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Harriet allowed her grief to show, and tears trembled on her lids. She blinked them back, knowing they did her little good now. She still had too many responsibilities to give in to emotion now. Yet how she missed him! The wondrous new knowledge of his love for her made his absence much harder to bear.
    Already she felt his absence painfully, and the fear of what his letter contained was like a stone lodged in her heart. Last night she’d resolved to trust him, but only hours later she felt her heart tremble once more with fear about doubt, and she despised her own weakness.
    The letter still clenched in her hand, she sank onto the bench by the pianoforte, her most treasured possession. It had come with her grandmother to this house as part of her dowry. Her grandmother had taught her to play until she died when Harriet was seven, and then Harriet had continued to teach herself. She loved the comfort of creating music, the wonder of hearing new sounds from her fingertips.
    Yet the instrument held no appeal for her now, and it was in the still silence of a summer’s afternoon that she broke the seal on Allan’s letter.
    Dearest Harriet... I acted a wrong part in taking any obligation from you, and others might say a dishonourable one. My honour bids me to set you at liberty, which I hereby do in releasing you from that promise which I hold dearer than my own life. You may have an opportunity of getting yourself settled in life more suitable to your merits than I have a prospect of, but never with a man that will adore you half as much as I do. Whatever my fate nothing could give me greater happiness than to hear of you being well settled. Providence is kind and may have something in store for us that we are not aware of. Until we meet again, adieu.
    The letter slipped from Harriet's fingers. Well settled? Fury and fear mingled within her, lodging in a burning lump in her chest. How could it be his wish now for her to be married to another? A full day had not yet passed since his declaration of undying love, yet now she wondered if it was only so many cheap words.
    Where had his hope, his faith in their future, gone? His promises? Why had he set her free, when he’d spoken only yesterday of binding her to him! Yesterday he’d wanted her to wait--and now? Harriet shook her head and tried to stem the tide of despair and confusion that threatened to overwhelm her. Allan was setting her free, but it felt like she'd been put in a prison... a jail of uncertainty and doubt.
    She heard the front door open and close and then the heavy tread of her father's footsteps as he came in for his midday meal. Harriet swallowed the resentment that lodged in her stomach like a hot coal. It was because of her father that she was not on The Economy of Aberdeen right now, on Allan’s arm as his beloved and wife.
    Yet she knew she could not speak of it to her father. He would not countenance such a discussion, even if Harriet could even work up the courage to say a word. Sighing, she folded Allan’s letter back up and slipped it into the pocket of her apron. What was done, she knew, was done. Any anger or resentment she felt towards her father served no purpose now. Still, the ache in her heart did not ease as she rose from the pianoforte’s bench. Work needed to be done, the midday meal, and her father’s comfort, seen to.
    David Campbell stood in the doorway of the kitchen, as haggard and surly as ever, his sparse grey hair damp with sweat from where it had been flattened underneath his knitted cap, now held twisted in his hands.
    “Where’s Harriet, then?” he demanded. “I need my tea.”
    “I'm here, Father.” Harriet kissed her father's weathered cheek, shooting Margaret a calming glance at the same time. It wasn't easy getting used to David Campbell's unfriendly ways. She managed it only by grit and the grace of God.
    “I suppose Ian's up to no good,” David groused as he washed his hands in the basin by the pump. “It's time