in between the stones. Harriet Russell tried to ignore the storm outside as she clutched her mother’s hand. This old house, with its creaks and groans in the night, had never been a home to either of them, yet Harriet feared it would be her mother’s last resting place.
“Harriet.” Her mother moaned her name. Pain soaked each syllable as her mother coughed. The raspy sound tore at Harriet’s heart.
Harriet brushed her other hand over her mother’s forehead. “Rest, Mama.” Beneath the oil lamp’s glow, her mother’s face was pale, and sweat dewed upon her skin as fever raged throughout her body.
“So little time,” her mother said with a sigh. “I must tell you…” Harriet watched her mother struggle for words and the breath to speak. “Soon… You will be twenty. Your father…”
Harriet didn’t correct her, but George Halifax had never been her father. No, the man who held that title had died when she was fourteen. Edward Russell had been a famous fencing master, both in England and on the continent. He’d also been a loving man with laughing eyes and a quick wit whom she missed with her whole heart.
“Yes, Mama?” She desperately needed to hear what her mother had to say.
“George is your guardian, but on your birthday, you will be free to live your life as you choose.”
Free. What an amazing notion. How desperately she longed for that day to come. George was a vile man who made her skin crawl whenever she was in the same room as him, and she wished every day that her mother hadn’t been desperate enough to accept his offer of marriage. But fencing masters, even the greatest ones, did not make a living that could sustain a widow and a small daughter.
“Mama, you will get better.” Harriet dipped a fresh cloth in clean water and placed it over her mother’s brow.
“No, child. I won’t.” The weary certainty in her mother’s voice tore at her heart. But they both knew that consumption left few survivors. It had claimed her father’s laugh six years before, and now it would take her mother from her as well.
The bedchamber door opened, and Harriet turned, expecting to see one of the maids who had been checking on them every few hours to see if they needed anything. But her stepfather stood there. George Halifax was a tall man, with bulk and muscle in equal measures. The very sight of him chilled her blood. She’d spent the last six years trying to avoid his attentions, even locking her door every night just to be sure. She may be only nineteen, but she had grown up quickly under this man’s roof and learned to fear what men desired of her.
“Ah…my dearest wife and daughter.” George’s tone sounded outwardly sincere, but there was the barest hint of mocking beneath it. He moved into the room, boots thudding hard on the stone. He was so different from her father. Edward had been tall and lithe, moving soundlessly with the grace of his profession in every step.
“Mother needs to rest.” Harriet looked at her mother, not George, as she spoke. Whenever she met his gaze, it made her entire body seize with panic, and her instincts urged her to run.
“Then perhaps you want to leave her to rest?” George challenged softly.
Harriet raised hateful eyes to his. “I won’t leave. She needs someone to look after her.”
“Yes, you will leave, daughter.” He stepped deeper into the room, fists clenched.
“I’m not your daughter,” Harriet said defiantly. His lecherous gaze swept over her body.
“You’re right. You could be so…much…more.” He paused between the last three words, emphasizing what she knew he had wanted for years.
“George…,” her mother, Emmeline, gasped. “No, please…”
“Hush, my dear. You need your rest. Harriet and I shall have a little talk outside. About her future.” He came toward her, but Harriet moved fast, despite the hampering nature of her simple gown. She’d been trained by the best to never be caught flat-footed.
“Stop!” George snarled and grabbed her by the skirts as she ducked under his arm. With a sudden jerk, she hit the ground, her left shoulder and hip hitting the pine floorboards hard. A whimper escaped her as he dragged her to her feet and slapped her across the face.
Her mother made a soft sound of distress from the bed, and she heard the whisper as though from a vast distance away.
“Harriet…go…run!”
Harriet kicked George in the groin as hard as she could. He released her to clutch himself.