Harriet followed the maid down to the ground floor. The girl tapped at the library door, opening it immediately after and holding it for Harriet to enter. She thanked the girl quietly and heard the door close behind her. Her host stood, his arm on the mantel, his eyes on the fire, but straightened and turned as she entered. He bowed to her. “Miss Cole. I hope all is well with your party.”
“I’ve just come from Madame’s room. She has eaten and will sleep soon. You wished to tell me something?”
“I wished information concerning the problem with my great niece-in-law,” Lord Halford smiled and his eyes twinkled. “Such an awkward relationship, but such a delight to gain a new and formerly unknown relative.”
“You are generous, my lord. Not everyone would be willing to admit such distant connections into the family.”
“Were the connected not so delightful, perhaps it would be more difficult,” admitted his lordship with that smile Harriet was coming to like. “Sir Frederick tells me you can give me the history behind the comte’s persecution of the child.”
“I can.” Harriet folded her hands before her and began. “They met at a house party where he discovered she is descended from those who once owned the French estate his father was given to support his new title. Perhaps I should tell you that this happened in Italy. Madame retired many years ago to Lake Como since the winter cold of the Swiss Alps, where the family went when it escaped the Terror, is not good for her.”
Harriet went on to describe the comte’s appearance soon after that party at their door and his impertinent refusal to be put off from attendance on Françoise wherever they met thereafter.
“Madame, you understand, after the first morning call, gave orders he was to be refused further admittance to her home. She didn’t like him. When, within three weeks of meeting Françoise, the comte approached Madame with the marriage offer, Madame made enquiries. What she discovered confirmed her dislike of the man. She refused him. He persisted in putting himself forward so Madame passed word amongst her friends he was not to be encouraged.
“It did not answer. The comte intimidated the young men courting Frani into deserting her side. When he still received no acceptance, he became more of a pest than ever and Madame formed the plan to bring her granddaughter to the protection of her English grandfather...
“We left Lake Como secretly—or so we thought and were climbing toward the Simplon Pass when the comte made his first attempt to take Françoise by force. That was when we met Sir Frederick and he and Monsieur de Bartigues became Frani’s champions. At Sir Frederick’s suggestion, Madame made a thorough investigation amongst her servants and discovered the traitor who had told the comte of our departure,” Harriet finished. “We were warned and have taken extra care ever since that awful experience in the mountains.”
“But not before you took a hand in the game. I understand It was your intrepid behavior which routed the comte on that first occasion.”
Harriet blushed, but answered steadily enough. “My father taught me at a young age to handle firearms. Madame refused to see the necessity of armed guards, feeling perhaps they would give away the fact we were not off on a simple visit to friends. I carried along my father’s dueling pistols, but I admit freely I had not truly believed they would be needed.”
“Guards were supplied when you continued your journey?”
“Yes. Just before we reached Paris Madame was ... ill. We’d put up, where we could, with old friends and with relatives of her husband’s and son’s, but of course that was not always possible. She acquired a serious stomach upset at the last inn at which we stayed. For a time we feared for her life. It was a week before she regained enough strength to continue on to Paris where we stayed until we could leave for England—which she was still determined to do. Luckily we were near Paris where she did have friends who took us in once we could remove her from that terrible inn.”
Lord Halford took a thoughtful pinch of snuff, shook off invisible grains from the lace at his wrists, and returned his box to a small pocket in his plain white waistcoat. “I think Fred mentioned there was evidence of poison?”
“Sir Frederick is certain Madame was poisoned.”
“Madame is her granddaughter’s only French protection? There is no male guardian or relative from whom Mademoiselle Françoise could expect help?” He took the snuff and sneezed.
“The family has a tragic history as does so much of the French aristocracy. Frani’s father and mother died in an accident a few years back and there are only distant cousins remaining.”
“So, if Madame were removed from the scene, there would be no one to stop the comte from whatever ploy he might conceive? While you remained in France, I mean?”
“True.” Harriet lost color at the memory of those horrid hours when they didn’t know if Madame would recover. She reached for the back of a chair to steady herself.
An oath reached her ears faintly, a hand steadied her. “Sit down, Miss Cole. I did not mean to frighten you, merely to get straight in my mind the situation. Françoise has protection now: myself, Sir Frederick, and her grandfather, once he knows of her arrival.” He handed Harriet a glass of sherry. “Drink that. All of it. I apologize for shocking you.”
“It was only a momentary weakness. It was a terrible time, wondering if Madame would survive. That man is a monster.”
“The monster will find himself at a stand if he dares to show his face in London. Word is already being spread he is persona non grata. He will not have the entree and will find no friends amongst the ton. This will not cancel the danger to Mademoiselle Françoise when she is abroad in the streets, but Big John goes everywhere my wife goes and is not a man with whom one trifles. He will watch them both. We’ll take good care of your charge, Miss Cole.”
“You are strangers to us,” said Harriet, her voice choked, “but so generous. How will we ever thank you?”
“By enjoying your stay with us,” he said promptly. “I hope it will be long.” The door opened, and Harriet looked around when he smiled over her shoulder, holding out his hand. “My love. You are looking remarkably lovely this evening. Not that you don’t always take my breath away, of course!”
Elizabeth tripped across the carpet, leaning forward to receive a kiss on her cheek. “No, my lord,” she straightened away from him, “no more. You will disarrange my coiffure and you have no idea how long it took to achieve just this style. Such sorry things we poor women, Miss Cole,” she said with a pert look at her husband. “The hours we waste making ourselves beautiful for our menfolk!”
“And then will not let the menfolk touch for fear of spoiling the effect,” said Lord Halford with a dry intonation. “I believe I would prefer less primping and more freedom, my sweeting.”
Harriet felt a cold little knot of jealousy for the love so obvious between these two newly met friends. She told herself not to be a fool. She’d had her youthful dreams, but when the required white knight did not appear to carry her away, she’d come to terms with spinsterhood.
She’d been lucky, after all, to acquire the position in Madame’s home, where she was given the freedom to be herself and not forced into the role of a drab little woman stuck in the background of life. She must not forget just how lucky and she must not allow herself to fall into megrims about what might have been ... might still be...? No. She must not dream dreams of might-be.
Françoise herself appeared then, distracting Harriet from the dreams in which she must not indulge. Frani apologized for her lateness, receiving reassurance it was no such thing, but, very shortly, the butler announced dinner was served and they moved on to the dining room.
Lord Halford, a quizzing glass brought into play, inspected the soup ladled into his dish. His wife demanded his attention. “Yes, my love?”
“I do not like this room.” Elizabeth frowned mightily as she looked around it. “It will not do, Robert.”
“Will it not?” Lord Halford, brows raised, also looked around, noting the
high wainscoting above which hung several of the scenes painted in his odd style by that new artist, John Constable, the Axminster carpet covering most of the floor, the highly polished table and sideboard loaded with the very best silver and crystal. “What is wrong with it?” asked his lordship.
“It is too big. Even reduced to its smallest, the table is over large for a small party such as this. It is not conducive to conversing or friendly interchange.” She waved her spoon in emphasis.
Regrettably, Françoise giggled at Elizabeth’s highhanded manner.
“What, my dear, would you suggest?”
Harriet gave their host points for his mild voice and the twinkle in his eyes.
“I think,” said his wife, head to one side, “that perhaps, with just a few leettle changes,” she wheedled, “the breakfast room might serve for family meals. Do you not agree?”
“Changes?”
“Hmmm. A new table and chairs, perhaps. A new serving board which would do both for breakfast and also for more formal dining?”
“And new drapes and new carpet and—” teased his lordship.
“Oh, may I?” interrupted Elizabeth.
Lord Halford laughed. “Yes, minx, if you will, you may.”
“You spoil me, my lord,” she said, but dimples peeped at each side of her mouth.
“Yes. Dreadfully.”
Elizabeth smiled a cat-in-the-cream smile. “Hmm, I will think of some way to reward you, my lord.”
This suggestive remark was going too far for even such an easygoing husband as Lord Halford. He frowned down his wife’s high spirits. She blushed delightfully, sent an apologetic glance toward Harriet and bowed her head over her soup until her color cleared. Harriet was relieved the man was not so besotted he’d allow his wife to go her length in everything. The young woman was as hot to handle as Françoise, and Harriet was sure that, by herself, she would find it impossible to keep the two within permissible bounds.
Three more courses followed, each more tempting than the last: the fish was in a delicate sauce; the meats, properly roasted as only the English seemed able to do, were served in their own juice and not hidden under one or another sauce; and, finally, the vegetables were cooked to a nicety in the French fashion, while the sweets course tempted one to excess.
Elizabeth looked around the table as the syllabub was passed still again and finally refused by all. “Have we finished?” There were general murmurs of agreement. “We will not leave you alone with your port, my lord. We will stay and keep you company.”
Evidently such shocking behavior on the part of their hostess was not uncommon since the butler proceeded, without blinking an eye, to order the covers removed and the table cleared. It was the first time Harriet or Françoise had remained in a dining room while decanters and a silver bowl of nuts were placed ceremoniously on the table. Normally, women removed from the room at this point. His lordship filled a glass from the decanter at his elbow and the butler poured more of the light wine served with the last course for the ladies. The servants retired.
“Now, my lord, you must explain to me all the mysteries which have been plaguing me. First there was the message which came some time ago, and you disappeared immediately for a whole long afternoon with no explanation as to where you were going or why—even though you had promised to drive me in the park. It was not polite of you, Robert.” She scowled delightfully and her husband pretended chagrin. Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and went on. “Then, my lord, you left again with no explanation and were gone for three whole days only to return with our new friends.” Elizabeth pouted, but Harriet noted the very different and more determined expression in her eyes. “It was very bad of you, my lord.”
Robert sipped, enjoying the brandy’s flavor. He swallowed and glanced down the long table. “But it was none of your business, my lady.”
“Was it not? Does that mean you will not tell me?”
“Why should I?” Lord Halford raised his glass and studied its color, watching the candlelight glowing through it.
“Because I am your wife. It is my business.”
“But, my lady...”
“My lord?”
Harriet and Françoise watched each as the exchange went on. Françoise stifled giggles behind her napkin, while Harriet wondered if Lord Halford carried his teasing too far. The twinkle had gone completely from Elizabeth’s eyes, and the pout was now real.
His lordship seemed able to judge to a nicety just when to give over, however. He sighed lugubriously, which immediately lightened their hostess’ countenance. “What it is to live under the paw of the cat,” he said, his eyes on his glass.
“A more unlikely mouse I have yet to see,” scolded his wife. “Do tell, my lord. Please?” she coaxed prettily.
“Since you ask so nicely, I will.” He quoted the message from Frederick, his request that a team and carriage be chosen and sent to Dover to await his arrival. “But, you see, my dear, I could not allow Frederick to arrive back in England with no welcome.”
“What I see is that I was left at home, my lord. Might I not also have welcomed him back?” A short silence followed and eyes met eyes down the long table. “I see.” Elizabeth frowned in earnest. “You wished to determine Sir Frederick’s state of mind.”
“Yes. I did.”
“You did not trust him. Or me.”
Harriet rose hastily. “You will excuse us, my lady, my lord? Our journey was long and arduous. With your permission we will retire.”
Elizabeth, too, rose to her feet, obviously contrite. “Oh my unruly tongue. No, please. I will be good. Truly, I will.”
The argument, ready to burst into flames, was doused, although Harriet noted one last look between husband and wife. Elizabeth, putting an arm around Françoise’s waist, and waving Harriet toward the door had one last comment.
“We will retire to the Green Salon, my lord.” The barest hint of wistfulness could be heard when she asked, “You will join us there? Presently?”
“I will.”
“Good.”
The women were in the hall when Elizabeth turned and ran back into the room. Harriet caught a glimpse of their hostess falling to her knees in a cloud of pale green silk beside her husband, her hands on his arm. She thought she heard Elizabeth tell his lordship she was sorry. Lord Halford touched his wife’s hair and raised her to her feet.
Again the tiny hurting cold spot of unwanted jealousy irritated Harriet and again she flung it away as unworthy of a woman of her age and sensible nature. But it was obvious to her that, once she was more rested, she must sit herself down and give herself a stern lecture on just what she could expect from the rest of her life! And those expectations did not include a home filled with the joy and wonder of love and happiness ... especially not when the male figure in that dream was a confirmed rake and profligate to boot!
Seven
Harriet looked up from the book she was reading to Madame la Comtesse who lay quietly, still very drawn and worn. She looked older than ever before, although, after two full days in bed, she now spent some time each morning and afternoon on the chaise near the fire.
“Yes, James?” asked Harriet of the footman who tapped lightly on the open door, rousing her attention.
“Sir Frederick to see you, miss. He’s waiting in the Green Salon.”
“To see me?” Harriet’s heart beat faster. “Are you certain?”
“Yes miss. He asked for Miss Cole, miss.”
“Run along, Harriet. I’m ready for a nap now, anyway.” Harriet rose from the chair’s embroidered cushion and moved closer to the chaise. “I wish you’d let Lady Elizabeth send for a doctor, Madame.”
“Hush now. There is nothing wrong with me that having fewer years in my dish would not cure.” Madame raised crepey lids and her eyes were as sharp as ever. “I think you should see what Sir Frederick has to say, my dear. It is very possible that he may have news for us.”
“Oh.” Harriet felt herself blush. Why hadn’t she
thought of that obvious reason for his unexpected arrival? “I’ll go immediately and won’t be long.”
“Take your time. You spend far too much of that valuable commodity pandering to a tired old woman while the young shop and visit.” The eyes closed again and, even as Harriet dithered, she noticed her mistress had slipped into the realm of Morpheus in that easy fashion of the invalid. A worried frown refused to fade as she moved quickly down the stairs and went through the door James opened as she approached the salon.
“What is it?” asked a deep voice. A frown matching her own, Sir Frederick approached her as the door closed behind her. He took her hands into his. “Harriet? Miss Cole,” he added in a firmer tone as if remembering it was improper to use her name. “If I can help...”
“No. No, there is nothing anyone can do, I believe.” More flustered than ever she pulled away, walked over to the fireplace. “Is no one else at home?”
“I don’t know,” said Frederick with an abrupt wave of his hand. “I didn’t ask. Please tell me what is worrying you.”
He hadn’t asked? “Madame does not improve. We’ve been here very nearly a week now, and I think her very little better. I cannot help worrying about her.”
“What has the doctor said?”
“She refuses a doctor.” Harriet turned from the fireplace and stared at him. “You have news for us?”
“News? What news would I have? A messenger has not had time, yet, to reach my uncle and return.”
“There has been no sign of the comte?”
“I do not expect it until the wind goes down.”
“Then why, Sir Frederick, are you here?”
He smiled—a touch ruefully. “Such modesty. I’ve come to take you for a drive in the park, Miss Cole. I wish company while I show off my brand new curricle.” He took her arm and led her to the window, holding aside the long drapery. Harriet looked down into the street where a pair of beautiful roan geldings switched their tails and stamped a foot now and again. A scowling young man with a long nose and reddish hair had a hold of them just above their bits. Just then he glanced up at the house. “That’s my old tiger. I let him go when I left the country, but, when he learned I’d returned, so did he.”
A Reformed Rake Page 12