‘Fresh air,’ her aunt repeated in a weak voice. ‘Yes, just the thing. It is very hot in here.’ From the way the older woman was leaning on her, and the slight trembling she could feel through her limbs, Harriet thought her aunt might be perilously close to a faint. A real faint.
She glanced to right and left, desperately trying to recall the layout of the house. She’d been to the ladies’ retiring room when she came in, of course, to leave her cloak and change into her dancing shoes. She was pretty certain that once they left the ballroom, they had to turn right and it would be down the stairs and just along the corridor.
She found a room exactly where she thought the retiring room should be, but the moment they went in, she realised her mistake.
‘Oh, dear, I am so sorry,’ she said, gazing round the empty room in consternation. ‘I have lost my way.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Aunt Susan wearily. ‘In fact, I would as soon sit in here quietly for a few minutes as have some gossipy maid fussing round me in the retiring room.’ She tottered to the solitary sofa positioned before an empty hearth and sank on to it. ‘It is cooler in here, anyway, which is the main thing.’
‘Is there something I can get for you? A glass of water?’ There would have been all that sort of thing if only she’d got her aunt to the correct place. And although she’d said she didn’t want a maid fussing, at least there would have been one who knew the layout of the house and who could fetch...she didn’t know...a vinaigrette, or something.
‘A glass of water?’ Aunt Susan looked at her sharply. And then closed her eyes. ‘That is it. That is why I came over all peculiar. With all the...fuss...today, I quite forgot to eat. I am feeling faint, that is what it is.’
‘Well, then, shall I go and fetch you something to eat?’
Aunt Susan lay her head against the back of the sofa. ‘Yes, please, if you wouldn’t mind, dear. Just something light.’
Harriet backed out of the room, concern for her aunt chasing every other concern from her mind. But...where was the refreshment room? Back through the ballroom, unfortunately. She didn’t want to go there, get a plate of food and a glass of water, and carry it back through the ballroom to her aunt. That would be such unusual behaviour it was bound to attract exactly the kind of attention her aunt wanted least. She racked her brains. Oh, if only Lord Becconsall were a proper suitor, she could go to him and ask him for help. As it was, she’d just have to find a footman to do the fetching and carrying for her.
She retraced her steps to the ballroom, aided by the sound of music, hoping there would be a servant free to see to her needs. And who could be persuaded to employ discretion.
The doors to the ballroom opened outwards and had been left open so that people could come and go with ease. But they had not been pushed quite flat to the wall. There was a slight gap behind which she could easily squeeze and from that vantage point she could peep in through the crack between the hinges and the wall, and locate a servant without anyone seeing her searching.
She was really glad she’d ducked behind the door out of sight of the other guests when not two seconds after she’d put her eye to the crack, Lord Becconsall and his three friends came strolling in her direction.
It was the shock of seeing them when she’d thought them long gone that made her watch them, rather than begin to search for a footman, she told herself the moment she realised what she was doing. It wasn’t because there was something about Lord Becconsall that drew her gaze like iron filings to a magnet.
Although she couldn’t deny he was a feast for the eyes. It was something about the way he carried himself. With that brisk, upright bearing that was in such stark contrast to the languid slouch of men who’d never done anything with their lives but drink and gamble and amuse themselves. The neat way his clothes moulded his muscular frame, without the slightest hint of flamboyance about his attire was pleasing, too. As was the way he looked as though he was never far from laughing.
Though the laughter was very often at her expense, the beast.
By the time she’d reached this stage in her cogitation, the four of them had drawn close enough to her hiding place for her to hear snatches of their conversation over the background noise of a ball in full progress.
‘So, you agree then,’ Lord Becconsall was saying. ‘Lady Harriet and the girl in the park are one and the same person?’
She froze. Well, she’d been standing still anyway, but the mention of her name on his lips, in that context, made even the blood stop swirling through her veins.
‘If you insist,’ Zeus said, in a bored tone.
‘No, come on, old chap, that is no way to treat such an important subject,’ said Lord Becconsall, though he was grinning.
‘The wager was only important to you,’ said Zeus. ‘I have genuinely important things on my mind.’
Wager? Lord Becconsall had made her the topic of a wager?
Harriet flattened herself against the wall as they passed on the other side of the door.
Lord Becconsall was laughing. ‘You mean, that is what you are going to claim as the excuse for not finding her first,’ he said. Quite clearly. ‘That you were too busy to bother. And then say, when you pay up, that if you had more time, you would have beaten me...’
She didn’t hear any more. They’d strolled past her and were heading for the stairs. Besides, there was a roaring sound in her ears that was drowning out everything else.
She’d thought...no, she’d hoped he’d been...fascinated by her. That he’d sought her out in the ballroom and brought her flowers because he...liked her. That he’d taken her out on to the terrace because he was concerned about her. That he’d prevented her from causing a scene because he felt protective of her. Even if he didn’t want to actually marry her, she’d thought he liked her.
Oh, what an idiot she was! She was nothing more to him than the object of a bet. By the sound of it, whoever discovered her true identity first, out of the four of them, would win a tidy sum of money.
He’d probably kept her out on the terrace until he could see that his friends were all gathered round Aunt Susan’s chair. Aunt Susan, who had, she now saw, confirmed her identity for them.
She clenched her fists against the pain that was tearing at her insides. The rage that felt as if it was clawing its way out of the same spot.
She would never speak to him again.
And as for pressing one of the flowers he’d given her as a keepsake, that felt like the height of absurdity now.
To think she’d actually...
There was the sound of someone clearing his throat.
‘Excuse me, miss, may I be of assistance?’
She whirled round to see a wigged and powdered footman eyeing her as though she was some kind of lunatic.
She supposed she must look like one, leaning against the wall behind the door, with her fists clenched and her mouth twitching with suppressed rage.
She uncurled her fists, lifted her chin and looked the footman in the eye.
‘Yes, you may. My aunt, Lady Tarbrook, has been taken unwell.’
The moment she claimed Lady Tarbrook as a relative, the footman’s demeanour became far more respectful.
‘Do you wish me to call for your carriage?’
‘No, thank you. She does not want to...to leave early, or...do anything to spoil the evening for my cousin. Her daughter.’ Well, it must certainly be true, even though Aunt Susan had not said so. ‘I have taken her to a little room downstairs, where it is cool and quiet. The one with the mirrors in the alcoves just outside?’
The footman nodded to indicate he knew exactly which room she meant.
‘But...could you possibly bring us some refreshments? A glass of water. And some sandwiches and cake, too...’ She bit down on her lower lip for a second, as it struck her that her aunt woul
d not want even a servant to know she’d turned faint from forgetting to eat.
‘I am going to sit with her, you see, which means we might well miss supper,’ she said, hoping the explanation would throw him off the scent. She blushed though, not being used to telling fibs.
‘Dancing does have a powerful effect on the appetite, doesn’t it, miss,’ said the footman, with a wink.
Well, it did, so she could nod, bashfully, and hope it made her look exactly like a maiden who was embarrassed to own up to having a healthy appetite. In public, gently reared girls were only supposed to pick at their food, as though they were merely being polite to their hostess. That was one of the tests she’d passed at the picnic, actually—refraining from showing too great an appreciation of all the dainties on offer, when she could easily have wolfed down three times the amount.
Once the smirking footman had gone about his business, she hurried back down the stairs, heading for the little room where she’d left her aunt, her mind whirling.
She should have known a handsome, experienced man like Lord Becconsall would not find her as interesting as she found him. She might have known there would be an ulterior motive behind the attention he’d paid her. After all, the only other men who’d sought her out had only done so because of her rank and fortune, or because Kitty hadn’t time for them. But...to make her the subject of a wager!
She paused at the foot of the stairs as she caught sight of her reflection in both the mirrors hanging on either side of the door to her aunt’s sanctuary. She’d always known she was nothing much to look at. She had a square face and nondescript brown hair. Ordinary eyes and a squashed-up-looking nose. Why on earth had she suddenly forgotten how very plain and ordinary she was? How completely lacking in personality, too. She’d never mastered the art of sparkling repartee. Well, nobody had taught her how to sparkle. Actually, nobody had taught her anything very much at all. If it hadn’t been for the governess Aunt Susan had sent, cajoling her to run her fingers along the words as she’d read to her from all those books of fairy stories, she might never have learned to so much as read and write. And it had only been because the housekeeper had reached her wits’ end over Mama’s lack of interest in running Stone Court, and had started training Harriet to do what was necessary, that she knew the first thing about domestic economy, either.
The images in the mirrors blurred at the reminder of the haphazard way she’d been educated, if you could call it an education. She’d been of so little account that neither of her parents had even bothered to hire another governess for her, once the one Aunt Susan had sent had left to go and care for an elderly relative, let alone think of sending her to school. Most people in London already made her feel like a complete country bumpkin. But, actually, she was little better than a savage.
No wonder Lord Becconsall and his friends had no compunction about wagering on her the way they’d wager on a horse, or a dog.
She blinked rapidly to clear her vision. She’d been of no account to anyone, all her life. So why should it hurt so much to find she was still of no account, now she’d come to London? She had never expected anything else, had she?
But, oh, once Lord Becconsall had kissed her, and then turned up at a ball and asked her to dance, she’d...
She’d started to fall for him, that’s what she’d done. In her head, she’d turned him into something like one of those handsome princes from the fairy tales she’d loved so much as a little girl. Because he was the first handsome, eligible man to speak to her as though she had something about her to interest him.
But it had all been a hum.
Of course it had.
The only person to ever really look out for her, and consider her future, and do something about it, was Aunt Susan.
Poor Aunt Susan, who was sitting alone, in a dark little room, waiting for her glass of water and cake. Because she’d been too upset by her husband’s refusal to believe in her innocence to eat today, when normally it was one of her greatest pleasures in life.
Casting her unimpressive reflections one last glance of loathing, Harriet headed for the room where she’d left her aunt.
Since Aunt Susan was the only person who’d ever put herself out for her, the least Harriet could do was find out what had really happened to the rubies she’d been falsely accused of pawning.
She’d spend the rest of this evening taking the very best care of the only person in the whole world who’d ever put themselves out for her, and then, first thing tomorrow, she’d resume investigations with a vengeance.
Chapter Eleven
It was all very well deciding she was never going to speak to Lord Beconsall again. But she soon discovered that it was not so simple putting that decision into practice.
Her first attempt to administer a resounding snub ran aground the moment she asked the butler not to admit him to the house.
Keeble raised his left eyebrow an infinitesimal fraction and gave her the kind of look she wished she could perfect herself so that she could use it on Lord Becconsall.
‘You are passing on a message from Lady Tarbrook,’ he suggested.
‘Well, no.’
The eyebrow went up a further fraction.
‘I just don’t want to bother her with my, um, that is, she has troubles enough at the moment without...’ She dried up, then, as Keeble’s expression turned positively arctic.
‘I could not possibly take it upon myself to deny admittance to a gentleman of Lord Becconsall’s rank,’ he said repressively, ‘without direct orders from either his lordship or her ladyship.’
Harriet had found herself wrapping her arms about her waist. ‘Oh, oh, well then, never mind,’ she’d said lamely. And decided she would just have to give him the cold shoulder when he came to call. Which he was bound to do. Even if he had only danced with her for low, nefarious reasons he would still observe the proprieties the day after. All gentlemen did so. Even Mr Swaffham, who’d only asked her to dance because Kitty hadn’t had time for him, had paid his duty call the day after. True, he’d spent the entire half-hour gazing across the room at Kitty rather than attempting to make conversation with her, but he’d come.
And today was no different. Mr Swaffham made his bow, sat next to Harriet on the sofa which Aunt Susan had decreed she occupy and accepted his cup of tea politely. But then his glances across the room to where Kitty was sitting, accepting compliments, very prettily, from a bevy of gentlemen who had managed to secure her hand for dances the previous night increased in frequency until they merged into one continuous stare.
He started as badly as Harriet when Keeble announced the arrival of Lord Becconsall and got to his feet at once.
Which left the spot on the sofa beside her perilously vacant.
When Lord Becconsall sat down she didn’t know where to look. Or what to say. She knew what she wanted to say, of course, but she didn’t have the courage to spit it out. Not in Aunt Susan’s drawing room. Not after vowing she was going to do all in her power to defend and support her.
‘This is pleasant,’ said Lord Becconsall, glancing with amusement at the two gentlemen currently attempting to outshine each other with the wittiness and gallantry of their compliments to Kitty. ‘I do so enjoy watching other men making complete cakes of themselves.’
Harriet grappled with the urge to ignore him. But then, she suspected that if she did so, he would carry on goading her and goading her until she...flew at him and slapped his impudent face.
So she schooled her features into what she hoped looked more like mild disdain than what she was really feeling and put on a voice that was frigidly polite.
‘Are you implying that Mr Congleton and Lord Frensham are fools for paying court to Kitty in particular, or for taking any woman at all seriously?’
He leaned back and ran his eyes over her, one of his most annoyingly amused gri
ns playing about his lips.
‘Got out of bed the wrong side, did you? Or,’ he said, leaning closer and lowering his voice, ‘are you just jealous that she is having so much more success than you?’
She turned to face him, her blood boiling. Oh, how she wanted to slap him. Or...pull his nose, or tweak his ears or...simply poke him in the eye. Anything to wipe that horrid smirk from his face.
But if she did any of those things, it would create a scene. Which would wound Aunt Susan far more than it would hurt Lord Becconsall. In fact, he would probably find the whole thing vastly amusing.
He would be impervious to anything she could do.
Because he thought she was a joke. A huge joke.
Just then, the door to the drawing room opened again. But instead of Keeble announcing another visitor, it was her uncle standing in the doorway. Which caused all conversation in the room to falter, for he so very rarely strayed into this room when it was full of callers.
‘Lady Harriet,’ he said, beckoning to her in a peremptory manner. ‘A word, if you please.’
It felt like a reprieve. If she’d stayed sitting next to Lord Becconsall one second longer, who knew what she might have done next?
She got to her feet at once. Dropped Lord Becconsall a perfunctory curtsy, since that was what Aunt Susan would expect of her, and hurried over to her uncle.
He stepped out into the hall, inviting her to follow. As soon as he’d closed the door on the drawing room, her anger with Lord Becconsall faded to the back of her mind. What on earth could have induced her uncle to summon her this way? Surely, only some dire emergency would have him obliging her to leave the room like this, in front of everyone. Could there be bad news from home?
Papa? Oh, no. Her heart began to pound sickly in her chest as she followed her uncle down the stairs and along the hall to his study, which lay towards the back of the house. She’d only ever been in here once before, on the first night she’d arrived. She’d thought what a lovely room it was then and had spent most of the time he’d been telling her what he expected of her while she was staying in his house admiring the view out of the window, which overlooked a pleasant courtyard with an ornamental fountain.
The Major Meets His Match Page 11