‘Oh, but we can’t possibly! I mean...’ she dropped on to the nearest chair ‘...how?’
‘Well, we can start by talking to the servants about it.’
‘The servants?’ Kitty clapped her hand to her breast in shock. ‘But, one should never discuss family matters with them.’
Harriet pursed her lips. ‘Look, Kitty, the way my mother and yours were arguing at the breakfast table, the servants already know all about it.’
‘That’s different.’
‘I don’t see how.’
Kitty sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the thing about you, Harriet. You just do not grasp the subtler points of governing a household such as this.’
No. And she didn’t want to, either. It all seemed to consist of one set of people pretending they didn’t know what they knew, while the other set expected them to keep their mouths shut about it. Instead of everyone just being open and honest.
‘Well, since I am so...lacking in subtlety, nobody will be surprised when I start blundering about asking awkward questions then, will they? Besides which,’ she put in hastily when Kitty opened her mouth to make another objection, ‘as you pointed out, the servants overhear everything. If anything suspicious has happened inside your household, ten to one, most of the servants will know all about it.’
‘Well, then, why didn’t one of them come forward?’
Harriet felt like running her fingers through her hair. Except that would dislodge the pins which were holding it in place and ruin the style which had taken longer to create than the so-called fussy ringlets to which Lord Becconsall had objected.
‘Because,’ she said slowly, ‘they aren’t in the habit of speaking to the family openly, are they? And anyway, all this about the jewels has only just come to light, from what I can gather?’
Kitty nodded.
‘Well then, let’s give them a bit of time to talk about it and start to speculate about what must have really happened to the parure. And then I shall start asking them if they can recall... I don’t know...the last time anyone saw them before your father took them to the jewellers. I take it they don’t get an airing very often, if they’re so hideous?’
Kitty shook her head. ‘As I said, it is tradition for the ladies of the family to wear them for their betrothal ball and new brides usually wear them when they have their portrait painted, but other than that, they tend to stay locked away.’
‘So they might have been copied years ago?’
Kitty nodded, slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But then...if that is the case, who is likely to remember anything helpful?’
‘I don’t know. But one thing I do know,’ she said with resolution, ‘I am not going to rest until I have cleared your mother’s name.’
Chapter Eight
‘Papa!’ Kitty could not conceal her surprise when, that night, Lord Tarbrook climbed into the carriage which was taking them to Miss Roke’s come-out ball. He’d never bothered to attend any of the events of the Season thus far, claiming they were insipid affairs which bored him to death.
‘Clearly, your mother is not to be trusted to put your welfare first,’ he grumbled as he took the seat beside his wife, ‘so what choice do I have but to keep a closer watch on her doings?’
Aunt Susan gasped as though he had slapped her. Harriet did not know where to look. It was hard to avoid catching anyone’s eye in the confines of a small carriage, but by putting her mind to it, she managed to do so all the way to the ball.
‘It is of no use putting on that martyred air,’ snapped Uncle Hugo as they drew up outside the brightly lit house, causing everyone to start guiltily and look up. He was glaring at his wife, which relieved Harriet and probably Kitty, too, by the look of it. ‘What can you expect,’ he snarled, ‘after letting your daughter down so badly?’
Aunt Susan gave his back, as he pushed open the carriage door rather than wait for one of their footmen to perform the task, a wounded look. Though she replaced it with an emotionless mask almost instantly.
Harriet couldn’t help admiring the way Aunt Susan wrapped her dignity round her like a mantle as she climbed out of the carriage. And the way she held up her head as she placed her hand on her toad of a husband’s sleeve as they mounted the steps was nothing short of regal. This was exactly the way she was always encouraging Harriet to behave. And if Aunt Susan could do it, under the strain of such unfair accusations, then so could she.
Harriet took a deep breath, mentally renewing her vow to do all in her power to show support for her poor beleaguered aunt. She had not made much progress with questioning the servants so far. But anyway, what Aunt Susan seemed to want most, from Harriet, was to see her married off to someone suitable.
With that in mind, Harriet vowed that for tonight at least, she would behave impeccably. She could certainly try to recall all the advice Aunt Susan had given her and apply it diligently. She would not slouch in her chair, or pick at her gloves, or sigh, or fidget, or any of the things she was not supposed to do. And when some man did happen to ask her to dance, she would act as though she was thrilled, no matter who he was, if her aunt appeared to approve of him. What was more, she would treat him as though she thought he was amazingly handsome and witty, for the entire duration of the dance, no matter how dull and stupid he was. She would bite her tongue, if necessary, to prevent herself from speaking her mind.
And even if she didn’t get asked to dance, at least Aunt Susan would see she was doing her best, for once. It was not much to do for her, but at least Aunt Susan would feel she’d made a success out of transforming Harriet from a country bumpkin to a society miss.
The moment they entered the ballroom Kitty’s usual crowd of admirers began to gather round, asking for various dances throughout the evening. And since Kitty couldn’t possibly dance with all of them at once, Harriet managed to snare one or two of her leftovers, by the simple ruse of smiling hopefully up at them.
* * *
Mr Swaffham was the first to lead her on to the dance floor. This time, instead of merely concentrating on getting through the steps without mishap, she put herself out to make sure he enjoyed himself, paying rapt attention to everything he said and smiling at him frequently. She felt drained by the time he returned her to Aunt Susan’s side at the end of the dance, but at least he didn’t look as though dancing with her was a poor substitute for standing up with the girl he really admired.
On any other night, Aunt Susan would probably have congratulated her for making so much effort. But tonight, it was Aunt Susan who was fidgeting, and sighing, and generally looking thoroughly miserable. It was probably due to the fact that Uncle Hugo was nowhere in sight. The moment both she and Kitty had secured partners, he’d taken himself off in the direction of the refreshment room. Taking all Aunt Susan’s self-esteem with him, by the looks of things.
What her aunt needed was something to put the heart back in her. Though Harriet could not think what.
But then she spotted the perfect opportunity, in the person of Lord Becconsall.
‘Oh, look,’ she said, in a desperate attempt to dispel the cloud of despondency hanging over her aunt like a greasy grey cloud. ‘It is Lord Becconsall, just come in.’
‘Hmm?’ Lady Tarbrook brought her attention back to the ballroom with a visible effort. ‘Oh, yes. That handsome young wastrel who has been showing an interest in you.’
‘The one who spoke of matrimony the first time we danced,’ Harriet reminded her shamelessly. ‘The one you said has not danced with anyone else this Season.’
‘The one,’ said Aunt Susan drily, ‘for whom you have been looking everywhere we’ve been these past few days. Unless I am very much mistaken.’
‘Um, yes.’ Well, there was no point in denying it. Even though it would probably mean a lecture for wearing her heart too much on her sleeve.
; ‘Is your heart fixed on him, then?’
What sort of a question was that? Usually, Aunt Susan’s first concern was with a gentleman’s pedigree and fortune. Whether Harriet liked him or not was an irrelevancy when it came to his matrimonial worth.
‘I...well, that is...’ No, she couldn’t admit that she still tingled all over whenever she dwelled on his kiss. Even the thought of it was making her go hot.
‘Your blush is answer enough. Attract him, if you wish, then,’ said Aunt Susan gloomily. ‘Better a husband who makes your heart flutter to start with, than one who is chosen for you by your parents, who you have done your best to like, and to please, for years, and for what? To discover he never trusted you!’
Harriet winced. She had no idea how to cope with moods of this sort. Nobody ever had them at Stone Court. They just...got on with life. Even when she’d been a very little girl, nobody had ever bothered to cajole her into a good mood if she was ill or out of sorts, so she had absolutely no idea how to do the same for someone else. Why, even when her pony had put its foot down a rabbit hole, tossing her over his head with such force she’d broken her arm, nobody had done more than chuck her under the chin and say they were proud of her for not making a fuss when the groom who was with her set the bone.
She twisted her fan between her fingers, wishing she could say, or do, something to cheer her aunt up. And found herself looking, beseechingly, in the direction of Lord Becconsall.
As if in answer to her silent plea for help, he made his way across the increasingly crowded ballroom to where they were sitting.
‘Good evening, Lady Tarbrook, Lady Harriet,’ said Lord Becconsall, bowing from the waist.
Instead of simpering and gushing, Aunt Susan looked him up and down, as though she wasn’t sure what to make of him.
‘Have I,’ he said, looking a touch uncomfortable, ‘offended you in some way?’
‘Oh, not at all, my lord,’ said Harriet. And then almost shuddered. Because, to her utter disgust, what had just emerged from her lips could only be described as a simper. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ And with the feeling of in for a penny, in for a pound, she lowered her head and darted a look up at him from beneath her eyelashes, in the prescribed manner to indicate modesty, yet interest, at the same time.
He blinked.
‘Ah, um. What was I about to say?’
‘That you feared you had offended me in some way and was about to explain what gave you that idea,’ she said. And then, from nowhere but her own desperation, she hit upon what could be the very thing.
‘Though, of course, I was terribly disappointed you did not come on the picnic.’
And then she blushed. Because that sounded rather too desperate and she didn’t want to scare him off.
‘I fear the prospect of sitting on damp ground and eating stale sandwiches did not appeal,’ he said.
‘Oh, but the sandwiches were not stale. All the food was positively delicious,’ she gushed. Oh, lord, she was sounding like a complete ninny. Fortunately, her attempts to behave exactly the way a debutante should appeared to amuse Lord Becconsall. At least, his eyes were twinkling now and his lips relaxing from the rather grim line in which he’d been holding them when he first approached.
‘I hope you are not about to reprimand me for dereliction of duty,’ he said playfully.
Which was a sort of quip. She was supposed to laugh at a man’s attempts at humour, no matter how feeble.
And so she did. At least, she tittered. To her shame. The sound emerging from her mouth was such an artificial, brittle sound she was sure even Aunt Susan would say she’d gone too far. But, having darted a look at her from the corner of her eye, it was to see her aunt was gazing into space, her mouth pinched up in very obvious bitterness.
Harriet gave up.
‘The truth is we are all a bit out of sorts this evening. We have had a...that is...’ She racked her brains for a plausible excuse to give him which would account for Aunt Susan’s mood, without giving away any family secrets.
‘We had an unexpected visitor,’ she said, finally hitting on an excuse that was near enough to the truth to be useful. ‘It set us all at sixes and sevens.’
‘A visitor?’
‘Yes. My mother.’
He cocked his head to one side, eyeing her as though he wasn’t sure what to expect from her next. ‘I beg your pardon, but I fail to see...’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she said crossly. ‘Are you going to ask me to dance, or not?’
On any other night, such a comment would have shocked Aunt Susan to the core. Tonight she didn’t even seem to notice.
But Lord Becconsall did. His eyes flicked from her, to her aunt, and back again, thoughtfully.
‘I think I should ask you to dance.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, leaping to her feet and placing her hand on his forearm, before he’d even had the chance to extend it in her direction.
‘I sense a mystery,’ he said softly as they made their way to the dance floor.
‘Oh, very observant of you,’ she said sarcastically. And then mentally kicked herself. Hadn’t she vowed she would be all sweetness and light tonight? To prove that Aunt Susan’s lessons in how to behave around eligible men were bearing fruit?
‘I mean, yes, how observant of you,’ she said, shooting him what she hoped was a worshipful smile.
‘Oho! Now my curiosity is really roused. What on earth can have happened to dull the edge of that sharp tongue of yours? And were you actually attempting to flirt with me just now?’
Attempting? She had flirted. She’d given him the benefit of a coy look, and a simper, and a titter, and had rounded it all off by fluttering her eyelashes.
‘Absolutely not,’ she snapped back. ‘I never flirt. And if I was to start, you may be sure I would not waste my time flirting with you.’
‘That’s better,’ he said affably. ‘I was beginning to worry that the strain of being polite to me might give you the headache.’
The beast! He’d deliberately goaded her into losing her temper.
Making sport of her, to be precise. If only it wouldn’t cause a scene, she’d march right back to her chair and leave him standing on the dance floor alone.
But it would. And her aunt had enough on her plate without that. So she had to satisfy herself with shooting him a daggers look as they took their places in the set forming.
The only effect it had on him was to make his grin a touch triumphant.
But at least during the dance she didn’t have to speak to him again. And as she concentrated on performing her steps correctly, she also, almost, regained control over her annoyance.
* * *
When the dance ended, instead of leading her directly back to where Aunt Susan was sitting, Lord Becconsall steered her in the opposite direction.
‘Um, what are you doing?’
‘I thought you would benefit from a short turn on the terrace,’ he replied.
‘What?’ She whipped her hand from his sleeve as though it had burned her.
Far from looking offended, he looked at her with respect.
‘You have learned your lesson, I see, since the last time I got you alone.’
‘Yes, and—’
‘But if you come out on to the terrace with me, we shall not be alone. I have already observed several other couples going out to take the air.’
‘Oh.’ What game was he playing now? She’d assumed he’d been sending her a message by not attending the picnic. Which she’d interpreted as a declaration that she must not look upon him as a prospective suitor. But now he was behaving just like a man who was determined to fix his interest with her.
‘Look, there is even a maid, waiting to hand out shawls to protect the shoulders of young ladies from the night a
ir. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a footman out there, serving refreshments,’ he said as a final inducement.
Why he wanted to take her outside was a mystery, but if she were truly serious about wanting to discover whether or not she could consider marrying him, then she’d leap at the chance to spend a little time in relative privacy. And it would be just what Aunt Susan would expect.
‘Oh, very well,’ she said, far from graciously. ‘But don’t...try anything.’
‘Try anything?’ He looked at her in mock surprise. With just a dash of innocence thrown in for good measure. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
She heard a noise well up in her throat which was rather like a growl. Which appeared to amuse him immensely. Because he was chuckling as he took the proffered shawl from the maid stationed by the double doors, and draped it round her shoulders himself.
‘There,’ he said with what sounded like satisfaction. And took his time removing his hands from her person.
And just like that, she was reliving the moment they’d been lying together on the grass. He with his arms wrapped tightly round her, and she...melting into him.
She sucked in a short, shocked breath and inhaled the scent of him, since he was standing so close to her. And it was just like smelling the kiss. Or The Kiss, as she was coming to think of it.
Until this moment, she hadn’t known that she’d remembered what The Kiss had smelled like. Or that a kiss could even be said to have a smell. Only now, breathing in the scent of his clothes, and his...well, she supposed it was his body, too...did her nostrils detect the absence of crushed grass, and horse, and even the brandy fumes that had sweetened his breath.
He frowned at her. ‘What is it? What is troubling you?’
‘Wh-what?’ She had to give herself a mental shake. Now was not the time to wish she was in the park, or in a stable, or some other location suitable for snatched kisses.
He took her by the arm and steered her away from the door.
The Major Meets His Match Page 9