Thoroughly Whipped

“Just the two of us?” I asked.

“Yes, if that’s okay?” He seemed nervous I’d actually say no.

“Better than.” I quickly polished off two more crumpets and two cups of coffee.

“Are you ready?” Harry stood, offering me his hand. I got to my feet, and his eyes tracked down my purple dress, with three-quarter length sleeves, which stopped at the tops of my knees. “You look stunning,” he said, and I knew he meant it, seeing the way his pupils dilated.

I had put my hair back in a high ponytail and thrown white Converses on my feet. They didn’t quite match the elegance of this house and grounds, but then neither did I, so I didn’t let it bother me.

I lifted my foot to show Harry the sneakers. “Figured I’d better wear something less dangerous than heels for the grand tour today.”

“For that,” he said, kissing the back of my hand like he just had to touch me, “I am eternally grateful.” Harry offered me his elbow. I linked my arm through. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.” He led me to the hallway and, again, I marveled at all the vintage decoration and furnishings. “I still can’t believe you were brought up here.” A sad thought occurred to me. “Were you ever lonely?”

Harry’s arm tensed a little, betraying his answer. “Yes. Especially after my mum died.” He shrugged. “Nicholas was here a lot. His ancestral home is not too far away. But it wasn’t like having a brother or sister living in the house.”

“This place would have terrified me as a kid. My crazy imagination would have created so many ghosts that roamed the halls.”

Harry pointed at a room. It was open and a woman was inside cleaning it. “I believed the boogie man lived under the bed in that room.” When we came to a landing that forked into two hallways, he pointed to the one we weren’t going down, thank God. “And the gray lady roams that corridor. Just floats along in all her sixteenth-century regalia, mourning her lost love and waiting to snatch children from their beds and possess them.”

“Christ, Harry. I have to sleep up here tonight!”

He laughed. “You go to any stately home in England, and I guarantee there will be many a story of gray ladies and soldiers who died in battle, defending the Lord who lived there, back for their vengeance.” He shrugged. “I’ve never seen one.”

Something pulled my ponytail and I whipped my head around, screaming just a little bit, only to see Harry placing his free hand back by his side. “Prick,” I muttered, but I still checked around us just in case.

“Pompous Prick, Faith. At least address me by my proper title.”

“You’re right. How could I forget.”

“Here,” Harry said, arriving at the first room. Large cream double doors greeted us. “The biggest room in all the house.” Harry opened the doors, and my mouth dropped open when a massive gallery room, filled top to toe with pictures, oil paintings, and statues, was bared to my eyes. “The gallery. In it are all the dukes who have come before. Their wives and children.”

“And their dogs?” I asked, seeing a grand picture of a regal-looking wolfhound.

“Some of my ancestors really, really loved their dogs.” Harry brought me to a picture of a tall, handsome man in a red coat and breeches. He was staring seriously at the painter. In fact, all of the dukes’ poses were almost identical. “The very first duke in our line.”

“He looks a little like you,” I said, drifting past the other portraits. The women were beautiful and wore exquisite dresses.

We stopped at a duke with sandy blond hair. “He caused quite the scandal in the nineteenth century,” Harry said.

“Why? Did he not like tea?” I grimaced.

“Goodness no, nothing that bad,” Harry said, his voice horrified. He smirked. “He ran off with his wife’s handmaid.”

“No,” I said, staring wide eyed at the man in the picture.

“Love,” Harry said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “He fell in love with her. More than. He was utterly besotted with her. Had been for years. One day, he eloped with her.”

“What happened?”

“His brother found him in Brighton and brought him home.”

“He lost the love of his life?”

“No.” Harry laughed at my confused expression. “He moved her into the guest house and lived out the rest of his days with her.”

“Erm…? What?”

“It was the nineteenth century, Faith. He was a duke and frankly could do whatever the hell he liked.”

“His poor wife.”

Harry nodded. “But it’s the most common tale of men, and women too, who are made to marry for duty, not for love.”

Silence stretched between us and the portrait of the duke who’d given his heart to a peasant. “Is…” I took a breath. “Is there a chance that maybe one day that can be remedied?” I winced, hating myself for even going there. I had loved this time with Harry this morning, seeing his world. I didn’t want to spoil it. But—