Edward’s jerk of surprise was swiftly controlled. He sat back, his expression impassive. ‘That is entirely different. They were conceived and born in wedlock. You, madam, are a disgrace.’
Shocked as much by her own behaviour as by Edward’s words, Harriet sank back onto her seat. She must not push Edward too far. Although their relationship teetered ever precariously on the verge of estrangement, she loved Fanny and the children and she would be heartbroken if Edward were to ban her from seeing them. As for Edward’s warning at Tenterfield that he would stop her allowance... Surely that must be an empty threat? He had not repeated it, and she was sure he did not have the power to do so. If he did... She concealed her shudder. Her widow’s jointure was all she had to survive on. If she lost that, she would lose that which she held most dear—her independence. She would have no choice but to remarry.
Harriet studied her stepson, sitting stolidly in the chair opposite. How a man such as Brierley had spawned such a pompously superior son she could not fathom. It could only, surely, have been the influence of Edward’s mother—Brierley had constantly held his first wife up to Harriet as a model of rectitude, an example of a perfect wife. It seemed that Harriet had somehow brought out his basest nature.
Edward shifted in his chair and, when he spoke, his tone was calmer. ‘Do you still hanker after that rogue? Is that the truth?’
Harriet swallowed her pain at his words. She had not thought so. And yet...
‘I did not know Benedict was at Tenterfield,’ she said. ‘I did not even know he was in the country. I would never have gone there had I known. I told you, I went on behalf of a friend, to talk to Sir Malcolm.’
A muscle leaped in Edward’s jaw, his brows still drawn low. ‘Hmph. The deed is done now. We must hope news of your visit alone to that place does not become public knowledge.’
‘I was not alone. I had my maid with me.’
‘Your maid! You know as well as I that—’
‘How did you know I was there?’ Harriet interrupted. ‘Was it just a coincidence that you came to Tenterfield today?’
‘Lady Marstone had it from the doctor,’ Edward said, his shoulders slumping. ‘She could not wait to tell me when I saw her in Sittingbourne this morning. I believe I convinced her it would not be in her best interests to spread such gossip around, but I am not certain.’
‘Lady Marstone? Oh, no.’ Sir Walter Marstone’s wife was the worst tattletale in the district, and one of the worst in London, too. ‘How on earth did you manage to convince her?’
‘Her daughter, Bridget, is about to embark upon her second Season and she is quite desperate to get her married off. I hinted that their invitation to Kitty’s come-out ball was in the balance, and that I might use my influence to persuade Lady Castlereagh to blacklist Bridget from Almack’s.’
Lady Castlereagh was one of the powerful patronesses of Almack’s, and it was well known that Edward was a political ally of Lord Castlereagh, whose return to government was rumoured to be imminent, three years after his resignation as secretary of state for war and the colonies, following the disgrace of his duel with foreign secretary George Canning. Harriet smiled at the chagrin Lady Marstone must have felt.
‘That was quick thinking, Edward. Thank you.’
‘Do not think that absolves you, madam, for it does not. I did that solely to protect my family name. But you...you do not appear to believe you have done anything wrong. Are you truly so lost to all propriety? Did you even stop to consider that Kitty is due to make her come-out this spring? I expect her to make a very good match. Do you not care if you sully her reputation with your scandals?’
‘That is unfair. I have created no scandals—’
‘What about that house in Cheapside? Oh, yes, madam, do not think I am unaware of your involvement with such women. I tell you now, if you wish to continue to be part of this family I suggest you look to your behaviour and ensure no further whisper of impropriety, past or present, reaches my ears.’
Harriet studied his resolute expression and her heart sank all the way to her toes. She set herself to placate him.
‘Of course I wish to remain a part of this family, Edward. You know how much I love Fanny and the children. And as for the house in Cheapside... They are young girls—servants who have been despoiled by their masters and then cast out without a penny. Do you condone such behaviour by those men?’
‘Of course not. A gentleman has a moral duty of care towards his inferiors,’ Edward said, pompous as ever. ‘But that does not make your involvement acceptable. I understand you appeal for donations from amongst your friends—’
‘And from the gentlemen responsible,’ Harriet said, her passion rising. ‘I write to them to give them an opportunity to contribute, and most do eventually pay up, for fear of the slur on their reputations. You surely agree that a gentleman should take responsibility for his actions by supporting his by-blows—’ she ignored Edward’s wince at her use of the term ‘—but I am afraid some do not see it that way initially. They cast these girls, and their babies, aside as though they are less than human. With the money I raise, I offer those girls a roof over their heads and the opportunity to learn a new skill.’
She had set up a sewing room and a small bakery in the house, where the girls who chose not to have their babies fostered out could work together whilst caring for them. It was a cause very dear to Harriet’s heart after her own experiences, and also since her late husband had violated two such girls—the youngest barely thirteen years of age—who worked in their household and thus had no choice but to succumb to their master’s demands. He’d cast them out without a qualm, and Harriet had been helpless to either stop him or to help those two girls.
‘No wonder you are so keen to help these young girls after your own lapse from grace,’ Edward said. ‘At least you had my father to rescue you.’
‘Rescue me?’ Harriet leaped to her feet. She took a hasty turn about the room, dragging in deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. She returned to the desk and propped her weight on her fists as she leant across it. ‘If you knew—’
She was interrupted by a knock.
‘Hush!’ Edward’s eyes flashed a warning as the door opened behind Harriet. She straightened.
‘Grandmama!’ There was the sound of rushing feet, and Harriet turned to find herself wrapped in a tight embrace. ‘Smithson said you had come. I didn’t believe him.’
Harriet hugged her step-granddaughter hard before holding her away and looking her up and down. It never failed to amuse her to hear this lovely young woman, just ten years her junior, call her Grandmama.
‘Well,’ she said, smiling at Kitty, now fully as tall as Harriet. ‘What have we here, Edward? She has every appearance of a young lady, but that behaviour... Was that not more reminiscent of an impulsive child?’
Both she and Edward had become adept at concealing their differences from the rest of his family.
‘Oh, phooey!’ Kitty’s pale cheeks took on a rosy hue.
‘Katherine!’ Fanny, Lady Brierley, had come into the study in time to hear her daughter’s exclamation. ‘Such a vulgar expression.’
Even as Fanny chastised her daughter Harriet could see the twinkle in her eyes. Harriet embraced Fanny with genuine pleasure.
‘It is lovely to see you, my dear,’ Harriet said. ‘It was such a pleasant surprise when Edward arrived and insisted on escorting me here for a visit.’ Harriet shot a mischievous glance at her stepson, knowing he would not retaliate in front of Fanny and Kitty. ‘My maid and I were caught in a snowstorm, you know, and poor Janet slipped and broke her ankle. I do hope she may stay here to recuperate? I fear she is not strong enough to attempt the journey back to London.’
‘Of course she must stay,’ Fanny cried. ‘And you, too, Harriet. We do not see nearly enough of you. We go up to London ourselves nex
t week, to prepare for Kitty’s come-out. You can travel back with us.’
The thought of spending time with Fanny and the children was too good to resist, even though she knew Edward would disapprove.
‘Thank you, Fanny. That would be perfect.’ Harriet closed her eyes to Edward’s black scowl.
Chapter Eight
Mid-April 1812
Sir Benedict Poole rested his head against the cushioned backrest of his carriage. He stretched his legs, propping his booted feet on the seat opposite, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes—it would be close to five hours before he reached London. The minute his eyes were shut, however, his thoughts turned inexorably to Harriet and that kiss. Two months ago now... Two long, frustrating months in which he had striven to banish her from his mind, an endeavour that seemed doomed to failure.
Damn her, damn her and damn her thrice!
Since Sir Malcolm’s death seven weeks ago Benedict had remained at Tenterfield Court, occupied in dealing with both the legalities and the practicalities of inheriting not only the baronetcy but a wealth he was still scrambling to comprehend. But through all those weeks, like an insistent drumbeat that only he could hear, Harriet called to him.
Now, the closer they got to London, the louder her allure rang out—Harr-i-et, Harr-i-et, Harr-i-et—marking time with the rumble of the coach wheels and horses’ hoof beats. She was an itch he could not scratch. He did not want her in his head, and he did not want this battle whenever she stole into his thoughts—the battle between his distrust and his urge to understand. And, underlying it all, his greatest fear—the knowledge that, despite everything, he still wanted her.
He wanted to return to normality...whatever that might be. He suspected his life would never be the same again.
The carriage drew up outside the Poole residence in Grosvenor Street just after midday. Benedict stirred, stretched and leaped to the pavement, gazing up with a sense of wonder: this magnificent house now belonged to him. He was proud of the business he had built up with his partner, Matthew Damerel, since he had left England to seek his fortune abroad, but he could never have aspired to wealth and position such as this.
The door was opened from within by a solemn-faced butler with a black armband on his sleeve.
‘Good afternoon, Sir Benedict,’ he said, bowing. ‘Welcome home. I am Reeves.’
‘Good afternoon, Reeves, and thank you.’
Following a tour of the house—which was every bit as impressive as he remembered from the few times he had visited in his youth—Benedict settled in his library to read the letters that were piled on his desk. Recognising the bold writing on one sheet, he broke the seal and began to read. It was from Matthew, his business partner, announcing his arrival in town and asking Benedict to call upon him as soon as he arrived.
Benedict leaped to his feet, eager to see both his old friend and Matthew’s wife, Eleanor, Lady Ashby, again. A good dose of business talk was just what he needed to distract him from the fact that Harriet lived a mere few streets away.
* * *
‘Good afternoon, Sir Benedict.’ Matthew and Eleanor’s butler stood aside to allow Benedict to enter the hall of their newly leased house in Cavendish Square.
‘Good afternoon, Pacey. Is Mr Damerel at home?’
‘I shall go and enquire, sir.’
Minutes later, Pacey showed Benedict into the library. Matthew, blue eyes bright with pleasure, strode forward to clasp Benedict’s outstretched hand.
‘Well, well,’ he said, laughing. ‘Sir Benedict. Must I bow to you now? Pacey, brandy, if you please—we must celebrate!’
Benedict grinned and allowed Matthew to usher him to a wing chair by the fire whilst he sat opposite.
Several toasts later, Matthew leaned forward, suddenly serious, his piercing gaze direct. ‘I have a proposal to put to you, Ben.’
Benedict sat up, his attention caught. ‘Go on.’
‘With our new responsibilities, neither you nor I will be in a position to travel far from England in the future, so... I’ve had Carstairs making enquiries about a ship for us to purchase, and I think he’s found just the one. What do you say to establishing a merchant fleet of our own?’
Carstairs was a former customs officer they had employed to manage the London end of their importing business. Benedict felt a stirring of excitement deep in his gut. Although he knew his future must now lie in England, he also knew he would miss the cut and thrust of the business he and Matthew had set up together. His estates and investments might be vast but so, also, was the army of bankers, solicitors, clerks and stewards who had run them on Malcolm’s—and now his—behalf.
‘I say—’ Benedict raised his glass ‘—it is a first-rate idea. I’ll drink to that.’
Their glasses clinked in salute.
‘Excellent!’ Matthew said. ‘We’ll go and see Carstairs tomorrow and then we’ll see the solicitor and instruct him to draw up a new partnership agreement. And, in the meantime...’ He paused and his rugged features softened. ‘In the meantime, I have one more announcement to make.’ He grinned, stood up and spread his arms wide. ‘I am to be a father.’
Benedict surged to his feet and gripped his friend’s hand. ‘That’s splendid news, by God. Congratulations, Matt. How is Eleanor? She is well, I hope?’
Matthew headed for the door, eager as a schoolboy. ‘Come and see for yourself,’ he said. ‘She is in the drawing room. She made me swear I would not allow you to leave without first paying your respects.’
The door to the drawing room was ajar, allowing chattering female voices to drift across the hall as Benedict and Matthew emerged from the library. It was the time of day for the ladies of the haut ton to pay visits and Benedict tamped down his sudden attack of nerves. This would be his first venture into polite society. How would he be received? He was conscious of the need to make a good impression from the start if he were to restore the Poole name and overcome his own links to trade. He was fortunate to have Eleanor—a baroness in her own right—and Matthew as friends.
‘That sounds like Lady Stanton,’ Matthew whispered to Benedict as they approached the door. ‘Eleanor only made her acquaintance recently, but they have become bosom bows already.’ He lowered his voice still further. ‘They have much in common.’ He used his hands to mime a swollen belly. ‘Not that you can tell yet,’ he added with a wink, ‘so be discreet.’
Benedict grinned at him, though he was still on edge. ‘I won’t let on that you’ve told me,’ he said as he followed Matthew into the room.
He heard her voice before he saw her—low, warm, melodic—and his gut clenched. Somehow his feet kept moving and he concentrated on locating Eleanor, with her glossy mahogany locks and her wide welcoming smile, ignoring the clamour of every one of his senses to drink in Harriet, only Harriet.
* * *
She was at the edge of his vision: blonde hair sleek in a chignon, poised, controlled, politely smiling as Matthew first greeted the third occupant of the room—a slight, elegantly dressed lady, presumably Lady Stanton—and was then introduced to Harriet by Eleanor.
How could Matthew and Eleanor behave so normally? How could they be unaware of the fire raging out of control in his gut? How could anyone? That thought steadied him. Of course no one would know. Not unless he gave himself away, and that he would not do. He stepped forward to greet Eleanor, raising her hand to his lips as he caught her eye and mouthed the word Congratulations to her. Her eyes sparkled as her smile widened even more, her excitement clear. She tucked her hand beneath his arm and tugged him round to face the two seated ladies.
‘Allow me to introduce my husband’s business partner,’ Eleanor said. ‘Felicity, Lady Stanton—Sir Benedict Poole.’
‘Delighted to meet you, my lady.’
Benedict dipped his head and when he raised
it he found himself the recipient of a tight smile and a searching stare from a pair of clear amber eyes. He had no time to ponder the meaning of that look, for Eleanor began to introduce Harriet.
Before he could think through the consequences, Benedict said, ‘We have met.’
The room seemed to still for a moment, then Harriet inclined her head graciously. ‘Indeed we have. How do you do, Sir Benedict?’
Benedict managed to voice a polite reply.
Harriet then focused on Matthew. ‘Lady Ashby was telling us of your time in India. Is that where you and Sir Benedict met?’
‘It was,’ Matthew replied. ‘It is quite a coincidence, you two knowing each other.’ He studied Benedict, who battled to keep his feelings from showing. ‘Did you meet recently, or is it an acquaintance of longer standing?’
Benedict smarted at his friend’s innocent tone—a tone completely at odds with the knowing smile that played around his lips.
‘We were neighbours in our youth,’ he growled.
A devilish glint lit Matthew’s eyes as he said, ‘Then I shall leave you to renew your acquaintance.’
He sat on the sofa next to Lady Stanton and engaged her in conversation, leaving Benedict no choice but to sit on the only remaining seat—the chair next to Harriet.
A sizzle of awareness sped through his veins, fuelling his anger that Harriet’s mere presence could affect him in such a way. Conscious of Eleanor watching from her chair at the far end of the sofa, Benedict thrust aside his shock and focused his mind on his goal—making a good first impression on Lady Stanton, and society in general, with a view to building his own reputation and allowing Malcolm’s libertine past to fade in people’s memories.
He would not allow Harriet’s presence to deflect him from that goal, and he must strive to treat her as he would any other society lady.
‘I trust you are well, my lady?’ he said.
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