Rules for an Unmarried Lady

by Wilma Counts

  “Yes, he does well, does he not?” the dowager had agreed proudly, and looked toward her son, thus directing attention at Quint, “but Phillip had the best of role models in all his family members.”

  Quint had nearly snorted at this, recalling the straits into which the boy’s grandfather and great-grandfather had thrust the earldom, but he allowed his mother to have her day.

  The Marchioness of Hastings was not the only guest to praise this unusual elevation of a young person, though. Quint found the approval of Lord Hawthorne far more gratifying. His lordship had pulled his mount even with Quint’s one morning as the group of riders were returning to the stable.

  “I must tell you, Colonel Burnes, that his great-grandmother and I have been not a little worried about that lad.” The old gentleman pointed with his riding crop at Phillip, riding ahead and laughing up at Chet. “He took his father’s death so very hard,” the old man continued after a long pause. “Phillip talks with me a good deal. Told me about your visits with the weavers and the mills. I think your easing him into what it is to be the Earl of Sedwick is an excellent notion.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Quint was carefully noncommittal.

  “Don’t know if that was your full intent,” the old man went on. “Oftentimes when a person inherits as young as our Phillip has, there are those around him that get delusions as to their own level of authority or power. I think perhaps you have sufficiently squelched any such pretensions.”

  “I hope so, sir.” Again, Quint kept his tone neutral, but he was amazed at the insight the man had. It was almost as though the Earl of Hawthorne had seen the Dowager Countess of Sedwick’s handwriting in some of those ledgers within days after her eldest son’s accident—and before her other son had arrived on the scene—or that significant dates and amounts seemed to have been altered and on certain documents, also in her distinctive script. Ah, well, he reminded himself, the Hawthorne couple had known his mother far longer than he had. The solicitor Boskins had laid some of that incredible debt squarely in her lap too.

  As a young man he had seen his mother play that role of the guileless female even as she cleverly schemed and manipulated those around her—mostly her husband, who, Quint had thought, invariably underestimated her. As he looked back on it, what he had learned from his parents’ marriage was mostly what he never wanted in that institution for himself. Perhaps that was why he had never been truly sorry it had eluded him. And if this party had done nothing else, it had managed to show him what might have been, for he saw much of a younger Lady Margaret in Lady Barbara.

  A great deal of this—along with the ever-present worry about the state of Sedwick finances—was on his mind as the large party headed out for the last great grouse hunt. Quint was disappointed, but later not overly surprised to find that Sir Desmond Humphreys had finagled a position in the same blind from which Quint would be shooting with Chet and Phillip. Humphreys wasted no time in chitchat about the hunt.

  “Colonel Burnes, have you considered my offer to buy Sedwick’s remaining interest in those mills?”

  Quint replied promptly. “I have. Although there was no need to do so. My nephew and I have no interest in selling.”

  “May I ask if you are in negotiation with the party owning the other shares?”

  Quint glanced at Phillip and Chet, glad Phillip had sense enough not to say anything, then said, “You may ask, but I feel no obligation to respond at this time.”

  He saw a flash of fury pass over Humphreys’s face before he turned away. “Have it your way.” Soon enough, Humphreys left, saying, “I think I’ll pop over and see how Squire Douglas and Captain Morris are faring.”

  Quint was glad to see him go.

  Immediately Phillip asked, “What did he mean about buying Sedwick Mills? We are not selling them, are we?” He sounded worried.

  Quint explained very briefly, and in broad terms, trying not to load down those young shoulders with the entire burden of Sedwick debt—or the cupidity of certain of the boy’s predecessors. “I have told him no on your behalf, Phillip, but I will explain in far greater detail if you wish to see the books and all.”

  Phillip stared at him. “Good God, no. I trust you, Uncle Quint. Father trusted you. I trust you.” He grinned. “Besides, I probably will not understand them much. Maybe when Mr. Knightly finishes with me…”

  Chet punched him affectionately on the shoulder. “Good lad, this!”

  Chapter 21

  On the day of the ball, Harriet skipped the midday meal with the gaggle of adults in the dining room in favor of spending time with the children. She had put off for too long the painful duty of telling them she would be leaving. Sitting around the large round table in the main room of the nursery, they were having trifle for dessert.

  “Ooh, my fav’ritest,” Tilly cooed.

  “Just see you eat as much as you wear,” Robby said.

  “Master Robert, that was unkind,” Nurse Tavenner admonished, wiping at Tilly’s cheek.

  The boy made a face. “I’m sorry, but look at her bib!”

  Harriet knew Robby was showing off for the three children of guests who were sitting with them, but she said, “Tilly has enjoyed her luncheon. When she is as grown up as you are, she will have learned to use her serviette.”

  “Oh,” he said sheepishly, for his still lay near his place.

  Their laughter broke off when Harriet said, “Now, children, I have something important to tell you.” They sensed something serious and the room grew very still. She hoped her voice would not break. “When Nana and Poppy go home to London, I am going with them.” The children had, since their own sojourn in the city, adopted Harriet’s pet names for their shared ancient relatives.

  Everyone was quiet for a moment, then Elly asked in an excited voice, “Are we going too? I want to see the efflemunt again.”

  “She’ll never get that right,” Robby said in disgust.

  “No, darling,” Harriet answered the little girl. “You will stay here and have lessons with Miss Clarkson just as you have been doing the last few weeks.” She tried to keep her tone bright.

  “But you’re coming back, aren’t you?” Sarah asked. “This is only for a week or two, isn’t it—like before?”

  “No, Sarah. I do not know how long it will be, but certainly I will come to visit you just as soon as I can and perhaps you will be able to persuade Uncle Quint to bring you to visit me.”

  Elly jumped down from her place at the table and came to stand at Harriet’s elbow. “No! I don’t want you to go.”

  Harriet put her arm around her. “I am sorry, sweetheart, but I must go.” She raised her head to smile brightly at all of them. “And I want you to write me often—each one of you—and tell all the things you are learning and doing.”

  Elly looked up at her with tear-filled eyes and asked plaintively, “Auntie Harry, don’t you love us anymore?”

  Harriet came undone. She twisted in her chair, gathered Elly onto her lap, and buried her face in the little girl’s blonde curls. “Of course I do! I love you more than anything in the whole wide world!”

  Maria came to Harriet’s rescue. She gathered Elly into her own arms and spoke ostensibly to Elly, but Harriet knew for the benefit of all her siblings. “Come on, Elly. Do not make this so hard for Aunt Harriet. Can you not see she is as sad about leaving as we are to have her go?”

  “But—” Robby started.

  “No buts, Robby! Leave it!” Maria ordered.

  And he did.

  Harriet merely mouthed a “Thank you” to Maria and hastily left the room.

  Right outside the door she stumbled into Quint’s open arms and broke into sobs. He pressed her head against his shoulder, murmured soft words of comfort, and simply held her, caressing her back for several moments. At the time, she was scarcely aware of anything but the terrible sense of impending loss at
leaving those young people she loved so dearly. Later she recalled just how Quint’s arms had been an immediate safe haven for her.

  Within moments, she regained control of herself and stepped back, flustered. “I—uh—thank you. Why are you here—in the nursery wing—at this hour?”

  “Looking for you. When you did not appear for lunch, I had an inkling of where you were and what you were doing—”

  She saw such a deal of sympathy in his gaze that she nearly burst into tears again. “Oh, Quint, I just did not think it would be so hard,” she said. “I have always known this day would come, but it was always someday—you know?”

  Without quite realizing it, they had taken the back stairs from the nursery down to the door of Harriet’s suite. He opened it, stepped inside with her, and embraced her again. “Do stop talking about it as though you will never see them again. This is by no means permanent.”

  “I know.”

  “God, how I’ve missed you!” He settled his mouth on hers.

  “Mm. Me too.”

  “And what I would like to do now is march your sweet body right into that other room and—”

  She pulled away and pretended shock. “Colonel Burnes! Sir! My dear old grandmother could come in here at any moment!” In a more normal voice, she added, “Besides, there’s your mother’s grand ball tonight.”

  “Oh, yes. That.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “Are you truly all right now?”

  She nodded. “I will be. Thank you.” She stretched up to give him a quick kiss. “But I needed that.”

  His hand on the door handle, he smiled down at her. “That, and much, much more, my sweet.”

  Not wanting to dwell on the pain of that scene in the nursery, or even the sheer pleasure of Quint’s comforting as an antidote, Harriet sought her usual method of escape from life’s troubles: sleep. She took off her outer clothes, crawled into bed, and had a long nap.

  She awoke wishing she could skip the ball, that somehow she could be whisked away—like some character in an Eastern fantasy—into some new time and place. Just get through this and be back in her old life in London and then—

  And then?

  “Aye, there’s the rub, eh, Hamlet?” she muttered to herself.

  She dressed in her newest ball gown, one she had purchased in London in the midst of her rebellion against wearing all those dreary colors of mourning and dreaming about the shades of nature. The dress itself was a deep cerulean blue silk with a wide, deep V neckline extending from the shoulders. The brooch the children gave her hung on velvet ribbon matching the gown just at the top of her cleavage. Collins had woven a matching ribbon through her hair. The gown had a sheer, gossamer-like silver overskirt. She wore silver kid slippers and long silver-colored gloves.

  “Don’t forget these,” Collins said, holding out aquamarine earrings.

  She dashed upstairs to fetch Maria and Phillip and say good night as she had promised to the others.

  “Ooh! Look! Auntie Harry is wearing our pin,” Elly pointed out and immediately demanded that Harriet prove she remembered which stones stood for whom. Luckily, she did.

  Maria, in the customary white for a young girl not yet “out,” came in for her share praise. Her gown was silk and heavily embroidered with pink rosebuds and draped with a long pink sash across one shoulder. Phillip stood tall and straight in his black evening dress, leaning on only one crutch now, it too painted black with the padding covered in black silk.

  “You two are looking just too smart for words!” Harriet said.

  With Nurse Tavenner carefully protective of Harriet’s and Maria’s finery, the good night kisses and hugs were achieved to everyone’s satisfaction and the three were on their way down to collect Lord and Lady Hawthorne and Sir Charles and Elizabeth before going on to the ballroom.

  Harriet, with Phillip and Maria, was several steps behind the grandparents and Charles and Elizabeth, when she heard Phillip whisper, “Ask her.”

  Maria touched Harriet’s arm, and spoke softly, tentatively. “Aunt Harriet. Phillip and I want to know—is Grandmother—or—or Uncle Quint—forcing you to leave Sedwick?”

  Harriet stopped abruptly, and so did they.

  “If they are, I swear I will never forgive them,” Phillip said, his jaw clenched.

  “Nor will I,” Maria said.

  Harriet stood so she faced them squarely. She could not lie to them. Not now. She settled on an evasion. “You must not think that. It—it is truly quite complicated, you see, what with the change in plans for your education and for the younger ones and—well—I need to be in London to do some research there—and everything just seemed to come down at once—don’t you see?”

  They nodded—reluctantly, it seemed to her.

  She gathered them into a group hug, wary of Phillip’s crutch, and said, “Come now. Big smiles. Balls are supposed to be full of gaiety.”

  Maria clapped her hands in delight as they entered the ballroom, which had been transformed into a fairy-tale forest with potted trees and flowering shrubbery here and there. The dowager, in a maroon gown and headdress with tall maroon ostrich feathers, fussed at them as they arrived and immediately settled Phillip into place at the head of the receiving line, then herself, Quint, and Maria. Harriet knew Lady Margaret had wanted only herself and her dear “Quinton” in that line, but, she thought bitterly, We do not always get what we want, do we, milady? She took a seat on the sidelines, along with her Nana, Poppy, Charles, and Elizabeth, watching and visiting as the room filled up and the orchestra tuned their instruments. It would be some time before all the guests arrived, for besides her houseguests, the dowager had invited literally anybody who might have a claim to be somebody for miles around. Her grand ball was to be the social affair for—well, for this miserable year at least, as she had put it to Elizabeth. Looking out on the room as it filled up, Harriet and Elizabeth agreed that Lady Margaret had achieved her goal: a veritable squeeze.

  When the dancing began, Phillip and Maria, as planned, joined Harriet, and Quint led his mother out for the first dance.

  “I still wish I could dance,” Maria said wistfully.

  “I know, love,” Harriet said. “But think what a shocker that would be. You are already the talk of the tabbies, just being here. Now go along, both of you. Mrs. Hodges is sending a special tray of goodies up to the nursery rooms just to celebrate your first ball.”

  “I’ll wager that was your idea,” Maria said, kissing her aunt on the cheek.

  “Never mind whose idea. It is there. Save me a piece of lemon cake.”

  “All right.”

  When Harriet looked up from seeing Phillip and Maria off, Quint was no longer dancing with his mother, but with Lady Barbara. She gave Elizabeth an inquiring look.

  Elizabeth grinned. “You missed it! Right in the middle of the set, Lady Margaret grabbed Lady Barbara’s hand—she was standing on the edge of the dance floor—and put it on Quint’s arm—said something about dancing being for young people and sat down!”

  “Is Lady Margaret ill?” Harriet asked in alarm.

  “Does not seem to be. She was fanning herself, but not especially vigorously.”

  “Hmm.” Harriet had no more comment than this.

  However, Elizabeth did. “If you ask me, she is a bit too obvious in pushing that match.”

  Harriet shrugged. “What will be will be.”

  “You are in a strange mood, my girl. Come on. Cheer up. This is a ball. I shall have Charles dance with you.”

  “No. Don’t,” Harriet said, then wished otherwise as she saw Sir Desmond Humphreys approach her as the orchestra was beginning the notes of the next dance. Botheration! It was a waltz! The man’s formal evening wear was as tight-fitting as his other clothing, and he seemed to be having some difficulty navigating his way through the crowd. As he got closer and started to speak, Harr
iet realized he was already quite gone for drink. Good heavens. He must have arrived here half drunk.

  “M-may I have thish dance, Miss Mayfield?” he asked, his voice surprisingly clear, but for that one little stumble.

  But carrying, Harriet noted with a cringe, as she also noted that others standing nearby were Quint, his mother, Lady Barbara, and Lord Beaconfield. “I am sorry, Sir Desmond, I am not feeling well at the moment. Perhaps a country dance later?” The thought of this man’s arms about her in a waltz was slightly nauseating.

  “What? Think you’re too good to dance wit’ me? I’m not askin’ you to marry me—now.” He laughed the raucous laugh of a drunk delighted with his own joke, totally unaware that his audience did not share it.

  Charles rose from where he had been sitting next to Elizabeth and took Humphreys by the elbow. “See here, my good man. The lady said no. A gentleman must simply accept that.”

  Humphreys shook free and looked at Charles bleary-eyed. “Just who are you to be saying I’m no g-genulmun?”

  At that moment Quint and his mother came closer, apparently to try to defuse the situation. Their movement caught Humphreys’s attention. He pointed a trembling finger accusingly at Lady Margaret.

  “You,” he said. “Y-your la-ship—you told me—tol’ me—she’d accept my suit. But—but she didn’t.” He swallowed visibly and gave Harriet a hang-dog look. “Turned me down flat.”

  The dowager looked stricken. “I never—! Oh, good heavens! Get him out of here before he creates any more of a scene!”

  Quint signaled two servants to do just that, but Humphreys was not going easily by any means. He was not a big man, but his silk clothing was slippery and held together well under stress. He slid out of their grasp, and, breathing hard, turned his attention on Quint.

  “And you, Burnes. What a fool you are! Have no idea you’ve a cuckoo in your nest, do you?”