Being Lady Harriet's Hero: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 4)

by Arietta Richmond

  Meanwhile, repairmen came and went, new items of furniture were delivered, old ones were repaired, rooms were painted, or papered with new, brighter and more appealing colours, drapes were replaced and the house was generally being brought back to the state it deserved to be maintained in.

  The tenant farmer’s cottages were in better condition than they had been for many years, and the farmers themselves had come from grudging politeness to cheerful respect and liking for their new Lord. Were it not for Baron Setford’s mission, he could almost be happy. Almost… for a traitorous voice in his mind whispered that, without the mission, he would have no excuse to spend so much time in Lady Harriet’s company.

  ~~~~~

  A month passed, and, with only a few days’ work remaining on the assessment of valuables, the neat ledgers of Mr Featherstonehaugh’s findings, so ably written in Lady Harriet and Miss Carpenter’s hands, showed totals so large that it made Lord Geoffrey’s head spin. Gifts from Prinny might rarely come with cash attached, but this one had certainly come with more wealth included than anyone might ever have imagined.

  He was now so wealthy that it might even bring him close to the wealth enjoyed by Raphael, or by Hunter, now that the mismanagement of his estates in his father’s time had been corrected. It gave him great satisfaction – satisfaction that he really should not indulge in – to realise that he was now, in no way whatsoever, dependent upon his miserable brother. Alfred would be livid. He would have no leverage left, to use to try to make Lord Geoffrey behave ‘as my heir should’.

  Hopefully, Raphael would be at Charlton’s wedding – Geoffrey couldn’t imagine him missing it, but who knew, with the sea, when ships would come in.

  If Raphael was there, then it should be possible to get him to stay at Witherwood Chase a few days, to see the remarkable collection, and put in place a plan for its sale to the right buyers. There were, actually, a few pieces that Lord Geoffrey might keep – amongst the ugly paintings there were a small number of attractive ones – ones that Lady Harriet had expressed admiration for. Perhaps he would gift them to her.

  With the wedding only a few days away, the pace of final organisation at Pendholm Hall was intense. When Charlton had decided to be married at Pendholm Hall, rather than in the crush of London as the Season began, Lord Geoffrey had been relieved.

  Not only would he be able to continue his mission with less interruption, but he would not have to face the fluttering sea of hopeful young ladies seeking a wealthy war hero, who was heir to a Marquessate, to marry. Nor, whispered that part of his mind that he chose not to listen to, would Lady Harriet be surrounded by the sea of young fops who sought an heiress to marry.

  The approaching wedding had, perforce, caused work to stop on the painting assessment, to a large extent. The last few rooms worth, carted down from the attics, would have to wait a week or so.

  Lady Harriet and Miss Carpenter were required at the Hall to assist with the preparations, so Lord Geoffrey had asked Mr Featherstonehaugh to review his work so far and confirm his valuations as listed in the ledgers, adding some notes on which pieces he felt might sell fastest, and which pieces he believed he knew of specific potential buyers for.

  With typical generosity, Lady Sylvia, upon hearing that Mr Featherstonehaugh would still be in residence, had invited him to the wedding as well.

  After a hurried consultation with Peterson, Lord Geoffrey had solved the issue of how to limit the activities of their two suspect conspirators, whilst they were at the wedding, by volunteering the men to Lady Sylvia as extra help, to assist with the influx of horses, carriages and guests which would descend upon Pendholm Hall. Putting aside his annoyance with the stubbornness of his house, in not giving up its secrets, Lord Geoffrey chose, instead, to spend some time in sword work.

  The weapons from the attic were fast becoming old friends, to the extent that the two swords he liked best now graced the wall of his study, in easy reach whenever he felt the need to work off his frustration.

  As Lord Geoffrey dressed for the wedding, standing obediently still for Hurst to force his cravat into a complex style with military precision, he wondered what it would feel like, to want a woman so much, that you chose to marry her, and commit for life. He had seen, in both Hunter and Charlton’s faces, the certainty that they had made the right choice, that happiness would be the outcome. Yet still, when he thought of the concept, what came to his mind was the image of his brother, bickering with his wife, both of them always miserable, trapped with each other forever. He shuddered.

  Maybe happiness was possible – but for him? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps his family was cursed. His parent’s marriage had been no better than his brother’s.

  ~~~~~

  The wedding ceremony was done, and the day was drawing to a close.

  Lady Sylvia and Lady Farnsworth had settled onto two chairs in the corner of the ballroom at Pendholm Hall, for a well-deserved rest. As they sat, watching the younger people dance, they discussed the events of the day.

  The wedding had been wonderful, the celebration a success, and now Charlton and Odette were waltzing together, so obviously in love that it quite lit up the room. But wait, there, beyond them – Harriet was waltzing with Lord Geoffrey – the little minx, so she had finally persuaded him to at least look at her as a young woman. All that persistence with trudging through dusty rooms and taking notes about ugly old paintings must have achieved something for her. Lady Sylvia had to admire her daughter’s sheer willpower. She was definitely beginning to think that Harriet’s fascination with Lord Geoffrey had gone beyond mere infatuation, for surely, after a year, a simple infatuation would have faded.

  Lady Sylvia still wasn’t sure that she approved – after all, he was considerably older than Harriet, and a rather serious man – still, who knew what might come of it? He had proven himself, over this last few months, to be a man of integrity, a man who cared for his tenants, and stuck to his word. Perhaps that serious, caring nature was just what was needed as a foil to Harriet’s bright volatility.

  Turning further, she saw Mr Raphael Morton, the only one of the Hounds that she had not met before today. He had arrived just in time for the wedding, apparently having come almost straight from his ship, and been greeted with great joy by his fellow Hounds. She thought he looked pensive, sad, as if something troubled him, but his eyes followed Charlton and Odette wistfully. She wondered what that was about.

  Lady Sylvia had liked him immediately, no matter his lack of title and the fact that he was a merchant. Any man who was a close friend of her son was welcome in her home. He was, she believed, planning to stay with Lord Geoffrey for the next few days – something to do with arranging the sale of all of those ugly paintings that Harriet had been helping to catalogue.

  Her eyes found Harriet and Lord Geoffrey again, as they swirled past her on the dance floor. Harriet gazed into his eyes with that adoration which had, from the day that she had first met him, as the hero of the hour, never faded. And, most interestingly, Lord Geoffrey appeared to be gazing back into Harriet’s eyes with an expression of wonder, as if he had only just discovered something new about her.

  Lady Sylvia smiled to herself, well pleased with the day, all over again.

  ~~~~~

  Lady Harriet had planned her campaign carefully. She had tracked, as subtly as she could, Lord Geoffrey’s movements in the room, and made quite certain that she was close to him, when the orchestra struck up a waltz. As he looked around, apparently considering escaping the room, she had simply stepped in front of him, smiling, and waited. He had gulped, glanced around, and apparently, having now known her for some time, concluded that she had, yet again, trapped him neatly. He had offered her his hand, raised an enquiring eyebrow, and, at her nod of acceptance, swept her on to the floor.

  She looked stunning. Her gown of a vibrant rich green (a colour officially unsuited to so young a woman, according to the disapproving old biddies of the ton) made her eyes shine, and made their gree
n even brighter. Her rich dark gold hair was swept up into a pile of artful curls, which tumbled to the side, drawing the eye to her shoulders and the creamy expanse of her décolletage. His eyes were most happy to be led there.

  As he took her into his arms, her unique scent surrounded him, a scent which he found arousing, yet the scent of safety, of home, of childhood delight. After the long day, and a glass or two of celebratory wine, she was intoxicating to his tired senses. He wanted to kiss her. He had known, for so long now, that should he take her into his arms, he would want to do just that. He forced himself to remain a gentleman, guiding her through the flow of dancers, letting the swirling steps of the waltz carry them smoothly around the room. She was light on her feet and sure, seeming made to fit against him, somehow perfectly matched, even though he was large and tall, and she was quite petite of height, and slim.

  She was gazing into his eyes, her face full of that adoration that he found so alarming, however flattering it might be to be regarded as a hero. He found himself gazing back, and the room faded away around them, until it seemed it was only them, and the music. Her eyes, seen close up like this, were a mixture of shades of green, like sunlight through leaves in spring, and they shone with her pleasure in the moment. He was lost in their depths. How had he ever thought her a child? Once, that might have been the case, but no more. The woman he held in his arms was well shaped and grown, and well aware of her own desires.

  In that moment, even the fact that what she desired was him, suddenly seemed less frightening. But, cold reason insinuated itself into the moment, she was still Charlton’s little sister! He should not be looking at her like this, with eyes that heated with desire, that traced her delectable lips and wished to kiss them. He needed to escape, or he would, of a certainty, do something he would forever regret. As soon as the waltz ended he would deliver her back to that companion of hers, and find Raphael.

  As if the thought had magically caused her to appear, he saw Miss Carpenter. But she wasn’t standing patiently on the sidelines, as was usually expected of a companion and chaperone. She was swirling past them on the floor, in the arms of none other than Mr Featherstonehaugh. Well, if that was the lay of the land, things might soon be most interesting!

  ~~~~~

  Harriet had lost all sense of time and place. The feeling of being in Lord Geoffrey’s arms was better, oh so much better, than anything she had imagined. She gazed into his dark storm grey eyes and simply soaked up the moment. She knew well that her heart was quite likely on her face, her feelings spelled out for anyone to see, and she didn’t care one whit. So long as he saw and did not instantly abandon her, she could cope.

  His eyes connected with hers, and the warmth, and… was that desire?… that she saw in them made her heart race and her breathing come short. She had no idea how long the music played, only a wish for it to never end.

  But, of course, it did.

  He had appeared as caught up in the moment as she, but as the music stopped, he swirled her to the side, and quickly delivered her to Miss Carpenter’s company, before bowing elegantly.

  “Thank you, Lady Harriet. If you will excuse me, I must have a word with Mr Morton.”

  He turned, leaving her feeling somewhat lost and bereft, and walked away from her rapidly, as if escaping some terrible fate. Her mouth fell open in shock a moment, before she forced her best bright smile back onto her face. How could he? How mortifying! She had thought, for a little there that he… but no, obviously not.

  She was still determined. There was hope. She would not give up. There was no-one else for her. She would convince him yet.

  Three months! He had been searching through the entirety of the damn house for three whole months now! It had delivered him enormous riches in artworks, antique furniture, tapestries and trinkets. It had provided a magnificent collection of weapons. It had delivered him a new perspective on the world, and a new sense of self-worth, as he restored farmers’ lives, as well as their cottages. It had delivered him the delicious torture of seeing Lady Harriet nearly every day. But the one thing it had not delivered him was the papers that Baron Setford required him to find.

  And now he was at wits end. He could not imagine where else to look, yet he had not found the secret passageways or any other hidden spaces. And today, Mr Featherstonehaugh had finished the last of his assessment. In a few scant minutes, he, Peterson and the Ladies would appear in this very room to report the final discoveries.

  What was he to do once that was done?

  Raphael had been amazed at the paintings and other objects, and had readily agreed to arrange sale of the items. The first shipment was packed, and would be collected tomorrow, or the following day, by a specialist carrier that Raphael had engaged to transport it to his London warehouse.

  Raphael had raised an eyebrow at Lady Harriet’s involvement in the search and assessment of the contents of the house, but Lord Geoffrey had studiously ignored the implied question. Raphael let him be, but went away looking very thoughtful. So everything was in order. Everything except the reason that he was here in the first place, the reason that he had been given the place. The place that he had now made his home. What was he to do?

  Barnstable chose that moment to knock, and ushered Mr Featherstonehaugh and the Ladies into the room, closely followed by a maid with the tea tray. Barnstable was becoming remarkably attuned to his habits, and he nodded his gratitude to the man as he quietly left the room.

  “Lord Geoffrey. Today has been a quite marvellous conclusion to this work.” The man’s voice vibrated with excitement, despite his surprisingly bedraggled appearance. Obviously, he had managed to discover one of the last remaining caches of dust and mouse droppings in the house!

  “We discovered another twenty paintings, in a tiny store room near the entry to the servant’s stairs, just down the hallway here. And they are magnificent. I believe at least two to be by renowned masters, pieces thought lost to the world, now recovered! They alone may be worth nearly as much as all of the others together.”

  If Lord Geoffrey had been stunned by the wealth found so far, this statement tipped him into a state of total incomprehension of the numbers involved.

  Then, quite spoiling the effect of his pronouncement, Mr Featherstonehaugh sneezed – violently and repeatedly. Miss Carpenter rushed to his side, concern writ large on her face. She proffered a dainty handkerchief, which he gratefully took.

  “I must apologize – the dust you see – in my excitement I managed to pull the entire dust sheet down on me, from the largest canvas. I fear my attire is not at its best, nor are my nasal passages. If you will excuse me, I will go and change.” He took himself from the room, Miss Carpenter fussing at his side.

  Lord Geoffrey found himself alone with Lady Harriet, and a short but difficult silence ensued. Dragging her eyes from his, she spun away, looking for whatever distraction was available. There, right in front of her, across the room, was a large faded tapestry.

  Why had she never noticed it before? They had certainly not yet listed it on their inventory. Stepping forward, she examined it closely. It was certainly old, but appeared to be of exquisite workmanship. The threads were unfrayed, the edges mostly firm.

  It seemed, to her untrained eye, to be simply in need of a careful cleaning. There was so much dirt on it that, in parts, the picture was hard to make out. Stepping forward again she lifted one side of it, studying the only spot that she could see where the edge did seem a little frayed – as if that spot had been touched more than any other part of it.

  As she stepped, her foot caught on the edge of the rug, and she stumbled against the wall, one hand tugging on the tapestry, and the other slamming into the whorl of carving on the top of the wainscoting beside it.

  Except that the wall seemed to have suddenly become insubstantial, for she kept tumbling forward. Lady Harriet gasped and righted herself, just as Lord Geoffrey reached her and took firm grip on her shoulders to stop her fall.

  Even in he
r moment of shock, she felt the warmth of his touch and a little burst of joy ran through her. He cared enough to catch her!

  At the same second, they both realised what had happened, what they saw before them. For the wall had opened. The tug on the tapestry had caused it to slide to one side, and the hit on the whorl of carving had somehow opened a door – a door which swung inwards to a narrow passage. Their eyes met, and his lit with such joy that she knew there was something important about the opening wall, some secret.

  But, when he whooped, and swept her into his arms to spin her around in an exuberant display of delight, she quite forgot about anything else but his touch, at least until he put her down again.

  “Uhh, I apologize, that was uncalled for, but… I have been looking for something like this – I was so sure that the house had secrets yet to show us, and I was right! And you, most cleverly, have found it!”

  He pulled her to him again for a moment, and kissed her full on the lips. She melted against him, heat flooding through her body.

  If this was how he reacted to secret doorways, she would endeavour to discover one every day! Then he released her and stepped back, seeming suddenly embarrassed by his actions.

  Lord Geoffrey looked into her flushed face, and wanted to kiss her again. He did not – what he had already done was unforgiveable, no matter how much he wanted to repeat it. She was not for him. Quickly, he turned to the matter in hand – the door in the wall. Grabbing a small decorative stone urn off a side table, he used it to ensure that the hidden door could not close, before stepping inside the space.

  “Perhaps a lantern… or at least a candle… would be useful? Lady Harriet’s voice penetrated his excited contemplation of what he saw. She was correct. He turned, to find her already offering him a lit taper. Resourceful as always.

  The light showed that the space within the walls was not large. It appeared to be a small room, not a passage at all. He felt a moment of crushing disappointment – he had been sure it would be more than this! Perhaps it was. He set to examining it minutely. One end of the space appeared to be a cabinet built into the wall – that was the side towards the windowed wall – which made sense, for there was nowhere in that direction for a passage to fit.