Sophie Dash - Unmasking Of A Lady

Harriet leant forwards, forehead pressed against his shoulder, breathing him in. “You are a good man, far better than I deserve you to be.”

“Your brother will be fine,” he soothed her. “It’s a shoulder wound, nothing serious. There was more than one man after him, and the main cur he fought with fired and ran before he could be stopped. I will be making inquiries. I have my suspicions.”

“Yes, thank you, for all you have done.” Harriet’s voice was muffled and small from tiredness. “He was not your responsibility and yet you brought him here anyway.”

Due their proximity, Edward’s voice was a deep rumble in his throat and it hummed through her. “I have known men like him. He has his own troubles to shake off before he sees sense.”

“I only pray he does.”

“He will, if given time.” He held her – not tightly, only as a friend would – though for her it was enough. “It wasn’t so long ago that I was as foolish and reckless as your brother is now.”

“I cannot quite believe that.”

“Good, I shouldn’t like you to.” He smiled, though it faded quickly and silence consumed them both once more. “And, Miss Groves, what in God’s name have you got on?”

She blinked, lashes wet, confused.

Oh.

“I – I was going to go out, to try and find Giddeon.” She swallowed thickly, lies thorny in her throat. “I thought I would attract less attention dressed this way, only – only – he’s here now, you see, though – yes, of course you do, for it is you who brought him.”

“What were you thinking?” Edward’s tone was stern at first, until it evened out, as if realising how fragile Harriet still was. “You could have put yourself in danger, mixing with such people. Dear God, don’t ever consider it again.”

“It was stupid, I know,” Harriet replied, numb, detaching herself from him and winding her arms around herself. “But I was worried. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You send word for me; you don’t risk your own safety.”

“I wouldn’t want to be an imposition – ”

“Miss Groves,” said Edward. “You would never be that.”

A grandfather clock marked the early morning hour. An ornate rug was bunched up at their feet, marred with red-brown stains and city filth. Harriet chose to look upon it rather than Edward, who finally cleared his throat.

“It’s time I was on my way. I will visit again soon, to see how he is, if you would have me?”

Exhausted, mute, Harriet only nodded. If he expected a reply, he did not get it. A gusting wind slipped through the entrance and seemed to pull him from her, until the front door was slammed shut behind him and the hallway seemed all the darker without him in it.

Chapter Five

The days dragged by and Harriet did not leave her brother’s side. Sunday arrived and while Aunt Georgia and her well-wishing neighbours attended a service, Harriet remained with Giddeon. She read aloud, they spoke about when they were children and she could not recall the last time they had spent so many hours together and not argued. Or the last time he had been sober. Giddeon was quiet, almost penitent, and he recovered well, though at first had been ill-tempered and demanded alcohol often, regardless of the hour. He was given no more than the doctor had allowed and gradually his mood improved. However, he answered no questions about the incidents that had taken place. He would name no names and discuss no details with anyone.

Harriet wrote to her father and younger sister, relaying all that had happened and dampening any concerns they might express. News always travelled fast and she would not have liked the story of her brother’s assault to reach her father’s ears in another fashion, by tongues far less kind and prone to prying. Mary had taken the letter on her return to Atworth House, for she would be further able to allay any worry as to the young man’s state.

When Giddeon was well enough, after almost week had come and gone, he and Harriet took in the nearby gardens and the air seemed to refresh them both. It had been Aunt Georgia’s suggestion, or rather an order, and both were wise enough to obey it.

“It’s almost as if you have been restored to your old self,” said Harriet eventually, enjoying the organised beauty and blooms that the fine August weather had conjured. It was no match for the lovely, more rustic grounds at the Atworth Estate, but it was as close to them as she could get for now. The season was waning, September would find them soon and she longed to see the garden at home again before it lost its summer charm.

“And it only took getting shot,” replied Giddeon drily. “You’ve been far too good to me, Harry.”

“I know.”

It was only after a second loop along the paths, with idle chatter and youthful humour, that Harriet realised they were being followed. The stranger was a scruffy individual with a beard and small eyes, who clutched an envelope in his large fist.

Harriet leaned in closer to her brother’s ear. “Do you know that man?”

Giddeon’s easy walk halted, his form tense as he caught sight of the shape that dogged their steps.

Voice quiet, he said, “I need you to wait here.” Before Harriet could protest, he added quickly, “It is nothing to be concerned about, but I need you to wait here.”

Harriet would not let him go. Her small hands coiled around his arm, regardless of his injury. “Not if you are going to get yourself shot again.”

“There’s no danger of that.” He shook his head, his face now lacking the colour their walk had imbued it with. “Please, wait here.”

“Only if you tell me everything – and I mean all of it – from the very beginning.”

Giddeon was silent for several long moments, drawn out and weary, before he reluctantly agreed.

With unwilling fingers, Harriet released her brother. It was infuriating at times, when she was torn between being the lady she had to be and the rogue who haunted the trading routes. The latter would have been useful now, brave and bold. All the lady could do was wait and watch and worry.

Giddeon left her, his steps hard on the garden path, his back straight though the action pulled on his shoulder. Whatever words spoken between him and the other man were too quiet for Harriet to catch. It appeared the grubby stranger was merely a messenger, for the letter did all the talking. Judging by Giddeon’s hard expression, the words written upon the page were not a welcome communication. Harriet waited no longer. Lifting her skirts, she stepped lightly towards her brother and would have snatched the letter from his grasp, had Giddeon not been wise to such actions.

“I grew up with you pinching all my favourite books, Harriet.” He winced in pain at the sudden motion, though he had succeeded in keeping the paper. “You will have to be far faster than that.”

“This isn’t a game now, Giddeon.”

A grim smile captured his features. “I know.”

A cloying, heavy silence fell – interrupted only by snatches of chatter from other walkers and tittering birdsong – as he tried to conjure the right words.

“Whatever it might be, you can tell me anything,” said Harriet, her hands curled into fists, knuckles white under her gloves.

Giddeon nodded, heaving a sigh and handing her the letter. “Let’s take Aunt Georgia’s carriage back home, for we will not be overheard in there and we will not be interrupted.”

***

The carriage rocked and dipped as it trundled over the sun-bleached roads. Aunt Georgia had not wanted them to leave and had mithered over Giddeon’s health, but she eventually relented and announced she would be following a day or two after. Only when Bath was far behind them and golden fields, offering the British summer’s sweetest scents, passed by the windows, did Harriet’s brother finally reveal the true depths of his predicament. While at Oxford he had gambled often, stumbled into drink, fell in with ill company and borrowed vast amounts of money from one Thomas Barrow in order to place bets. Barrow had told Giddeon he could pay it all back when ready, when his luck changed, and so the young man borrowed more and more in dizzying sums. Until one day, quite recently, Barrow demanded what was owed and Giddeon did not have it. His lodgings were ransacked, nameless thugs who would not identify themselves attacked him, and he fled the university. Threats followed wherever he went. He sought refuge in Bath’s familiar taverns, became lost further in drink and depravity, and dropped into Aunt Georgia’s townhouse during dinner.