The Earl Most Likely

by Jane Goodger

  When they walked back into the Great Room, Harriet blinked against the light. Augustus had insisted that every chandelier, every candelabra, be lit. A thin cloud of smoke from the candles floated just below the ceiling, only adding to the magical effect of the candle-lit room. Dozens of girls, fans flapping even though it was not overly warm in the room, chattered like so many magpies, while small groups of matrons gossiped as they assessed each other’s chances of landing an earl. It was, by all appearances, precisely what Augustus had wanted when he’d approached her all those weeks ago with his plan—a room full of eligible debutantes and their hopeful mamas.

  Except, if Harriet had been correct, they were all here for nothing. Could she be right? Could Augustus truly have been on the verge of offering for her? She fought to stop the excitement, the painful hope that bloomed in her heart. This night would be one she would remember forever, she thought, then found herself covering her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle her laughter. A young lady to her right gave her an odd look, and Harriet moved away. Despite her giddiness, she still found herself fighting the urge to disappear into a corner behind a potted plant.

  As she scanned the crowd, Clara spied her and waved her over in an almost frantic way. Harriet made her way to her sister, feeling her anxiety grow the closer she got. When she reached her sister’s side, Clara grabbed both her hands and whispered, “Mother is deep into her cups.”

  “I know. She asked if I thought she was a great dobeck.” Harriet winced and Clara groaned.

  “I hope you informed her that she is. Oh, goodness, this is going to be a disaster. It’s worse. Father is drinking too. I think the thought of being in the same room with all these lords and ladies was too much for them.”

  Harriet’s mouth dropped open. “Father’s drinking?”

  “I can claim to have a headache. Or some fatal disease.” Harriet knew her sister was only half-joking. Indeed, Harriet wished she would fall ill so they could avoid a calamity—that was how desperate the situation was becoming.

  “There is Mother. Oh, Lord, she’s actually talking to someone. And pointing toward you.” The situation had, Harriet realized, taken a decided turn for the worse. “I think we should make our way over to her and…”

  At that moment, the orchestra began to play a Strauss waltz, and there was a collective gasp as the young ladies realized the earl would soon be in the room to make his first choice in a dance partner. To a girl, each had all left her first dance open on the chance the earl would select her. A great shuffling took place as mamas thrust their daughters to the front to better attract the earl. It was no wonder there were so many hopeful looks. Though the night was young, more than one young lady had claimed to have nearly swooned at the sight of the handsome earl. Harriet would have been bothered by it all if not for the secret she held close to her heart.

  Augustus appeared at the back of the room, furthest from where the orchestra played, and the debutantes lifted their chins while their mothers held their breath. Nothing as exciting as this had happened in years. He was so handsome, Harriet found that she was holding her breath too.

  Without hesitation, Augustus walked across the ballroom floor. Toward her. She pulled in her lips in a valiant attempt not to smile too broadly, to continue to act like a lady, but it was no use. By the time he stood before her, she was smiling broadly.

  “Miss Anderson,” he said in his lovely baritone. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

  Dipping a deep curtsy, she said, “I would be honored, Lord Berkley.” She held up her gloved hand and he took it, but not before she heard someone whisper, “Who is she? She’s a nobody as far as I know.”

  Harriet ignored the woman. She could have ignored a hundred women at that moment, for her love was leading her out onto the floor for the first dance, telling all the world that he had chosen her above every other girl at the ball.

  “Is my grandmother shooting daggers at me?” he asked, as if he didn’t have a care whether the dowager was pointing a gun at him. “She’s near the coat of arms.”

  Harriet surreptitiously looked around until she saw the old dame staring at them, indeed with daggers. “Oh, goodness, she does look displeased. Are you certain you want to anger her?”

  Augustus only laughed. “She will have to get used to the idea of seeing us dancing together,” he said. “She’ll come ’round.” His eyes dipped down to her lips and for a long burning moment, she thought he would be bold enough to kiss her, right there on the ballroom floor.

  Harriet could not remember a happier moment in her life. She was not the wallflower, but the woman Augustus had chosen from among all these others, these high born ladies with their perfect pedigrees and hair that didn’t burst to life when it rained. At that moment, despite all her misgivings about how nearly everyone would scorn such a union, if he asked her to marry him, she would agree without hesitation. All would work out. Eventually, the ton would accept her, and her family and the villagers would get used to seeing one of their own as mistress of Costille House. Countess Harriet. She nearly laughed aloud at the thought of possessing such a lofty title and such a perfect husband.

  And then she heard her mother.

  “’e must be cakey not to have chosen our Clara.” A lady behind her said something softly and her mother whirled about, clearly outraged. “’ow dare you! You think you’re all so fitty. You’re no better’n me.”

  Clara stood next to their mother, clearly pleading in soft tones for Hedra to calm down. As Harriet spun away from her family, she saw their father, puffed up with importance, step into the fray to defend his wife. His gestures and posture didn’t bode well. “Oh, no,” she said, craning her neck to watch what was happening.

  “What is it, love?”

  “My parents. They’re about to—”

  Her sentence was interrupted by the resounding smack of a female hand hitting her father’s face. Dead silence filled the room as even the orchestra realized there was something more exciting happening than dancing.

  In that moment, Augustus dropped his hands, was clearly intent on attempting to calm the situation. Harriet knew from experience it was impossible, and she stayed him with a hand to his chest. Even in that moment, that terrible moment, she was aware of his strength, his beauty.

  Her mother looked around, her face beet red, whether from drink or humiliation, Harriet did not know. “We two ’as just as much right to be here as the rest of you. We were invited by ’is…his…lordship himself.”

  “Mother.” Clara attempted to gently take Hedra’s arm but she would have none of it.

  “I’m not the vellan ’ere. This ager lady insulted me, she did. My ’usband was protecting me, ’e was. All is allycompooster now, though.” She smiled broadly, drunkenly. “Start the music. Everyone should be dancing, ar ’em?” She stepped onto the dancing area, swirling her arms in an attempt to get the dancers going again. Then, noting everyone was staring at her without moving, she muttered, “Bunch of agerevers, thinkin’ they’re better n’ my own with all the fancy.”

  “What in God’s name is she saying? Who let her in here?” one man said, and Harriet knew in that moment whatever it was Augustus had been about to ask her not ten minutes before would never be repeated. It could not have been made more clear how different she was from every other person in this room. They all stared, each one of them, as if her mother were a dirty dog let into their midst.

  “She’s a local,” a woman responded, in the same tone one might say, “She’s a prostitute.”

  Augustus’s grandmother marched over to the orchestra and commanded that they begin playing. Within moments, those who were on the floor began dancing again, though the tension in the room was palpable.

  “I must see to my grandmother,” Augustus said. “Why don’t you see to your parents?” He forced a smile, and something flickered in his eyes—an awareness, regret, embarrassmen
t. To Harriet, who felt her world crumbling around her, it was impossible to read what that brief flicker meant, but she was fairly certain it was good-bye.

  Harriet looked around at those who were still staring at her parents, and hated them with a fierceness she hadn’t felt possible. She hated that they stared, that they judged and yes, that she was not and never would be one of them. Walking directly to her mother, she put her arm around her protectively. At that moment, none of the animosity between them mattered. Later, she could dwell on how her mother had managed to ruin her life, but for now, she simply wanted to get out of Costille House and away from disapproving eyes. Perhaps she should thank her mother for making it so clear why there could never be a match between her and Augustus. They had been fooling themselves, safe in the private world they had built, a world where no one was harsh or cruel or judging. The fact was, the world was harsh and cruel and judging. Somehow, Harriet had forgotten that, had allowed herself to dream things she had no right to dream.

  While Clara led her now-subdued parents out of Costille House and to their carriage, Harriet sought out Augustus, finding him still with his grandmother, who had calmed down considerably. When Harriet approached, the older woman gave her a decidedly cold glare, but Harriet ignored that look and pretended all was well.

  “Thank you so much for inviting us, my lord, my lady, but it appears my mother is under the weather and I fear we must depart early.”

  “Let them go if you must. But please stay, Miss Anderson,” Augustus said.

  Harriet smiled even though she felt like weeping. “You and I both know that it is better that I leave. Good-bye, Lord Berkley. This has been an edifying experience.”

  “At least the daughter has sense,” Lady Porter muttered.

  Harriet turned to walk away, trying with all her strength not to cry until she reached the Anderson carriage, that ridiculous conveyance her mother took so much pride in.

  “Wait, Miss Anderson. Let me walk you out.”

  “Augustus,” Lady Porter called, clearly dismayed that Augustus would take the time to accompany her.

  Harriet walked quickly, eyes straight ahead, swallowing thickly.

  “What did you mean when you said this experience has been edifying?”

  Stopping, she turned and forced herself to look into his eyes. “Gus, it’s impossible. We agreed to say good-bye. No tears. No regrets. Remember?”

  “No. Please, Harriet.”

  She shook her head, her eyes burning, and her heart hurt, a physical pain that she dimly realized meant it was breaking. “No emotional scene.” Somehow she smiled. “Good-bye.” She walked away then, her feet leaden, her head screaming: Don’t let me go.

  When a footman handed her up to their carriage, Harriet was unsurprised to see her mother and father pressed against one corner, sleeping. What she was surprised to see was Clara, smiling broadly, almost giddy.

  “Do you realize what this means?” she asked, clutching Harriet’s arm. “It’s over. No one will ever receive us.” She let out a long, happy breath. “I’m finally free.”

  Chapter 12

  Augustus let her walk away, knowing Harriet was upset. He had absolutely no intention of letting her go, but he had a feeling if he pleaded with her this evening, she would simply dig her heels in. He loved her, surely she must know that. Surely she must know he’d been within a second of asking her to marry him. Nothing that had happened tonight had changed his mind, and he pushed away the sense of unease he felt that her good-bye meant just that.

  When he returned to the Great Hall, his grandmother was there, obviously waiting for his return, and he braced himself for a lecture.

  “What were you thinking, Augustus, to invite locals?”

  “I had no choice,” he said, his voice clipped. “Miss Anderson would not have been able to attend the ball unless her parents were also issued an invitation. And it was imperative that Miss Anderson attend.”

  “Whatever for? Were they meant to provide the entertainment?” she asked, clearly baffled.

  “No,” Augustus said with deadly calm, “they were not. I intended to ask Miss Anderson to marry me this evening. Before everything went to hell.” He brushed his hair back, frustration running through his body.

  Lady Porter stepped back, horrified by this revelation. “Augustus, really. Tell me you are jesting. There is a reason the classes are separated, as was clearly illustrated this night. I cannot believe you would consider such a match in any way appropriate, especially now. Her family is…” She struggled for a moment to come up with the correct word. “…intolerable. To have you connected with such a family… It’s not as though they are even landed gentry. They are clearly as common as one can get. Your children will come from a lady, not some common—”

  “Grandmamma, do not say it.” The old lady raised a single eyebrow but otherwise did not react to his implied threat. Then he said more gently, “Harriet may come from a common family, but she is hardly a common woman. You will have to trust me on this, Grandmamma. Tonight’s events will do nothing to deter me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Augustus. You are the Earl of Berkley. Marrying such a girl is out of the question, as well you know. It is imperative that this time, you marry a girl of high birth. You have children to consider, you know. Such a marriage would ruin their chances and would be the height of selfishness. I thought you understood this.”

  “Times are changing, Grandmamma,” he said, words he could tell upset the old girl. “Tarrington married that American girl not two years ago.”

  “Tarrington is a fool—you are not. And Tarrington’s estates were in a shambles. Yours are not. And, if you will recall, his marriage was ridiculed, his wife considered highly inappropriate, and the two have not been seen in London since their circus of a wedding. Is that what you want to do to me? In my waning years, am I to hide in Bristol until I wither away, ashamed to show my face to my friends?”

  “I love her. She makes me laugh.”

  With this last, his grandmother raised her head and gave him a searching look. “I do want you to be happy and if I thought for one instant that this girl would ultimately bring you happiness, I would not hesitate to accept her. You must understand, Augustus, I have lived a very long time and seen people follow their hearts to tragic results. When this glow of love fades, and it will, you will be left with a wife you wish you did not have and children whose futures have been compromised. And yes, I know it is not the same world I grew up in, but our world has not changed as much as you might think.” His grandmother shook her head as if resigned. “I do not want to see you suffer again, Augustus. If you believe this girl could make you happy… Oh, goodness, I cannot even say the words aloud. Your grandfather would roll in his grave if he knew you were contemplating such a thing. Are you very certain of her affections? I would hate to have you marry someone who is only interested in your title.”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I love her. I never thought I would say those words about anyone. As I said, she makes me laugh.”

  “Does she? Then by all means, marry the girl,” she said, with no small amount of sarcasm. “Augustus, please think about this. You do not have to marry her. Perhaps now you can convince her to be your mistress. Men do it all the time. I daresay more men love their mistresses than love their wives.”

  Augustus looked down sheepishly. “I asked her and she refused. I sincerely doubt she would change her mind.”

  His grandmother raised one eyebrow. “I’ll ask you one question, Augustus. Would you have ever considered asking any other girl in that ball room to be your mistress?”

  Augustus was taken aback by the question. “Of course not. These girls are…” He let his voice trail off and his grandmother gave him an annoyingly knowing look.

  “Precisely, my dear. All these other girls come from good families. Surely one of them could mak
e you laugh.” His grandmother looked through the door at the crowd, at the young women who continued to titter and pretend not to stare.

  “None of them is Harriet.”

  Chapter 13

  The morning after the ball, Harriet opened her eyes slowly. They felt gritty and swollen, reminding her instantly what had happened the night before. Next to her, Clara slept on, oblivious to her sister’s misery, for Harriet had let the tears come only after Clara had fallen asleep. Harriet smiled fondly at her sister. When they were younger, before her parents had purchased this grand house, the sisters had shared a room and a tiny bed. It was thrilling to have their own rooms and their own beds when they’d first moved into their large home, but Harriet would sometimes miss their late-night talks, the feeling of someone warm sleeping next to her. Perhaps she was looking back on their childhood with a lens distorted by time, but it seemed their little family had been far happier before the tin mine their father bought had started producing.

  Clara had fallen asleep and Harriet had let her stay. Now, though, she wished she were alone because she could feel hot tears threatening once again. It was too late to hide her misery when Clara opened her eyes, and Harriet was too foggy-brained to come up with an explanation for her swollen, tear-filled eyes, so she told her sister the truth.