Read In Praise of Younger Men for Free Online

by the arms again, refusing to let her go.
    “Deny it, Harriet. Deny that the kiss we just shared meant nothing to you. Deny that it made you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a long time.” He could see the beginnings of tears glistening in her eyes. He wished he could banish them. “You cannot deny it, Harriet. Because it would be a lie.”
    Harriet dropped her head forward to rest against his chest. She mumbled into his waistcoat, “Why, oh why, couldn’t you have been born just one day later, Tristan?” Harriet lifted her head to look at him, bringing a single corkscrew tendril falling down her cheek, twisting just beside her ear. “You must accept it, Tristan, as I have. No matter what my heart feels, or how much I loved kissing you just now, any attachment between us is impossible. I am going to Edinburgh, as I had originally planned, and I am going to find the man who will be my husband. We will forget that any of this ever took place. It is the only choice I have.”
    Tristan stared at her through eyes dull with despair. Suddenly it was as if a vast chasm stood between them with no possible way across and he realized he had lost her even before he’d truly found her. “You can try all you like to convince yourself of it, Harriet, but I know that I will never forget what we just shared. Nor will I ever forget what we could have been.”
    And with that Tristan turned and walked out of the cave—and out of Harriet’s life.

Chapter Four

    . . . If the adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village,
    she must seek them abroad
.
    —Northanger Abbey,
Jane Austen

    Edinburgh
Harriet’s first glimpse of the Scottish capital city was that of an ancient stone fortress perched high upon a mountain of rock reaching nearly to the clouds. Besieged, destroyed, and rebuilt several times over, a castle had stood on the site for the past eight centuries at least, playing host to the likes of Mary Queen of Scots, even Robert the Bruce.
    Beneath this lofty cragged crown ran a mile-long stretch of road called the High Street, wide enough for five carriages to ride abreast, lined by tall stone buildings with slate roofs, some six, even ten stories high. Like a formation of watchful soldiers, they towered above the small coach carrying Geoffrey, Devorgilla, and Harriet past the city gates—Robbie perched eagerly in Harriet’s lap, wagging his wiry tail at every passerby.
    High above their heads, tall chimneys puffed out billowing clouds of coal smoke that had given the city its nickname of “Auld Reekie.” Ladies leaned out windows. Boys and dogs chased one another around the Mercat Cross. Everywhere they looked, there was something of interest to be seen.
    For Harriet, who had never gone farther than an afternoon carriage ride from home, the city was like a vast world of adventures just waiting to be had. From almost the first moment after they’d departed Rascarrel the day before, the sun had come out with glorious ceremony, banishing the dull, colorless clouds that had plagued the skies nearly endlessly over the past weeks. Spring was approaching. Harriet decided to take it as a sign that she was doing what she was meant to, coming to Edinburgh to seek her future. If only that thought could somehow ease the bittersweet memory of Tristan standing before her in that cave, telling her the words every girl longed to hear.
    I love you.
    How angry he’d been that last time she’d seen him. He had left for the city without even saying good-bye, refusing Geoffrey’s offer to accompany them in the coach, opting instead to ride to Edinburgh alone on one of the horses from the Rascarrel stable. Didn’t he realize she was doing this for him? Couldn’t he see that if she had her choice, they would be traveling to Edinburgh together to share the happy news of their betrothal with her father? Every waking moment, since the moment Tristan had returned with Geoffrey to Rascarrel, Harriet had fought the battle of her