A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)
A Vixen for the Duke: Chapter 20

Harriet’s body shook as Morgan knocked loudly on the door. There was no answer. He tried again, more frustrated this time, but he was unsuccessful.

“Daphne!” he called out.

Harriet placed a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to be quiet.

“Hey, Daphne?” she called gently. “The storm is really bad, and I am freezing. May I come in?”

After a moment, the door opened just a crack. Harriet could hear the sound of footsteps as Daphne hurried back to a warmer spot in the cabin. She looked up, nodding softly at Morgan. He squinted, maybe just a little annoyed that she had gotten through to Daphne so easily. Nevertheless, he pushed the door open and guided Harriet inside. The cabin was a single room. There was a little kitchenette, a large bed by the window, and at the far end, a fireplace that looked as if it hadn’t been lit for years. Surrounding it were some very dusty bookshelves and rustic couches.

While some parts of the cabin looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years, other areas looked well-used. The bed was covered in warm blankets, and the couch was covered in books and sketchpads that looked as if they had been used lately.

Daphne sat on the bed, a big blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon. She peered out at Harriet and Morgan, her eyes drifting down to the puddles they were leaving on the floor. The two of them were absolutely soaked.

“I was worried sick about you,” Morgan said, his eyes pleading.

Daphne scowled at the remark and shifted her body away from him.

Harriet reached up and undid her cloak. She placed a reassuring hand on Morgan’s arm. “Perhaps we should light a fire. It is very cold here. Perhaps it will help dry us off.” All that thinking about the cold made Harriet shiver again. If only it hadn’t been raining today. Her dress stuck to her like a second skin, and all she wished she could do was peel it off. She looked over at the kitchenette. There was a kettle. “I can go brew us a warm cup of tea,” she offered.

Morgan nodded, peeling off his coat and hanging it on the hook. He unbuttoned his waistcoat as well and hung it up.

Harriet watched him make his way across the cabin to the fireplace. There was a little stack of dry logs beside it. He arranged them in the fireplace. It had certainly made an impression on Harriet that his shirt was nearly see-through from all the rain, but there were more important things that required her attention.

She grinned at Daphne, motioning towards Morgan with a tilt of her head. “See? We’ve already put him to work for us.”

Although Daphne tried to conceal it, a little twinkle of mischief shone in her hazel eyes, and the corner of her mouth tugged up ever so slightly. Harriet didn’t want to dwell on it. Instead, she filled the tea kettle and lit the flame on the kitchen stove. It was funny. Before she’d come to the country, she had had no idea how to even make a cup of tea. She had led such a privileged life.

At first, all of Bridget’s eccentricities and refusal to properly staff her house were inconveniences that Harriet could not understand. If one had money, why would they live without it? Bridget had promised to bring Harriet back down to earth. After this many months, Harriet couldn’t fathom a life in which she didn’t lift a finger. Those days were over, for better or worse. Having the ability to do things for herself made all those things that much sweeter.

As Harriet cleaned out the dusty teacups and set them out, she turned back to see Morgan leaning over the fireplace and stoking the fire. She turned back to Daphne. “What do you say for Morgan’s cup?” she asked, theatrically peering into the cabinet. “Salt or… paprika?”

Daphne laughed softly. She pulled the blanket down just enough to reveal her lips. “Black pepper.”

Morgan spun around, looking rather annoyed. “You both know I can hear you, right?” he grumbled, turning back to the fireplace.

Harriet and Daphne both put their hands over their mouths and choked on a giggle.

Maybe the old Harriet would have come in here demanding that Daphne speaks to her, but now, Harriet realised the importance of making the young girl feel like she was an ally instead of an enemy. When she had been young, no one had known how to talk to an angry Harriet quite like her older sister, Emma, had.

Emma had always been very clever. She was usually very mild-mannered and soft. She was much more serious and dutiful than Harriet, but if there was something that Emma felt passionate about, she would always speak her mind. Emma had always known how to include Harriet, as if it was the two of them against the world when she was younger. Sometimes, when everything felt like it was so far out of Harriet’s reach, she just wanted to be made to feel like she had power over something.

She turned to Daphne. “Have you ever had any other close female cousins?”

Daphne shook her head.

“Oh my goodness, so that means you never experienced the mischievous joy of a sleepover?” Harriet stepped closer to the bed, bringing her voice down to a stage whisper. “You know, Miss Lucy and I would stay up all night and play games and talk about everyone we knew. We were such gossips.”

“That sounds… fun.” Daphne’s voice was reluctant yet interested.

Harriet went over to the chest at the foot of the bed and opened it, revealing a trunk full of men’s clothing. She gasped, a smile on her face. “Is this yours, Your Grace?”

Morgan peered over his shoulder, still tending to the fireplace. “I must have been eighteen the last time I wore any of that.”

Daphne scrambled over to the foot of the bed to peer into the trunk. Harriet smiled and looked up at the young girl. “Perfect.” She smiled. “We already have something to gossip about.” She reached inside and grabbed a long, thick nightshirt that was super baggy and nearly touched the floor. Her mouth twitched as she tried to hold in a laugh. “Do you suppose he used to wear this?”

“It was comfortable!” Morgan argued.

“I will have to see if that much is true.” Harriet smiled conspiratorially, and Daphne giggled into her hand.

Harriet ran to a secluded corner behind the kitchenette. Bending her arms, she undid the buttons on the back of her soaked dress and slipped out of it. She pulled the nightshirt over her head. Morgan was much taller than her, so the hem reached her ankles. Luckily, it was quite thick and just enough to keep her decent. She left the washroom and spun for Daphne, modelling the nightshirt.

Daphne giggled again. “You look ridiculous!”

“But very, very, comfortable.” Harriet grinned. She grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. Daphne scooted over to allow her to sit on the mattress beside her.

Once on the bed, Harriet locked eyes with Morgan. His lips were drawn together, and his eyes were soft as if to say thank you.

“What’s this?” Daphne asked, leaning over the edge of the bed. She lifted a little piece of paper from the trunk and unfolded it. “The Marquess of Wright’s Ten-Year Plan,” she read. She looked up at her older cousin. “Weren’t you the Marquess of Wright?”

“Oh, God, Daphne! Don’t read that!” Morgan scolded.

Already, the cabin was warming up. It certainly helped that Harriet had found some dry clothes.

Daphne rolled over, scooting to the corner of the mattress where it touched the wall to escape from her cousin. Morgan stopped, crossing his arms and looking slightly annoyed. “One, invest in the Americas,” Daphne read. She looked at Morgan expectantly.

“I’ve done that,” he said.

“Two, pay off Patrick’s family debts.”

Morgan groaned. “Daphne, that’s private.”

“That’s Lord Hartley, his best friend,” Daphne explained to Harriet.

Harriet nodded, her heart melting to know that even a younger Morgan was so generous that he had sought to help a friend in need.

“Well?” Daphne prompted her cousin.

“It is not proper to talk about Lord Hartley’s financial issues,” Morgan said.

“Did you do it?”

He sighed. “Fine. Yes, I paid off their debts.”

Daphne looked back down at the paper. “Three, be the best…” She paused, blinking hard. “Be the best cousin I can be…” Her eyes looked glassy all of a sudden, and she looked expectantly at Morgan.

“You tell me,” he said.

After a moment’s pause, she nodded, her eyes wide like saucers. “So far so good.”

Harriet wrapped an arm around Daphne’s shoulders. For a brief moment, she wondered if her life would have been different if she’d met Morgan years ago. Young Morgan seemed like the same kind of man she knew she would have fallen in love with.

“And four,” Daphne continued, “get married.”

Morgan frowned.

“Three out of four is good,” Daphne said, setting the paper down.

Morgan was quick to pick it up. He pointed at a date scrawled in the corner. “I wrote this nine years ago,” he said. “I still have another year.”

“Still, three out of four is good,” Daphne repeated, laughing slightly.

Morgan smiled, nodding his head. “Do not be so fast to rule out my success. I may surprise you yet.”

Harriet looked up at him within an instant. How could he sound so confident that he would marry someone within a year? Unless he already knew them…

Be realistic, be realistic.

Even after all this time, Harriet still had to repeat the words to herself. No matter how down-to-earth she’d become, she was still a dreamer. But dreams didn’t always come true. Even if he did care for her, Morgan would be stupid to jeopardise his reputation just to marry her. She had already come close to ruining her father’s business with the scandal.

Just then, the kettle shrieked, causing Harriet to leap out of bed, dragging her blanket across the cabin floor behind her. She poured each of them a cup of tea. “And look how nice,” she said, placing the cups on the table. “I didn’t even put any pepper or anything in your tea, Your Grace.”

“How generous of you,” Morgan drawled.

The Duke and Daphne joined Harriet at the kitchen table. They sipped at their tea in silence for a moment before Morgan excused himself to look in the chest for a dry change of clothes for himself.

“Do you think Papa is mad at me for running away?” Daphne frowned, rubbing her eyes despite them being dry.

Harriet shook her head. “I am not sure he knows. His Grace and I came here as soon as your governess reported your absence.”

Daphne exhaled, staring at the small table. “I don’t know if I want him to be mad or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just—” Daphne clenched her eyes shut and smacked her fist against the table, groaning. “I just feel like he deserves to feel upset after forgetting about Mama so quickly.”

“How many years?” Harriet asked.

“Mama passed away when I was…” Daphne thought it over, looking out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe five.”

“And you still remember her?” Harriet asked. “She must have been a good mother.”

Daphne nodded earnestly.

Harriet allowed for a pause as she considered her next words carefully. “I will likely not be a mother,” she finally said. Her eyes burned at admitting that out loud. “As much as it pains me, that is the truth of the matter. I am not very likely to mother a child, as I am not likely to marry.”

Daphne cast her eyes down, staring at the steam rising from her cup of tea.

Harriet wiped a tear on her cheek. “But I know what love is. Whether you love a friend, a mother, a father, a husband, or a child, love is to care more about them than you do about yourself. I may be sad that one day my sister will get married because it will mean that I will no longer be her greatest confidant, but I will also be so happy because she is happy.”

She placed a hand on her chest. The words hurt coming out, but it was also a relief to feel all of the selfishness that she had carried in herself for so long leave her chest.

“Likewise, Daphne, your mother would want the best for you and your papa. If someone else can do that for either of you, then she would never feel angry. If your mother loved you as much as she said, she would want the best for you, and sometimes, the best is allowing other people into your life. She is not forgotten, but merely setting the standard for how you want others to love you.”

Daphne said nothing. She continued staring at her teacup, her eyes unblinking.

Tears trailed down Harriet’s cheeks. As much as she had tried to stop herself, her emotions were too raw. She wasn’t sad, yet her tears were a mixture of relief and gratitude. She didn’t know if her words had an effect on Daphne, but they surely had an effect on her. Finally, she was seeing the world so clearly.

“I am so sorry,” she said, fanning her face with her hand as if that was enough to dry her tears. She closed her eyes and tried her best to calm down.

Harriet started when a pair of tiny arms wrapped around her. Daphne leaned into her, pressing the tip of her nose into the top of her head and shaking. With a comforting arm, Harriet extended the blanket that enveloped her and wrapped it around Daphne. The young girl sniffled.

Harriet opened her eyes, realising that Morgan had disappeared. When she looked up, she saw he was leaning by the fireplace in a dry pair of clothes. He had laid their wet clothes by the fire to dry. He offered her a grateful smile. Her heart quickened at the look of admiration in his eyes. She knew that he had doubted her ability to get through to Daphne, but Harriet Hale was tenacious if only for the fact that she couldn’t help but dream.

Daphne pulled away, and all of a sudden, she started wailing. Harriet reached out a hand and rubbed her thumb affectionately over Daphne’s arm. “I have just been so confused!” Daphne cried. “I’m getting older and taller and more confused, and I have—” She paused, her eyes widening. She leaned into Daphne’s ear and whispered, “I have started bleeding!”

“Isn’t it terrible?” Harriet gave her a sympathetic smile. “You know, it gets easier. The thing about us women, Daphne, is that we’re resilient. We grow, adapt and conquer. Don’t you feel strong?”

Daphne shook her head.

“In due time, I promise,” Harriet said. “No one can handle strife with grace and poise as well as a woman can.”

Daphne reached out and offered Harriet one more hug. “I have to go talk to Papa,” she whimpered, rubbing her eyes. “Maybe Lady Moore is odd, but…” She paused. “She makes Papa happy.”

Harriet nodded. “Maybe you should wait until the storm dies down.”

Daphne shook her head. “I cannot stand to imagine Papa sulking in his room for another moment.” She grabbed her cloak by the door.

“Daphne!” Morgan tried to stop her, but it was too late. She left, slamming the door behind her.

Harriet exhaled. It was finished. She had fixed things, and it felt good. It felt incredible to know that all the people she loved most would get to be happy again. Most of all, she felt better about herself. She had grown a lot in the past months.

For the first time, Harriet was no longer afraid of the future. Whatever happened, she trusted that she could handle it in stride.

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