Page 29 of A Naughty Proposal for His Winter Countess
Conflicted, Daniel gazed out the window for a while. Though he had asked her not to listen to gossip, Daniel had known that Harriet would eventually hear something from someone. He could not blame her, as the whole ton knew about his mother.
Turning back to Harriet, who had her head turned away and lips pinched, he sighed.
How long could I have hidden this from her anyway?
Sitting closer, Daniel reached out and took her hand. Harriet’s head snapped to him with surprise marked over her face. “D…Daniel?”
He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I don’t blame you. I knew that eventually, you’d find out, but I had hoped, vainly, that you never would.”
“Is it that horrible?” Harriet asked. “If so, you don’t have to tell me.”
Touched by her consideration, Daniel tugged her into his side, softly turned her head to him, and dipped for a kiss. He gently nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, then lightly traced the seam of her lips.
Harriet’s lips parted with a soft sigh, and as she opened, he grabbed the opportunity to kiss her deeply. His tongue glided sensuously over hers, soft and gentle, but infused with slow-building heat, changing the air from an apology to amorous.
Pulling away, Daniel searched her eyes before he kissed her cheek. “My Mother, Harriet, was found in the bed of a man, while being married to my Father. No matter how my Mother apologized, my Father never forgave her. They separated, and I never saw her again. Neither of them actually—my Mother left for Wales, while my Father drank himself to death. That was while I was in Eton. He died in my first year of Oxford. If only she had managed to take all the shame with her, but some lingered.”
Harriet held onto his hand, “I’m sorry.”
He gave her a thin smile, “I appreciate it, but she made her bed, and went on to lay in it.”
Nestling her head under his chin, Harriet asked, “And you have not spoken to her at all since?”
“No,” Daniel rubbed his hand over her arm. “I have no urge to. She did a horrible thing to a good man, Harriet. My Father worked hard to provide for us. He was gone for most of the days, and into the nights sometimes, but he never left us alone. He mentored me, he gave my Mother all she wanted, but she repaid his kindness with cruelty.”
Harriet rested a hand on his arm, “I don’t know what transpired, so I cannot be a judge. But to play the Devil’s Advocate, do you think there might be some fault on your Father’s part as well? Women need love and attention, Daniel. If your Father was as absent as you said he was, mayhap she felt abandoned, and did what she did in a spate of weakness.”
Her logic chaffed Daniel's sense of righteousness. It was highly probable that his father was at fault, but all he could see was that his mother had destroyed a good man.
Unable to reconcile both, Daniel shook his head, “I can’t see it. Perhaps you’re right, but I…it will take a while for me to reflect on it.”
She turned, “I think it’s best if I stay home today. I’ll see you tonight?”
Daniel had looked forward to spending some time with her, but Harriet was right; he needed time to reflect. “I…I suppose.”
They were nearing Carrington Manor, and with a quick word, the coach was heading there. Daniel held her against his side, silently, until they arrived at the Manor.
Before opening the door, he turned to her, “You did nothing wrong by asking me about my Mother. So, please, don’t blame yourself for it.”
“If you’ll promise me to consider your Mother’s position,” Harriet replied. “There are many sides to the truth, Daniel. It might look unreasonable from your perspective, but complete rational from hers.”
To get her perspective, I would have to contact her.
“I promise,” Daniel replied as he moved to open the door and descend from it. Taking her hand, he helped Harriet to the ground. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you.”
“Considering what the circumstances were,” Harriet brushed her fingers over his cheek, “I understand. Take care, Daniel.”
“You too,” he said, while climbing back into the vehicle.
* * *
Later that evening, after a trip to Rundell, Bridges, and Rundell, the premier jewelers in London, Daniel found himself in his study staring at a blank sheet of paper. On top of his pressing issues—his mother and having kissed Harriet twice without thinking—his mother was more vital to deal with.
Crumpled on the desk were unfinished letters to his mother that he had discarded. They were all filled with accusations and harsh words, that could only anger his mother and not give him the answer he hoped to receive.
Standing, Daniel took a glass of brandy with him to the window and gazed out at the darkening lawn. If what Harriet had said was right—if his mother had felt uncared for—why hadn’t she just done the right thing and told his Father?
Why had she felt it better to seek solace in the arms of another man, driving the one she had vowed to love, into the cold comfort of a whisky bottle?
