A Vixen for the Duke: Chapter 13

“I hate this,” Harriet muttered. “I hate everything about this.”

She threw the hoop down on the garden table. Her attempts to cross-stitch the alphabet were done in earnest but lacked any readability.

Lucy stared at the piece of fabric, her mouth tugging to the side, somewhere between a grimace and a frown. “One cannot be good at everything.”

“But, Lucy, I am supposed to be a Renaissance woman.”

Lucy sighed. “Just because Leonardo Davinci did a little bit of everything doesn’t mean he was good at everything he did,” she said. “The ornithopter, while an enthusiastic idea, was fundamentally flawed. I should love to fly, but I am not a bird.”

Harriet sighed, looking up. The spring air blew past, sending all the flyaway hairs that had escaped her updo tickling her nose and forehead. She pushed them all back.

She had set up her crafts far out from the house, by the small grove of trees. The shade made the breeze feel that much cooler. Springtime was the most beautiful time of year. The world was full of life, animals and people were falling in love, and stupid Harriet Hale was learning just how rotten of a spinster she would be.

“If I am this impaired at needlework, then how shall I be a proper spinster? A spinster, Lucy! I cannot even handle this thread, let alone wool! Who is a spinster with nothing to spin?” She held up all the scraps and separated skeins. She’d made an absolute mess of the whole thing, while Bridget had effortlessly created a fall landscape without a pattern. Maybe it just took some practice.

Lucy sighed. “Harriet, my beloved sister, you are catastrophising yet again.”

Harriet sighed, resting her head on her hands.Back near the house, Bridget was allowing Daphne to play with each one of the rabbits, except for Edward, who was clearly not to be trusted with his young. Harriet had developed a soft spot for the rabbits. They were not as docile or polite as they looked, but they each had a vibrant personality.

“Oh, look!” Lucy stood up and waved her hand in the air.

Harriet turned in that direction, and her heart nearly jumped up and out of her mouth. Of all of God’s creations, Morgan truly was something else. She huffed, knowing full well that it wasn’t smart of her to look at any man the way that Lucy looked at a free stack of books. It didn’t matter what he’d said in her defence the other day. Maybe he had some feelings for her, but he was a lot smarter than to marry a spinster in training.

He waved, smiling at them, before he made his way over to Bridget and Daphne. They spoke, and it appeared that Daphne was begging him for something. Her hands were clasped together in prayer, and she was jumping up and down, her dress fluttering in the wind. He reached out and pinched her cheek, which Daphne seemed to hate, but poor Harriet was swooning like an autumn leaf. Despite all the awful things that the eleven-year-old tyrant had subjected him to, he still cherished her. If Harriet hadn’t been all moony-eyed before, now she was positively liquified. Figuratively, of course. There would be much bigger problems than Morgan’s charms if Harriet was actually melting.

“Close your mouth,” Lucy muttered. “You look absolutely indisposed. It’s embarrassing.”

Harriet started, turning back to her sister and frowning. “How can you act so indifferent? Is he not the most attractive man you have ever seen in your life?”

Lucy turned to look at him briefly. She responded with a shrug. “Quite honestly, Harriet, we’ve been out in the country for so long that I can no longer remember what most men look like,” she mumbled, focusing on using the skeins to weave a bracelet out of boredom. “In prison, hardtack tastes just like a Sachertorte.”

“Really? You are going to sit here and tell me that His Grace—”

“Harriet,” Lucy stopped her, looking her directly in the eye. “Would you be pleased if I told you that he is the embodiment of the perfect man? That I cannot help but stare at him in wonder despite his lack of knowledge in the humanities?”

Harriet frowned. “You are absolutely correct. I much prefer you to be indifferent in his presence.”

“Of course,” Lucy mumbled, fixated on her craft yet again. “Out of respect for you, I am nothing but aloof and inattentive.”

“Thank you. That does make me feel better, even if my affections are all for nought.”

“Do not get too involved.”

“I am not,” Harriet said. “I merely feel a fluttering of all winged insects in my stomach, but not in my heart.”

Lucy paused, smirking. “I will give you some advice as you continue your quest for the perfect hobby. Do not, under any circumstance, attempt poetry. That was displeasing to my ears.”

Harriet frowned. “I only mean to say that I can see very clearly that I am not in love with him. He merely makes me feel the strangest sort of desire. Like my entire body is on fire and my—”

“For the love of the earth, please stop talking before you say something scandalous.”

“I was not going to!”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I sincerely doubt tha—”

“What is it that you doubt?”

Harriet and Lucy started, their faces reddening like ripe strawberries as Morgan took it upon himself to haul himself over the bench and sit beside Lucy at the table.

“Yes, Lucy, what is it that you doubt?” If anyone could be trusted to come up with a believable excuse for their conversation, it was Lucy.

“You must know how meddlesome it is to insert yourself into feminine conversations.” Lucy sighed lightly as if the entire thing was just an inconvenience.

Harriet gasped. “You cannot speak to His Grace that way!”

Lucy turned to look at Morgan. “We are nearly cousins. What shall you do, disown me?”

Morgan smiled lightly. “I apologise. I can see how rude it was to insert myself. My only fear is that you will disown .”

Lucy’s eyebrows fell into a straight line. “Let the records show that you have committed one great atrocity. Another, and I will see to it that you are a pauper by the end of the year.”

Morgan laughed. “No wonder Daphne likes you.” He shook his head. “As bad as the two of you would be for my ego, I suppose I need to be knocked down a peg every once in a while.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes and smiled before turning back to her weave. It was so unfair that she was effortlessly good at everything she did. Morgan reached out and picked up the cross-stitch hoop.

“Oh, don’t look at that!”

“Is this Cyrillic?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he studied the letters.

“Stop that!” Harriet grabbed the hoop from him, but he seemed confused as if he wasn’t sure what he had done. “Has Daphne requested five more minutes with the rabbits?” she asked.

He nodded. “With her and Lady Moore begging me, I could hardly say no. I suppose it’s just as well. Spending quality time with Lady Moore will likely make the news a little less troubling for her.”

Harriet huffed, annoyed that he had brought up the reason for most of her strife. She still could hardly believe that her aunt was getting married. Bridget had been speaking the praises of an unmarried life to Harriet for ages now, and yet the entire time, she had designs to remarry. If life as a spinster really was that bleak, then Bridget owed Harriet the decency to at least be honest with her.

“You are not wearing your new dress today,” Morgan said. “I heard it arrived yesterday morning.”

Harriet felt her cheeks grow hot. “It is just so lovely. I hadn’t wanted to dirty it, seeing as I must feed the rabbits and chickens most daily.”

“Perhaps a dinner party is in order, then,” he suggested. “I will extend an invitation to your aunt. Would you both be free tomorrow evening?”

Harriet’s eyes widened. Did he want to see her the dress? That seemed… romantic. Harriet shook her head as if she could dispel the thoughts like a dog shakes water off its back.

“Oh, well then, maybe the following evening.”

“No, no,” Lucy said. “Do not mind her. She has had water in her ear all morning. Tomorrow will be perfectly acceptable. She’s nothing better to do. I do, of course, but until my aunt lifts the reading embargo, I am desperate for any kind of diversion.”

“I am glad to hear you say that.” He looked over his shoulder at his young cousin, who was out of earshot, playing with the rabbits. “I have three designs for this particular dinner,” he said. “First, it will be an excellent opportunity for Miss Harriet and Daphne to wear their new dresses.”

Lucy rolled her eyes so surreptitiously that Morgan didn’t seem to notice. Harriet reached out and kicked her sister lightly on the shin under the table.

“Ow!”

Morgan looked between the girls. “Are you all right?”

Lucy narrowed her eyebrows and frowned. “I was bitten by a most troublesome horsefly. Go on, please.”

“The second reason was that I would like for my cousin to spend as much time with Lady Moore and her father as possible so that she becomes accustomed to the idea before we tell her,” he continued. “And last, I had a favour to ask of both of you.”

The girls both instinctively leaned forward. Harriet was surprised that Morgan might want anything from her. As it had turned out, she was rather bad at everything she did. “What?”

Morgan sighed, scratching the back of his head. “You both know our Daphne is…” He glanced back at his cousin, who was wrapping Petunia, the grey rabbit, in a hug. Much to Harriet’s surprise, the rabbit looked happy. “She is a terrible troublemaker. I have been trying so hard to understand why she is acting out, but she has refused to tell me.”

Lucy bit her cheek. “Are you sure you should be telling us this? It seems rather personal in nature.”

“I thought we were nearly cousins.”

Lucy frowned.

“Do you think we can help, Your Grace?” Harriet asked.

Morgan’s mouth drew into a thin line. “Maybe. I imagine it must be difficult for a young girl not to have a mother to confide in,” he said. “I have been observing the way she interacts with both of you. Daphne seemed to really enjoy learning history from Miss Lucy. And despite your first meeting with her, Miss Harriet, she seems to like you just as much.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s true,” Harriet said. As much as she likes children, she didn’t think that she had handled Daphne particularly well. “I haven’t nurtured her at all.”

“That is exactly what she likes about you. Both of you treat her like an equal. I have a tendency of looking at her as a much younger version of herself. I am much older, and time moves so quickly.” He shook his head. His strong hands drummed softly on the table.

For a moment, Harriet wondered if Morgan, who always seemed so confident, was actually nervous to ask for such a favour. Her heart softened. “She is lucky to be looked after by you,” she said, hiding her shaking hands under the table.

She hated that seeing him like this had moved her so greatly. When she had been with Jeremy, all she could think about was how great she would be with their child. She had never pictured him whenever she had thought about children. But with Morgan, all she could think of was herself standing in the doorway barefoot, having just gotten out of bed. The summer air would be gently blowing through the open windows, and he would be beckoning their son from a distance. Their son would stand up, and he would take his wobbly first steps towards his father, and Harriet would be filled with a joy like no other.

But it felt sort of wicked to be imagining a life together that he was none the wiser of. Harriet realised it was a foolish thought. But for once, it did feel like she was considering a future that others fit into besides just herself. That had to be progress.

“Remember,” he began sheepishly, “when we were at the shops, you said that I made up for any wrongdoing I had committed and that you hoped to do the same for me?”

Harriet huffed. “I shall be happy to spend more time with Daphne. It is no favour, believe me.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows and reached his hands further out across the table as if he was attempting to get closer to her without touching her. Harriet glanced at his strong hands and back at him, and her heart fluttered. “After all of this, I thought you might be moved to do one nice thing for me.”

“I would be happy to.” She smiled. “But making a favour out of Daphne makes her sound like a chore, when she is a joy. I simply mean to say that the favour I owe still stands.”

The corner of Morgan’s lips tilted up into a smile. For a moment, Harriet forgot that Lucy was even there. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the way that he made her feel. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe this was closer to love than she realised.

Lucy turned around and looked at Daphne, who was still playing with the rabbits. She crossed her arms, studying the girl for a moment. “So, you want me to tutor her in history?”

“I know it is a big favour to ask, but—”

“Not at all,” Lucy said. “There is no greater joy for me than to talk endlessly about the things for which I have a great passion.”

“I cannot thank either of you enough,” he said.

“No need.” Harriet smiled. “I am delighted that you asked, although I cannot promise I will be successful.”

Although Morgan’s lips remained parted and his hands remained extended, there was the warmest look in his eyes. Harriet could have melted into it for real this time. She wanted nothing more than for him to look at her with those same eyes once more. She wanted him in more ways than she could describe. She had even surprised herself that she was willing to give in to him.

She had never understood compromise, but she hadn’t been aware until that moment. In the past, her future with Jeremy had been about what she wanted, because she had thought that she deserved that much if she was going to be his wife. It had felt transactional. Like every appearance she had made or kiss she had given or plan she had made had been a debt to be repaid. But now, the truth was that she didn’t owe Morgan for his kindness as much as she simply wanted to give him what she could. And he seemed to believe the same thing. Even if he teased her about a favour, that’s all it was, teasing. Maybe for once, she had an inkling of what love actually was.

This was exactly what she did for her sisters and her parents. She loved them, so she made sacrifices for them. Never had she realised that romantic love could be so similar. It felt different in a lot of ways as well. For one, she wanted him to take his shirt off.

“I should go see if Aunt Bridget will allow me to get one of my history books,” Lucy said, rising from the bench. She walked away, leaving Morgan and Harriet alone.

“Are you well?” he asked, smiling, his eyebrows scrunched incredulously.

Harriet tilted her head. “I just realised something.”

“Do you wish to share?” he asked.

She huffed a single breathy laugh. It was funny that he phrased it that way when finally she had realised that she genuinely want to share. “I am sorry for all the times I have caused you strife.”

Morgan stilled, his smile fading into a more thoughtful look. “I appreciate that,” he said. “And I am sorry, especially for the way I acted when you came to my stu—”

“No,” Harriet interrupted him. “Even if that shall never happen again, I am glad it did, if just once.”

Morgan opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself, his eyes making their way to her lips again. She flushed, frustrated that they hadn’t been afforded any privacy in quite some time. They shouldn’t have been. They should have restrained themselves just like everyone else did. And if Harriet was with anyone else, that would have been simple. But whatever fire they had started together was still burning, more out of control than ever. This was different from how she’d felt about anyone else. In fact, she wasn’t sure that she’d find something like this ever again.

Morgan looked over his shoulder again, ensuring that their conversation was indeed private. When he turned back, he took a deep breath and looked at Harriet, his head tilted in thought and his eyes hungry. Harriet’s fingers shook as she reached ever closer to his hands, never touching, but close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin.

“I regret it,” he murmured. “If only for the reason that I shall want you again for as long as I live.”

Harriet’s jaw fell slack, and her breath quickened. She trained her eyes on him as he rose from the bench. She gripped the sides of the table, her heart pounding in her chest as if it might give out at any moment.

“Good evening, Harriet.” With that, he walked away, flexing his fists.

Harriet Hale had been extraordinarily stupid for perhaps her entire life, but she wouldn’t make another mistake if she could help it. For so long, she had thought the time spent with him had been a mistake, but now she realised that not enjoying what she could have with him while their time together lasted would be the greatest mistake of all.

That evening, Morgan knocked on Daphne’s bedchamber door while her light was still on. He peeked into her room. She was sitting on the bed, her knees tucked up against her chest. In her hands, she held a book that Lucy had given her.

“May I come in?” he asked.

She nodded, setting the book down beside her.

Morgan sat down on the edge of her bed and smiled at her. “What if I told you that Miss Lucy expressed much enthusiasm at the thought of teaching you whatever it is you wish to learn?”

“Really?” Daphne gasped, smiling.

“Really.”

“I cannot believe you are letting me do this!” She leapt forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you!”

Morgan laughed, patting her on the back. “If you are happy, then I am happy. You must thank Miss Lucy for it.”

Daphne nodded excitedly.

“All right. Lights out,” he said, rising from the bed. “It is getting late.” With a flick of his finger, he reached out and squashed the flame on the bedside candle. Daphne whined but relented, shifting under the covers.

“Morgan?” she called when he reached the doorway, stopping him. “You are old. Are you going to marry soon?”

He stifled a laugh. She was cheeky to call him old. He was still quite young, although sometimes, he didn’t feel that way. “Perhaps,” he replied. “I don’t know what the future holds.”

Daphne looked rather shy for once, holding the blanket up over her lips in the shadows. “Perhaps you ought to marry Miss Lucy.”

Morgan’s eyes widened. This time, he couldn’t help but laugh. “I do not think that to be the best idea. Miss Lucy and I are hardly compatible.”

“What do you mean?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and leaned against the doorframe. “The decision to marry is not something that anyone should take lightly. There are many things that should be factored in before anyone decides to wed. In short, however, I think that one should marry their best friend.”

Daphne laughed wickedly. “Then perhaps you ought to marry Lord Hartley,” she teased, bringing up Morgan’s closest friend. It had been some time since he’d seen him. Lord Hartley was spending the Season in London in search of a wife.

“Many factors, Daphne.” Morgan grinned at his cousin’s jab. “I must also make sure that my future wife is pretty, a characteristic Lord Hartley lacks.”

“Mama and Papa didn’t seem to be that great of friends.”

Morgan sighed, grimacing lightly. “There are many ways to choose one’s partner. There is no wrong way. Sometimes, people marry for duty or children or money. All such reasons are perfectly natural and valid. I myself wish to marry someone that makes me happy.”

“I understand,” she said, yawning into her hand.

“Get some sleep.”

“Morgan?” Once more, she stopped him on his way out. He looked back at her over his shoulder. “Miss Harriet makes you happy. Maybe you can marry her.”

He stilled, swallowing hard. Were his feelings that obvious, or did he just appear that naturally happy around Harriet? It hadn’t always been that way, but lately, all he craved was her company. He nodded, smiling. “Maybe, Daphne. I will have to consider that. Now go to sleep!”

He left her there to get some rest, but her suggestion was not forgotten.