He was the model officer, the invincible fighter. Or was he not?Slowly, the recognition seeped into her thoughts that she had caused him mortal peril. She had not been concerned about his leg; it held up well enough over the last year. But then again, had he not complained about the cold weather and the pain it caused him, just a few days ago?She fretted all day over possible ways out of the predicament, but she could think of none. She even considered visiting Selkirk and offering a full apology for her insulting words, but she knew that it could not prevent the duel.Dinner time came, and Harriet made an effort to repair her appearance before she went downstairs. Her father was sitting at the table, his face grave, and barely looking at her. Just when the first course was served, there was commotion in the hall, and Sir Richard stood from the table to investigate. He was gone for a long time, almost a half hour, and when he returned, the look he cast at his daughter was laced with. From the delicate red ribbon around her neck, dangles a heart shaped skeleton key. She pulls it off over her head and it slides through her silver hair, leaving wisps to flutter against her pale cheeks. She inserts the key into the keyhole on the desk drawer. It protests loudly, but slides open. Reaching inside, she pulls out a packet of letters, tied in the same red ribbon that is threaded through the key. A faint smile flickers through her green eyes and twitches at the corner of her mouth as she fans the envelopes out across the desk before her. Her fingers caress the faded ink where he’d long ago, scribbled her name. She slips a finger beneath the flap and pulls out a yellowed page. Her eyes swim with the carefully inked words of love, as she reads each letter, into the darkest hours. The candle grows short, and the shadows lengthen. She nods, and drifts into that place between asleep and awake, where he comes to meet her on the nights when she cannot.
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