She found him in the inn yard, standing by the black carriage while Hobbs put the horses to. It was snowing a little, small dry flakes that did not settle. He saw her come out of the side door and did not move to get in.
"You came," she said.
"I was summoned. Greaves is a thorough man." He looked at the snow on his sleeve. "I would have come in any case. I find I did not care to have it said that I was fetched."
She almost smiled. She did not.
He reached into his coat and took out a letter, folded small, the seal long broken. She knew the hand before he held it out. She had known it all her life.
"I should have given you this in October," he said. "I should have given it to you in the spring. I kept it because of what it asked." He put it into her hand and closed her fingers over it with his own, briefly, the leather of his glove cold. "Read it later. Not here."
She did not read it later. She read it there, in the snow, with him watching.
Hattie, it said. Ld B. is not himself this fortnight and I fear for him; he is a good lad under it and I would not see him come to harm for want of somebody telling him no. I have been thinking that you should come north in the spring, if Martha can spare you. There is a brown horse here you would like. He is the best thing I have ever had my hands on and nobody but me can do anything with him, and I am not getting younger. Bring your boots. Your loving father, S. Wren. And underneath, squeezed in, as he always did: Mind the girths.
She folded it again along the old creases. Her hands were not steady.
"He wanted you in a training yard," said Sir Roland, "in breeches, with your hair under a cap. I wanted you safe in a drawing room. I thought if I kept the letter I could keep the choice." He paused. "I was wrong about a great many things. I was wrong about him. I do not ask you to forgive it. I find I have no idea how one would."
"I don't know either," said Harriet. "I'm not going to say I do."
"No. You would not. You never say what you do not mean. Neither did Clara." He drew a long breath. "You are of age on the twentieth of March. Until then I shall make no claim on you of any kind. Whatever you choose to do, I shall not oppose it. Your mother's portion is in the funds, eleven hundred pounds; it was always to have been hers, and it is yours, and you will not need my leave to touch it. And the door at Hessle —" He stopped. His jaw worked. "The door at Hessle is not locked. That is all."