Legs unsteady from being folded beneath her for so long, hands shaking and muscles cramping, it was a comfort to be pulled from the room. She didn’t want to see anything else. She didn’t want to see her brother struggle, hear him scream. Strong hands grasped her, guiding her away from the mess, the doctor, his apprentice and the muffled yells that had begun with a bullet’s extraction. She had done all she could for now; it was someone else’s turn.
It felt like a dream while she walked, like wading through pond water and weeds that dragged on her joints. Limbs weighted, her head was filled with wool and it pressed her eyelids closed. Still, that firm yet gentle hold kept her upright and it was only when the smell of him – rainfall and that unmistakable, deeper scent a man holds – woke her up to who she stood beside.
“Major Roberts,” she said softly, finding him through bleary eyes, the hallway quiet but for them. “Why is it always you?”
“Miss Groves,” he answered, an anchor to the present, a man who felt like safety when he represented all that was wrong for her.
Harriet moved automatically, letting her barriers drop now she need not be strong for her brother or her aunt. She pressed her palms against the wallpaper, head bowed, and felt Major Roberts step back, offering her space.
Her bloodshot eyes sought him out.
“I don’t…” She faltered.
It was as though her bones had turned hollow and could not support her. Edward was there instantly, pulling her up, hands on her waist. He was impossibly warm and the shirt she wore was thin and loose, barely a barrier between them. His eyes wandered and Harriet invited it, the tips of her fingers skimming along his arms until she let them rest there, on his stained shirt sleeves, feeling the taut strength in the muscles beneath. She should move back, re-find her footing, act as a lady should. Yet, when he spoke in his soothing, low voice, all common sense dissipated.
“There was a duel over a lost bet and once I heard who was involved, I had to intervene,” said Edward, his breath hot and heavy. His look was torn and beaten, clothes ripped and ruined. There must have been a terrible fight, for the fine threads were wrecked beyond repair. His knuckles too were split. “You are shaking, Miss Groves.”
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.
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