All the way home in the carriage to Stafford House, few words were spoken between the Fitzwilliams. The only reason Richard had even agreed to stay at her parents’ London home was because her parents were not in town. Otherwise, he would have insisted upon staying at Darcy House. He had been terribly distracted during the course of dinner with the Darcys, where once again they were treated to the Gardiners’ company.
Harriette said, “I did not say anything earlier, but I cannot help noticing you have been exceedingly quiet this evening.”
Tearing his eyes away from the carriage window, Richard looked at his wife. “Pardon me, my lady. It is true. I have a great deal on my mind this evening.”
She leaned forward and placed her gloved hand upon his knee. “Oh? Would you care to discuss the matter which has you so distracted, with your wife?”
He covered her hand with his. “It is nothing you need be concerned with.”
Harriette moved to sit beside her husband. “What concerns you—concerns me. Surely you must know that. I should not have to tell you.”
Richard lifted his arm and folded his wife into his embrace. He brushed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Truly, you need not worry yourself.”
Harriette pulled away from his affectionate embrace. “Please, do not patronise me, dear husband.” She peered at him. “Is it not my duty to be a good and supportive wife? How can I possibly help if you will not discuss what is bothering you? Or shall I speak with Darcy? No doubt he is fully versed in all aspects of your day-to-day existence. Do not think it went unobserved that he was the only person you gave any notice to this evening.”
Richard said nothing. He fixed his gaze back out the window.
Oh, how she hated feeling shut out like this! “Richard Fitzwilliam!”
Again, he turned to look at her with a look suggesting he had not the slightest indication what she was talking about. Exceedingly vexed, Harriette was about to remove herself to the seat opposite him as she had been just moments before. As she rose, he reached out and pulled her back towards him.
“No—stay. I confess I am rather preoccupied this evening. It has to do with a disagreement Darcy and I are having. As it has to do more with him than with me, I am not at liberty to discuss it is all.”
Harriette did not accept his feeble attempt at appeasement one bit. “Funny how Darcy seems nowhere near as troubled by your disagreement as you are.”
Richard cleared his throat. “I am sure he does a better job hiding his true feelings from the world.”
Harriette wagered there was a bit of merit in her husband’s assertion. How many times had her dear friend Elizabeth opined about the infamous Darcy mask of indifference? Indeed, if there were a significant difference between the two men—it would be that. Where Darcy came off as haughty and aloof to all those who did not know his true character, her husband Richard was amiable and agreeable to close acquaintances and strangers alike. That was even more reason for her to be perplexed, even a bit worried by his attitude of late. Something was troubling him. Whatever it was, he did not intend for her to know.
The hum of the carriage rolling down the street gave way to silent musings on Harriette’s part. Of course, her threat of asking Darcy did not even warrant a raised eyebrow from her husband. He had to know there was as much chance of Darcy breaking one of their confidences as there was a chance of the sun rising in the west.
Shared confidences—that immediately set Harriette’s mind off on the secret that was shared between her husband, Darcy, and Elizabeth as regarded Annabelle. Elizabeth remained close-mouthed as she did not wish to betray her own husband’s confidence. What if Darcy’s secret is really my husband’s? Perchance Darcy’s confidence directly tied into the particulars Richard wished to shield from her—information about his own rakish past. Richard was not forthcoming at all as regards the women of his past. When asked, he adamantly affirmed there had been no involvement with Annabelle. To her question on whether he had been tempted, even once by the young courtesan, he would only say he did not have carnal knowledge of that woman. Such an evasive response raised additional questions—all of which he gave no answer.
When the carriage arrived in front of Stafford House, Richard appeared most eager to open the door and jump out. He turned to offer his wife a hand. Walking arm and arm with him up the stair steps to the grand exterior door, she felt his tense muscles. The instant they were inside the house, he kissed her gloved hand. “Good night, my love.”
Harriette tried to hide her amazement. “Is this the last I am to see of you this evening? Do you not intend to join me?”
Richard stood straight and clutched his hands behind his back. “Actually, no—not tonight. I believe I shall have a drink or two in your father’s study before retiring. I shall see you in the morning.”
The two were at a stand-off as neither moved an inch. She was shocked. His stance smacked of determination. Harriette placed her hands on her waist and huffed. “Very well then, dear husband. I shall see you in the morning.”
With that, she turned swiftly and headed up the stairs. Arriving in her room, she threw her things down and sulked. How dare he? Moments later, Becky arrived to attend her.
Harriette awakened less than an hour after she had drifted asleep with a pang of guilt. She had fallen asleep thinking unseemly things about her husband when, in fact, he deserved none of it. Surely he is entitled to be in low spirits upon occasion. She creased her brow. She missed falling asleep in his arms. Even when they argued, being close to him had always brought her such comfort.
Harriette’s eyes drifted across the room, dimly lit by the lights from the lampposts on the street below. She tossed back her pristine covers and got out of bed. Figuring she would be in his bed and in his arms soon enough, she dismissed the need for her robe and slippers. Perhaps if she were quiet enough, she might manage it without awakening him.
Harriette hurried across the room and reached for the door handle. A hint of friskiness raced through her thoughts. Perhaps she would awaken him.
Once inside, however, one thing became abundantly clear. Her husband was not there. Harriette walked across the room to command a better view of the mantle clock. Perhaps he was still downstairs in the study.
Harriette returned to her room and put on her silken robe and slipped her feet into dainty matching slippers. She peaked through the door hoping no footmen were about. She stepped into the hallway, hurried down the stairs, and pushed open the door of the study, thinking that she would find him asleep on the sofa.
Her husband was not there either. Where on earth is he? As soon as she left the study, Harriette espied the butler heading down the long hallway about to round a corner. She called, summoning his attention. She had known Mr. Graves, her father’s butler, all her life. He immediately walked to her with a bit of urgency in his step.
“Yes, your ladyship. You called me?”
“I did, Mr. Graves. I came downstairs looking for my husband. I had expected to find him in Father’s study, but he is not there. I have no intention of searching the entire house at this hour. By chance, have you any idea where he might be? The billiards room perhaps?”
Tall, stern and a bit on the portly side, the elderly gentleman coloured.
“Mr. Graves,” Harriette said. “I asked if you have seen my husband this evening.”
Finally, he spoke. “Yes, your ladyship. The last I saw of him, he was heading out.”
Out? Her busy mind raced. “May I ask how long ago that was?”
With a measure of reluctance in his voice, Mr. Graves said, “I saw Colonel Fitzwilliam leave hours ago, my lady.”
“Hours ago,” Harriette repeated. “Exactly, how soon would you say my husband left Stafford House after we returned home?”
“Your husband left almost immediately after the two of you returned from Darcy House this evening, Lady Harriette.” Poor Mr. Graves. By the perplexed turn of his countenance, it seemed informing her ladyship of her husband’s actions was the last thing he wished to be doing.
His eyes filled with concern. He looked at Lady Harriette in much the same way he had for years when he had been forced to say anything he thought might engender in her some cause for displeasure. “Is there anything else I might do for you this evening, my lady?”
Harriette smiled weakly. Whatever she was feeling, she did not wish for Mr. Graves to know. This was a very private matter between her and her husband. Oh, just wait until I confront him! Harriette looked at the butler and said, “No—thank you, sir. That is all I wanted to know.”
Harriette turned and headed for the stairs. Slowly ascending each step, she deliberated what she must do. I have had quite enough of being unaware. Enough of not knowing what is what. Her husband had effectively resorted to leaving the house in the middle of the night, and by God, she intended to know where he had gone, and what he was doing. But how was she to find out anything when the people who knew the information she so desperately sought were determined not to share any of it with her?
Two lightning strikes must have hit her at once judging by the now swift pounding of her heart. If no one would tell her, then she would find out for herself—starting now. Harriette stopped in front of Lord Harry’s old room. She placed her hands on the door and twisted her lip.
That is it—I know exactly what I must do.