Page 44 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
Harriet laughed, the sound bright and joyous as she reached for a delicate lemon tart. “Well, we can’t have you going hungry, now can we?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “After all, a growing girl needs her strength if she's going to take thetonby storm.”
Hugh chuckled, his own hand hovering over the array of treats before settling on a rich, dark chocolate cake. “Aye, and a sweet tooth is a Wilkinson family trait, or so I've been told,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Best to indulge while ye can, lass. Once the season starts, ye'll be too busy flirtin’ and dancin’ to have time for such frivolities.”
Abigail giggled, her cheeks flushing with excitement at the prospect. “I can hardly wait,” she sighed, her voice dreamy and far-off. “The gowns, the balls, the handsome suitors vying for my attention...it's like something out of a fairy tale.”
Harriet felt a pang of wistfulness at her words, a bittersweet reminder of her own debut and the dreams she had once harbored of finding love and happiness in the glittering world of theton. But then she looked at Hugh, at the way his eyes softened when they met hers, the way his hand brushed against hers as he reached for another slice of cake...and she knew that she had found something far more precious, far more real and lasting than any fairy tale could offer.
They spent the rest of the afternoon like that, laughing and talking and dreaming of the future, the warm sun on their faces and the sweet scent of summer in the air. And though Harriet knew that there would be challenges ahead, that the road before them was not an easy one...she couldn't help but feel a sense of hope and possibility blossoming in her heart, a feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, she had found the place where she truly belonged.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink, they packed up the remains of their picnic and made their way back to the house, their steps slow and languid in the fading light. Harriet found herself walking beside Hugh, their hands brushing together with every step, the warmth of his skin sending shivers down her spine.
“Thank you for today,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was... perfect. Just what I needed.”
Hugh looked down at her, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that made her heart skip a beat. “Aye, it was,” he agreed, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I dinnae realize how much I needed a day like this until I was in the thick of it.”
For a minute, the pair just looked at one another- then, slowly, hesitantly, Hugh leaned down, his lips hovering just above hers, his breath warm against her skin.
Harriet’s eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting in silent invitation as she waited for the touch of his mouth against hers, for the moment when everything would change, and the world would tilt on its axis. But then, just as she felt the first brush of his lips against hers, a sharp cry pierced the air, shattering the moment like a pane of glass.
“Harriet! Hugh! Come quick, you have to see this!”
They sprang apart, their cheeks flushed and their breathing ragged as they turned to see Abigail racing towards them, her skirts flying and her hair streaming behind her in the breeze. She skidded to a halt before them, her face alight with excitement as she pointed towards the horizon.
“Look,” she breathed, her voice filled with wonder. “Isn’t it the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen?”
Harriet followed her gaze, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before them. The sky was awash in a riot of colors, the sun sinking low over the hills in a blaze of red and orange and gold. It was breathtaking, a moment of pure, unadulterated beauty that stole the breath from her lungs and made her heart swell with a joy she couldn't quite name.
Beside her, Hugh let out a low whistle, his own face filled with awe as he stared at the horizon. “Aye, it is,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “It's... it’s like nothin’ I've ever seen before.”
Abigail nodded, her eyes shining with happiness as she looped her arms through theirs, pulling them close. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice soft and filled with contentment. “Just like today. Just like... everything.”
If Harriet’s smile did not reach her eyes, no one said anything. She merely glanced at her husband and her sister-in-law, and her heart skipped a beat.
She almost agreed with Abigail. It was almost perfect.
Almost.
CHAPTER24
Though the picnic had been a great one, it only served to make Harriet more insistent to avoid her husband. Which was why, two days later, Harriet sat in the sun-drenched drawing-room, her embroidery hoop lying forgotten in her lap as Abigail chattered away about the latest society gossip. Despite her best efforts to concentrate on the intricate stitching, Harriet's mind kept drifting to Hugh and the ever-present tension that thrummed between them.
“Harriet? Are you listening?” Abigail’s voice broke through her reverie.
“What? Oh, yes, of course,” Harriet stammered, heat rising in her cheeks. “You were saying something about Lady Ashton's scandalous new hat?”
Before Harriet could respond, a knock sounded at the door and a footman entered, bearing a silver tray with a single cream-colored envelope. “A message for Her Grace,” he intoned.
Harriet took the envelope, her curiosity piqued. The heavy parchment was embossed with the Wentworth family crest, the wax seal unbroken. With careful fingers, she slid open the flap and extracted the invitation.
“The Duke and Duchess of Wentworth request the pleasure of your company at a grand masquerade ball,” she read aloud, her heart giving a little leap of excitement.
Abigail clapped her hands, bouncing in her seat. “Oh, how thrilling! You and Hugh must go, Harriet. You simply must! How I wish I could...”
Abigail pouted slightly. Her debut would only take place during the next season, but it was evident that she envied Harriet for being able to attend the ball.
Harriet hesitated, torn between the allure of a glittering social event and the knowledge that attending would mean spending an entire evening in close proximity to Hugh.
“I don't know, Abigail,” she hedged. “You know your brother. I am not quite sure he’d enjoy this... it’s not really our custom to go.”
