena has always had a very detailed picture in her mind of how she would meet the man of her dreams,” Persephone said. “She was so anticipating an exact reenactment of her expectations, had been praying for it, in fact, that for a while she mistook her feelings entirely. It was not until you left that she began to realize what she had lost.”

“She figured out that the man of her dreams doesn’t exist?” There was something about the wording in Persephone’s explanation that left Harry oddly deflated.

Adam muttered something under his breath.

“She realized you
are
the man of her dreams,” Persephone said. “You simply arrived differently than she’d expected.”