Stages of Desire

by Julia Tagan

  Harriet hated this story. It made her sound like a doll her father had sold to the highest bidder, a possession to be bandied about. She couldn’t read Lord Abingdon’s expression. In the course of a few minutes, he’d treated her as a member of the upper classes, then a common strumpet, and now he was looking at her as if she were a puppy that narrowly escaped being drowned in the Thames. She hated pity.

  “I see.” His voice was devoid of emotion.

  “She’s been such a comfort to me and Mama, particularly since Papa passed away.”

  Lord Abingdon placed the stopper back on the decanter. “I am pleased to hear that. Shall we return?” He held out his elbow and Marianne took it with relish while Harriet stood awkwardly by.

  “Now I haven’t been able to locate your own sister this evening,” said Marianne. “I must remonstrate, as you’d promised to introduce us.”

  He frowned slightly. “Lady Claire was taken ill again, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Marianne tilted her head to one side and gave him a sympathetic look.

  “Not at all. I’m sure she’ll recover soon and you’ll be able to meet. She’s eager to do so.”

  “Perhaps I can lend you Miss Farley as a cure. She did wonders for my health, and I’m sure she might cure your sister as well.”

  She curled her fingers into tight fists. “I will not be lent out like a puppet.”

  Marianne glanced over her shoulder at her. “I was being silly, Harriet, don’t make a fuss. Come along, now. I know Mr. Hopplehill is eager to have another dance with you.” Marianne arched one brow. “Harriet has a suitor, you see. A Mr. Hopplehill of Barings Bank. It’s sure to be a fine match. Is that what you were discussing up here, in secret? Matches?”

  “We spoke of Shakespeare,” Lord Abingdon said.

  “And curses,” Harriet added. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord.”

  She gave a quick curtsy and dashed out of the room.

  * * * *

  The next morning Harriet, accompanied by one of the housemaids, ventured out early, armed with a list of items to buy to refurbish Marianne’s ball gown. She would throw herself into the construction of the new garment to keep from mulling over the previous night’s events.

  She’d been made to look a fool. Lord Abingdon had pretended to be interested in a subject dear to her heart, then derided her. After the debacle in the study, the rest of the evening had been even more unbearable. Whether due to the heat or Mr. Hopplehill’s overwhelming attentiveness, she’d felt suffocated and angry. To top it off, Marianne had nattered on and on with delight at being the focal point of the Lord Abingdon’s attention the entire carriage ride home. As far as Harriet was concerned, Marianne and the snobbish earl could marry and have twenty children and be done with it. It meant nothing to her.

  Yet the image of Lord Abingdon and Marianne dancing a cotillion, their hands lightly touching and Marianne glowing as if she were lit from within, kept popping into Harriet’s head. Even the duchess had become rather misty-eyed at the sight. Lord Abingdon and Marianne were well suited to each other physically: she, the embodiment of delicacy and femininity, and he the dashing, broad-shouldered suitor with intelligent chestnut eyes.

  Had he ever confided in Marianne about his father’s disdain? For some reason, Harriet liked to think he hadn’t.

  Not that any of it mattered.

  This morning, in the light of day, Harriet was ashamed by her silliness. Character, not beauty, was the most important trait of a good man, and Mr. Hopplehill, she was sure, would prove to have a fine character. Perhaps not now, but eventually. Perhaps.

  Harriet and the maid stepped inside the draper’s. No other customers were present and the shop was peaceful inside, with shelf after shelf of fabric, lace, and ribbons. The possibilities were endless. Mrs. MacDonald, the shopkeeper, emerged from the back and gave Harriet a wide smile.

  “My dear Miss Farley, how sweet of you to come by.” She was a stout and animated woman with kind gray eyes. “What can I do for you today?”

  “I’d like to see some of your Brussels lace. I need to improve upon a gown of mine and could use your advice.” Harriet didn’t mention the true reason for her visit, as she knew the duchess would prefer the family’s financial condition not become fodder for gossip.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, she and Mrs. MacDonald pored over the finest silk ribbons and the most delicate webs of lace, and, with Mrs. MacDonald’s help, Harriet understood the best way to accomplish her task.

  The older woman began wrapping the purchases in brown paper. “Did you and Lady Marianne attend Lord Abingdon’s ball last night?”

  At the mention of his name, Harriet blushed. “Indeed. I attended with Lady Marianne and the duchess. Lady Marianne was radiant in her white gown.”

  “I’m so glad. I knew the color would work well on her. Lady Bancroft was just in here, and she said the ball was even grander than the ones his late brother used to throw, God rest his soul.”

  Mrs. MacDonald was always a font of information when it came to the goings on of the ton, and although normally Harriet found her recitations tiring, she was curious to know more about Lord Abingdon’s family. She sent the maid next door to the milliner’s and, once they were alone, leaned in.

  “Even grander, did you say?”

  “Yes. I was told his lordship, who they say is a serious fellow, was surprisingly charming and even danced. Apparently he has a quick step and a fine sense of timing. Did you take note of his dancing abilities?”

  “I can’t say I did,” she lied.

  “His late brother was quite clumsy. Of course, the drinking didn’t help his allemande much. Always falling over his feet.”

  “What exactly happened to the previous Earl of Abingdon?”

  “Didn’t you hear?”

  Harriet shook her head.

  “A carriage accident. Rumor has it he was out on a dark night, after drinking and gambling for hours, and the horses startled and crashed the carriage into a tree. He had a girl with him, who also died. She was an actress, if you know what I mean.”

  Harriet bristled. “An actress?”

  “Loose morals, that sort of type. I can’t remember her name.” She bit off the twine with her teeth and expertly tied the knot. “Luckily they won’t have any nonsense from the new earl. He takes after his late mum, from what I hear.”

  She couldn’t help herself. “In what way?”

  “He’s a sober, kind man. And he’s quite bright. Studied to be a physician at Oxford, you see.”

  The circumstances of Lord Abingdon’s brother’s death explained his prejudice against actresses. The man’s life was complicated and Harriet was relieved not to have to think about him further.

  His family’s money would save the duchess from ruin, and everyone would benefit from the arrangement. Harriet was no part of the equation, and happier for it. If anything, Mrs. MacDonald’s news lifted her spirits a little.

  She signed for the purchases and stepped outside as the maid emerged from the milliner’s. The skies had darkened and a storm was coming in from the west, so they hurried back and made it to the duchess’s red brick townhouse on Brook Street before any deluge.

  When Harriet first arrived in London by coach with her new family, she’d almost swooned at the sight of their London residence. That this would be her home, after years of traveling from place to place, seemed like a fairy tale come true. Three narrow doors on the first floor opened onto delicate, wrought iron Juliet balconies, and the curved tops of the window frames echoed the shape of the fanlight over the black front door. In spring, heavy purple blooms graced the wisteria that wound around the balconies.

  Even now, looking at it from across the street as they waited for a carriage to pass, she could hardly believe she had her own room within its walls.

  “Miss Farley.”


  She spun around, although she’d recognized the crackly voice before she saw his face. “Adam!”

  The short, stooped man standing before her looked a little older than she remembered, but his face, with its sharp nose and crinkly green eyes, was as craggy as ever. She even recognized his wrinkled brown coat, which from the looks of it had been torn and mended several times over.

  “Miss Farley, my dear Harriet, I’m so glad I’ve found you.”

  “Adam, I’m amazed.” Without thinking, Harriet embraced him, breathing in the familiar scent of pipe tobacco. She peered up at the windows of the townhouse, half expecting to see the duchess glaring down at her, then handed her packages to the maid and instructed her to go inside, that she’d follow shortly.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you here, miss,” said Adam. “I’ve been waiting for a while. I figured I’d catch you coming or going at some point in the day.”

  Part of her was relieved Adam hadn’t knocked at the front door and asked for her, and another part was ashamed at her relief. “How did you find me?”

  “Your father kept some of your letters in a trunk, stored at my cottage in Chipping Norton. I noted your address.”

  Harriet was touched. She had heard nothing back from her father over the past six years, yet he’d saved her correspondence. She wasn’t sure where to begin. “How are you, Adam? How are father and Freddie? Is everything all right?”

  His eyes grew solemn. “I’m afraid not, miss. Perhaps we can talk.”

  Harriet was unsure where they could speak privately, and his state of dishabille would attract attention. She took Adam’s arm and they headed east, out of Mayfair. The duchess would be unhappy with her, but she had to hear his news.

  They hadn’t made it far when a mighty clap of thunder broke through the heavy air and rain poured down. Harriet’s parasol quickly became saturated.

  “I know a place we can go, if you don’t mind, miss.”

  She nodded. There was no point worrying about propriety now. Adam, who still had a sprightly step despite his years, led her down Poland Street to a small pub. She hurried to a small table in the back as he ordered a pint of ale and a cup of tea.

  “This isn’t the sort of place you’re used to, I’m afraid,” said Adam as he put the drinks on the table.

  To say the least. The only other women inside were of a dubious sort, their skirts more brightly colored than proper. Harriet didn’t have much of a choice, but she could be certain she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew here. And it was only until the rain stopped.

  “It’s fine. You haven’t changed a bit. You’re exactly as I remembered you.”

  He gave a toothy grin. “I just turned sixty. As a young man of thirty, I was already playing grandfathers and aging servants. Your father used to say I was born a character actor.”

  Her heart stopped. “What do you mean, he ‘used to say’? Is father all right?”

  “I haven’t seen him in some time, but yes, he’s alive.”

  “Is it Freddie? What’s happened?”

  “It’s not your brother, neither. Although Freddie’s up and disappeared again, but I suppose I understand. With everything going on, I had to leave myself.”

  “Adam.” Her voice crackled with impatience. “What’s happened?”

  “Your dad, he’s in a bit of trouble. He’s contracted to put on a production of As You Like It starring Mrs. Jordana Ivey in Birmingham.”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “But that’s wonderful news. An actress of such stature. The company must be doing well.”

  “It was, until four or five months ago. Until your dad began drinking too much.”

  Several times in Harriet’s youth, Freddie, who was five years older, had alluded to their father’s baser proclivities, but she’d never seen him roaring drunk.

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

  “Your father and Freddie had a row and your dad doesn’t seem to care anymore. The company is in shambles, folks scattered around. He owes actors money. And he’ll owe a great sum if he doesn’t get a show mounted in Birmingham.”

  “Oh Adam. I’m so sorry. It doesn’t sound like him. He was always so careful and businesslike.”

  “I’ve only seen him like this once before.” Adam took a sip of ale and stared out at the rain. “After you were born and your mother passed away. But he pulled himself together and kept himself in check. Until now. Perhaps back then having two young children to take care of drew him out of his downward spiral.”

  His downward spiral. She’d been too young to experience it firsthand, although she’d seen the strain on his face in later years when she’d complained of hunger or thirst. Although it had been her father’s decision to pawn her off to the duke and duchess, Harriet had been unable to shake the feeling she should have insisted on remaining with her family.

  By then she’d been invited in to play with Marianne, lured by her fancy dresses and expensive dolls. Yet no one had informed her of the consequences, that it was in effect a sort of banishment. A terrible surge of panic had swept through her when she’d realized the relocation was permanent, that she was never to see or hear from any of the troupe again. Until now.

  “If I’d stayed with Father, I might have been able to help.”

  “You were only a young girl, you had no control of what happened among the adults, nor could you know the reasons why they did what they did.”

  Adam was right. Her father had made it clear she was no longer wanted by never answering her letters. He’d had nothing more to do with his daughter. Meanwhile, the troupe had continued without her, rehearsing and fighting and laughing and performing. And in return, she’d been given a proper education and opportunities for advancement. With Mr. Hopplehill.

  Regardless, that was in the past.

  She sat back in her chair and frowned. “Adam, perhaps this is the end of the company. It’s been almost twenty years now, right? Maybe it’s time to move on.”

  “Oh, most have already. The only folks left from the old days are Mrs. Kembler and myself. We’ve got a good man named Toby for the comic roles and young kid called Martin, but not for long, most likely. They’ll be snapped up by another company quick.”

  “Why don’t you move on as well? If father is going to drink himself into oblivion, I doubt there’s much we can do about it. I know it’s difficult, but you have to face the facts that the Farley Players may have played their last. I haven’t seen my father in years. He may have kept my letters, but he never replied to them. I doubt I’d even recognize the man if I saw him in the street.”

  “It’s a more serious matter.” He shifted uneasily in his chair.

  “How do you mean?”

  “If the production doesn’t go on as planned, and your father breaks his contract with the Theatre Royal in Birmingham, it’ll be the end of him. The Theatre Royal is run by a fellow named Mr. Wilkinson. He’s not one for nonsense and can be harsh when crossed.”

  “The end of him? In what way?”

  “Mr. Wilkinson’s told your dad if he doesn’t put on the production as promised within the week, he’ll toss him into debtor’s prison.”

  Harriet sat back, stunned. She’d heard of these places, where men rotted in their own filth until someone paid their way out. The image of her high-spirited father locked in a dank, rodent-infested cell, bound with irons, made her stomach turn over.

  “He won’t last long there, he’s fragile these days,” Adam continued. “He’s not the man you remember. All I’m asking is you come to Birmingham, try to talk some sense into him. He might listen to you.”

  The last time she’d seen her father, he’d dropped her off at the grand front entrance of the Duke of Dorset’s estate. Harriet had been excited, not comprehending the finality of the moment. She’d given him a peck on the cheek and scampered into the house,
where Marianne waited. She’d never even said goodbye.

  And he hadn’t warned her what was in store, that the duke and duchess would refuse to answer her questions about when she’d be going home, and she’d never hear from him again.

  “I’m sorry, Adam. I can’t be of any help to you.” She covered his hand. “I haven’t any way to get to Birmingham, and my guardian would never allow me to leave London unaccompanied.”

  He gave her a beseeching look. “I’ve thought about that. I’ll be your chaperone. I have my cart and horse stabled here in the city, so we’ll make good time. We’ll stop first at my cottage in Chipping Norton and collect Mrs. Kembler and the rest, and then wind our way up north. Here’s what I figure: If we all show up together in Birmingham, your dad will be so surprised it will shake off his melancholy.”

  His plan was so silly and out of the question, she almost laughed. “No, Adam. I can’t. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Oh, right.” He reddened and tugged self-consciously at the collar of his coat.

  She hated to see him so disappointed and embarrassed. “I live in a different world now,” she said softly. “If I had the money, I’d give it to you. But I don’t. For the moment, my new family must take precedence over my old. It’s too late for me to come to his rescue now.”

  “Of course, Harriet. Of course.” The creases in Adam’s forehead and around his eyes seemed deeper than ever.

  The church clock struck the hour and she leaped up. “I’m so sorry, but I must go. They’ll be wondering where I am.”