Still, it was past time to leave the countryside. Squire Gibbs’s behavior was becoming boorish. Monica’s scheme to match her with Eustace was silly in the extreme. Harriet had grown so preoccupied with the drama around her she could not even think clearly.
But she had grave doubts: Was she truly prepared to face Lady Forth and those who would salivate at seeing the two of them at the same social events? Was she strong enough to pick up the threads of her life again? In the immediate aftermath of Freddy’s death, she had thought so — only to lost heart and flee to the country instead. Here in Worthington she had stayed busy, immersing herself in her shop and her baking, avoiding confrontation with the menacing forces her marriage had spawned.
Could she face those alone? Harriet had no answer.
With a sigh, she went to the kitchen to survey the last-minute preparations for dinner. “Do not forget to add the juice of an orange, and perhaps a bit of the peel,” she told Celestial. “Curry welcomes a bit of tang.”
“Yes, Miss Harriet. Is that nice lord coming to dinner?”
Harriet eyed her sharply. “Lord Westwood dines with us. Why do you ask?”
Celestial shrugged. “No reason.”
Harriet studied her. “Is there something you wish to say, Celestial?”
“If I had my way, I’d have a sweet-goer, too,” Celestial said, “but Heavenly won’t hear of it.”
Harried frowned. “Sweet-goer?”
“A gent,” Celestial said. “Maybe not a prime one like that earl of yours, but a swell who knows a thing or two about —”
“Lord Westwood is a business associate,” Harriet insisted. “He is not my, er, gent. I cannot imagine why you would conclude such a thing.”
Celestial did not reply.
Harriet studied her. Celestial had always been the more restless of the twins, Heavenly the more dominating. Both held strong views and did not hesitate to voice them, viewing it as their prerogative for their long years of service. Indeed, they were more family than her own father. Celestial had treated Harriet’s rare illnesses with potions made from her plants, and she was a kindred spirit in the kitchen.
The sisters were tall, with dark brown hair that set off their ruddy features, their chief physical difference being that Heavenly alone possessed one green eye and one blue one. When Heavenly turned the full force of her gaze and sharp tongue on someone with the bad judgment to cross her, the effect was as if a spirit from the underworld was let loose upon the hapless offender.
Harriet had often wondered why neither had married. Then again, they presented a formidable front, as if they were united against the world. Perhaps no man was brave enough to try to part them.
“What say has Heavenly over any gentleman of yours?” Harriet asked.
Celestial set down her spoon. “It’s because we are twins. She doesn’t want us to part. I told her it wouldn’t be like that, that we’d always be close, but she don’t believe it. Every time a man pays me any mind, she takes it as a betrayal.”
“But you are a grown woman,” Harriet protested.
“Aye. Thirty-three years on my plate,” Celestial said mournfully. “Most women my age have birthed their children. Some even have grandchildren. I won’t ever have a family if Heavenly has her way.”
“You are old enough to make your own decisions,” Harriet said.
Celestial just shook her head. “Heavenly does things her own way. Not a man alive strong enough to change that.”
Harriet regarded the other woman intently. “Is there someone who has caught your fancy, Celestial?”
Celestial shook her head, but Harriet did not miss the shadow that crossed her face.
***
“The monarchy is out of touch.”
“Eustace!” his mother said reprovingly. “That is unacceptable talk.”
“Come now, Monica,” Lady Harriet said. “The country is rife with criticism of the Prince. Eustace says no more than what has already been said.”
All eyes went to the young man posed stiffly at the mantelpiece, his pale blue eyes radiating an air of defiance.
“There are many who think the current movement to reform Parliament must extend even further — to the royals themselves,” he declared. “Why do we need them? That fat Prince does nothing but squander our money —”
“Treason,” pronounced Squire Gibbs, one of the few words he had uttered all evening. “Pure treason.”
Mrs. Tanksley’s gaze lingered on the squire. “I cannot think what has put such radical notions in Eustace’s head,” she said sorrowfully.
“Why, the state of the country, of course,” Lady Harriet replied. “The soldiers who fought so bravely abroad have no jobs at home. Riots erupt over the price of bread. Taxes are high, yet the Prince demands more and more money from Parliament to pay his debts.”
May the fates spare him the company of a woman who dabbled in politics, Elias thought grimly. Though he had no great love of the Regent, Elias had fought for the very government Lady Harriet scorned and would never join the ranks of its public critics. He was determined, however, to keep these thoughts to himself, as he had no desire to prolong the current discussion.
And, if truth be told, his mind was occupied with more troubling concerns. The very brief interlude with Lady Harriet this afternoon had been inappropriate. Indeed, it was dawning on him that the scene onto which Mrs. Tanksley had stumbled could be viewed — were Lady Harriet an innocent, which as a widow she was not — as compromising.
To be sure, he had only meant to comfort her. His conscience was clear on that score. But even widows, unless they wished to ruin their reputations, did not engage in such close contact with men in easy view of any servant or friend who might drop by.
And though Elias had little regard for society’s musty strictures, his own code did not include publicly embarrassing any woman. Perhaps more importantly, he hoped he had not left her with an impression that he was drawn to her in that way. If there were ever two people in this world who did not suit, it was he and Lady Harriet.
She was an excellent cook, of course, as tonight’s dinner again underscored. It began with a broth of beef bones with wild mushrooms that provided deep, earthy notes. It was followed by roasted squab, green beans so delicate and thin that they stood in perfect counterpoint to the toasted slivers of nuts and caramelized onions that adorned them, a rack of lamb, and, for the finish, raspberries in orange liqueur. There was not a wrong note anywhere. Then again, Elias had come to expect no less.
Conversation that accompanied dinner, however, had been strained. That oafish Gibbs fellow had said very little, but Mrs. Tanksley more than made up for that with her endless commentary on the vagaries of the weather.
Afterward came more stilted conversation in the drawing room. The convention of the gentlemen’s port had been dispensed with, it being tacitly conceded that he and Squire Gibbs could have little wish to engage in polite discourse after the events in Lady Harriet’s bake shop.
It would soon be time for the guests to take their leave. Elias’s conscience told him that conversation by way of apology was perhaps needed between Lady Harriet and himself. He could ignore the incident — he certainly had no wish to embarrass her by reminding her of her distress, which was doubtless the only reason she had sought refuge in his arms, however briefly. Ignoring things was not his way, however. Therefore, he would speak with her. He did not know what he would say or how he would do so without attracting the notice of the others.
Help came from two unexpected directions.
“My lord.” Lady Harriet’s soft, urgent tone intruded on his thoughts. “I must speak to you privately.”
But a servant came into the room just then, and she moved away to speak to the man.
Elias surveyed the room. Gibbs was flushed from the wine. Mrs. Tanksley was fanning herself rapidly. There seemed to be an awkward tension between the squire and Lady Harriet’s friend — perhaps owing to Gibbs’s denunciation of Eustace’s vi
ews. Eustace himself looked thoroughly bored and not the least interested, incidentally, in pursuing a suit with Lady Harriet, no matter how much his parent might wish it.
Strangely, when Eustace saw Elias studying him, he grinned and, with a conspiratorial air, left his pose near the mantel and walked toward him.
“I have noticed the way you study Lady Harriet,” he said in a low tone. “I can see you wish a moment alone with her. I will suggest that the three of us take a turn in the garden, and then I will leave you. I weary of the company and it will serve as my exit. Not a moment too soon, I might add.”
Damned if he needed a half-fledged lad to tell him how to get a woman alone. Still, the idea had merit. Elias could think of no other solution that would foster intimate conversation without sending Mrs. Tanksley further into the doldrums.
Good as his word, Eustace approached Lady Harriet moments later.
“Will you favor me with a turn in the garden?” he asked.
Mrs. Tanksley perked up at that, and beamed, that is until Eustace’s next words: “And Lord Westwood, as well. I would welcome a tutorial on the spice business, sir.”
Elias was forced to concede that the youth possessed an aplomb well beyond his years. Moreover, he was obviously sensible of his mother’s matchmaking scheme, knowing that she would look favorably on just such a nocturnal walk as he proposed.
Eustace offered his arm to a slightly puzzled Lady Harriet, and Elias quickly fell into step beside them as they exited the room, leaving Gibbs and Mrs. Tanksley to their various moods. But as soon as they reached the garden, Eustace apologized to Lady Harriet for his early end to the evening and, with a quick bow and a knowing wink at Elias, headed swiftly out the garden gate.
Lady Harriet stared after him. “I do not know what has got into Eustace.”
Elias knew he would not get a better opportunity. He cleared his throat. “Lady Harriet, I wish to say —”
“One moment, my lord,” she interjected. “We are quite alone here and may speak privately, but I feel the need for some false courage. For an idea has come to me, and I own that it wants fortifying.”
After that very strange remark — and to Elias’s surprise — she led him back into the house through a different door, one that opened into a short corridor, and then into a study. There, she made straightaway to a table that held a decanter and glasses. She filled two of them. Elias waited politely for her to offer him one.
Instead, she drank a large amount from her own glass in one quick gulp. Her instant sputtering told him she was not familiar with strong drink. In fact, it was some moments before she could speak. At last she looked up with a stricken expression. “Oh dear! Where are my manners?” Belatedly, she offered him the other glass.
Cautiously, Elias took a sip. Brandy — French, if he did not miss his guess. He wondered how she came by it. Ah, but Freddy would have insisted on the best.
Elias had not noticed until now that her green gown was the precise color of an exotic apple he had once found growing, rather incongruously, on an island in the lower Caribbean. It was lovely against her auburn hair, which was coiled beguilingly into a single long curl that drifted over her shoulder. Still, this was no time for distractions. He would not get a better chance to speak to her.
“Lady Harriet,” he began in a formal tone. “I am sensible that your friend made untoward assumptions after seeing us earlier today in such close…congress. For that I take full responsibility. I should have taken more care to avoid —”
Her giggle halted him mid-sentence. Then she covered her mouth. Quickly, she poured another measure of brandy into her glass.
“It is not my wish to dishonor you,” he continued, determined to get through the thing. “As a widow, you have your reputation to think of, and it is a gentleman’s responsibility to be mindful as well. May I offer you my deepest apology for my conduct?”
“Come, my lord,” she said. “There can be no dishonor. I am no green girl. I have been married, with all of the sordid knowledge and regret that comes with that state.”
Her candor startled him. “I, er, nevertheless —”
“Besides — you merely comforted me. I see no breach in that. Rather, I should have expressed my gratitude. Allow me to do so now. Thank you, sir.” She smiled at him.
Elias thought perhaps he had not fully appreciated the appealing sparkle in her blue eyes, nor the way her lips curved upward like a rosy bow when she smiled. “Still, I would like to rectify matters,” he said.
She regarded him with a puzzled expression. “Oh? How?”
That was the rub, wasn’t it? “The cursed truth of the matter is that I have no idea. Perhaps I have embarrassed you even by mentioning it.” Elias took a sip of his own brandy, feeling tongue-tied and foolish.
She responded with a crooked smile. “I should have permitted you to flee when you had a mind to this afternoon instead of forcing you to play nursemaid to me.”
“I was not fleeing —”
“Anyway, widows are not expected to comport themselves as virgins. Oh, dear! I am certain I should not say that word in mixed company.” She then drank another quantity of brandy.
“To return to my point,” he continued resolutely. “Our…closeness was in easy view of anyone who might happen by. Although I have little use for society’s strictures, I am sensible that others might well follow them.”
She studied him. “I suppose we are back to the question of what you intend to propose.”
This was a disaster beyond saving. “I am no good at these parlor games,” he growled. “Is there something else you wish for? By all means name it. Short of claiming the rest of my business, that is. Which will be worth precious little if your current course continues.” With that, Elias drained the rest of his glass.
Her smile caught him unawares. “Why, yes, my lord. There is something.” She took another sip of brandy, then eyed the decanter. “I do believe I could come to tolerate this.” She refilled her own glass, then his.
Elias savored the brandy’s bracing burn as he waited, unable to imagine what service she would compel from him.
Finally, Lady Harriet leveled her clear blue gaze at him. “We should not suit, so let us stipulate that straightaway. There is nothing between us by way of personal regard, no matter what Monica thought she saw. Do you agree?”
The conversation had taken an ominous turn, Elias thought. “Yes. Certainly.”
“Still, I find that I need you just now,” she continued. “And so, I am in the unenviable position of proposing to you, my lord. Marriage, that is.”
Elias’s shock must have been evident, for she quickly added, “We would not really marry, of course, merely pretend for a short while to be engaged.”
“Pretend,” he echoed, dazed.
She nodded. “If you agree, I will give you my shares of your business.”
It was what he wanted. And not.
Not, not, not.
CHAPTER FIVE
The brandy had made her slightly dizzy, but Harriet had no trouble perceiving that she had stunned Lord Westwood speechless. She felt somewhat guilty. After all, there was no real need for him to make amends. She should have reassured him on that score, but instead she found his awkward, determined apology intriguing, even appealing. But Monica was no gossip. She would not have spread word of their odd embrace.
And though it mortified Harriet that her weakness had caused her to seek comfort in his nearness, that unexpected interlude had also been strangely stimulating. The scent of sandalwood amid the robust woolen of Lord Westwood’s tailcoat had been almost intoxicating. She had not been that close to a man since Freddy. Even with Freddy, Harriet did not recall feeling quite so…aware.
Part of her wished that Lord Westwood had not greeted her proposal with such shock and dismay. Did he loathe her so very much? Was there another woman with whom he had an understanding? She hadn’t thought of that complication. Surely, he would mention such a fact — though speech seemed well b
eyond him at the moment.
“I am sorry to have shocked you,” she said, pouring more brandy into his glass. “I would like to give you time to think about my proposal, but I am compelled to mention that I remove to London in a fortnight. I would expect you to do likewise — in the interest of recovering your shares, of course.”
Lord Westwood eyed her over the rim of his glass. “In the interest of recovering my shares,” he said slowly, “I would do a great many things.”
“But marrying me had not been one of those, had it, my lord? Still, you need only pretend to be my betrothed for a bit,” Harriet assured him. “I will cry off by Season’s end. If you wish, I will put that in writing.”
He regarded her warily. “A sworn statement?”
“In the presence of our solicitors,” she affirmed.
His assessing gaze held hers. His inspection was such that Harriet felt the need to look away but found, oddly, that she could not. What must he think of her? But it did not matter. Having found the perfect solution to her fears — and she was honest enough to acknowledge to herself that she was weak to need such a crutch — she now felt positively giddy. It was a very good bargain for him as well. By the end of their masquerade, he would be in full possession of his shares.
And yet, he did not look happy — rather, the opposite. His brows met like thunderclouds. His dark eyes narrowed. A muscle clenched in his jaw. Harriet faltered in the face of his obvious displeasure. She took another sip of the bracing brandy and found the courage to meet his gaze again.
“Why?” he asked.
Why indeed? It was difficult to explain to a man like Lord Westwood, who exuded such confidence and self-awareness.
“To be clear,” Harriet said. “I do not depend upon masculine appreciation for my worth. Indeed, my life is very nearly perfect.”
He arched a brow but said nothing.
“I surround myself with good food and scintillating company,” she said. “I am content to go on like this, happily enjoying my independence. I do not need a man.”
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