The Harlow Hoyden

by Lynn Messina

  Philip took offense at this. “Dash it, sir, just ’cause Mrs. Harlow and I were talking about fishing don’t mean that I made her talk about unpleasant things. I was just saying—”

  “Philip, I believe Lord Sanderson is gesturing to you. See what he wants.”

  The young cousin turned in the indicated direction and looked in vain for Lord Sanderson. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. Lord Sanderson isn’t there,” he said.

  “Nevertheless, you’re wanted over there.” Trent’s tone would brook no arguments.

  Looking confused and a little bit disappointed, the young man took his leave of Lady Sarah. “It was a pleasure, ma’am, a real pleasure.” He then tried to sketch a bow as he had often seen his sophisticated cousin do. Alas, it was a poor imitation and he wound up bumping into a curmudgeonly dowager who had no patience for the queer starts of callow youths. Amid a cavalcade of exhortations to behave himself, a red-faced Philip slinked away.

  Sarah held her laughter until he was out of earshot.

  The duke said, “Sarah, please accept my apologies. If I had known you’d be subjected to a horde of rural tales the whole while, I would never have left you alone with him.”

  “Pooh, your grace. I brought the horde of rural tales down on my own head,” she said in defense of the awkward young man. “Upon discovering that Mr. Keswick was from Yorkshire, I mentioned that I’d been up there once. That led to a lively discussion of fishing.”

  The duke didn’t look convinced. “Nevertheless, he’s an exuberant youth and needs to learn some manners.”

  Sarah agreed. “That is true, but I wouldn’t be too harsh with him. He means well and he looks up to you. Before we embarked on our rural discussion, we devoted ten minutes to your skill as a pugilist.”

  An amused smile lit his face. “I am well aware of my cousin’s love of pugilism. I had to make him a bargain along those lines to get him to come tonight.”

  “Well, your grace?” Sarah said, after a moment.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Yes, you certainly didn’t send Mr. Keswick away on a fool’s errand for no particular reason. What do you wish to talk about?”

  The duke was not at all surprised by her reasoning. Andrew’s sister had always been clever. “It’s about Miss Harlow.”

  Sarah didn’t have to ask which Miss Harlow. People rarely wanted to talk to her about Vinnie. “Yes?”

  “You must watch her carefully,” he cautioned, his eyes sweeping the room in search of the lady in question. “I believe she’s headed for trouble.”

  Although she was much distressed to hear this from the duke, she didn’t show a reaction. She would not discuss family matters with nonfamily members. Still, she was curious. “Oh?” she asked, hoping that alone would convince him to tell more of what he knew.

  “Yes, she made the most infam—” The duke broke off. Suddenly it seemed wrong to share privileged information. He had no desire to get Emma into trouble with her family. He just wanted to keep her from tumbling into another scrape. “Miss Harlow seems unsettled by her sister’s forthcoming nuptials.”

  Sarah wondered what the duke had been about to say, but she knew better than to pursue it. “Yes, she is. Unsettled is exactly the word.”

  “I fear her…unsettledness might lead her into trouble.”

  “You needn’t worry yourself, your grace. Emma is just having a hard time adjusting to the change, which is understandable,” she said with a good deal of the common sense she was known for. “I suspect she’s worried about losing her sister. They’re twins and have been very close their entire lives. There’s no denying that Lavinia’s marriage will alter their relationship some. But once she realizes that these changes are for the better, Emma will calm down and accept it.”

  This reasoned explanation did not reassure the duke at all. “In the meantime, keep a close eye on her. She might do something”—Trent tried to think of a harmless word to describe asking a libertine to seduce her sister—“impetuous.”

  He said this in a tone that caused Sarah to look at him sharply. “Your grace, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  The duke had no intention of getting drawn into some other family’s dramas. He had enough of that with his mother and his cousin Philip. “Just watch her,” he said with unusual abruptness before taking his leave.

  He walked away knowing full well that Sarah was puzzled by his words and unsatisfied with their talk. He had meant to wash his hands of the whole affair, but when it came time to tell Sarah of Miss Harlow’s scheme, he couldn’t do it. For some reason, telling had seemed like a betrayal of Miss Harlow’s trust.

  In a dark mood, Trent went in search of Pearson. It was time to leave this suffocating place and breathe freely in the smoky room of a gambling hell. What he saw instead was Miss Emma Harlow in the arms of Sir Everett Carson. Now there was a libertine, he thought, with disgust. He recalled her intention to find someone else to help her and marveled at how fast she worked. Not a half hour had gone by and already she had found a suitable candidate, made his acquaintance and charmed him into dancing with her. This from a woman who said her dance card was always empty! The duke watched her with glowering eyes for several minutes, assuring himself that it was not his problem if the silly chit got herself ruined. He looked around for Sarah. Sarah should be there to warn Emma off a rakehell like Carson. Where was that woman? Why wasn’t she keeping a better eye on her charge? Clearly her own family could not be relied on to keep her out of trouble.

  Devil take it, he thought, his brow blacker than it had ever been, I’ll keep an eye on her myself!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Having decided on a course of action and having been so thoroughly disappointed by the Duke of Trent, Emma decided that the best thing to do was to make up a list of eligible seducers. In order to do that, she needed help. Emma was no more knowledgeable of society rakes than she was of society matrons. Therefore, she called on her friend Kate, an estimable young woman who not only had entrée to the best drawing rooms but who also had an encyclopedic knowledge of went on in them as well. It was usually Kate who kept Emma abreast of the Harlow Hoyden’s latest exploit.

  “Really,” Emma said, when she discovered that she was supposed to be in the midst of a torrid flirtation with the Duke of Trent, “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous. We had one dance.”

  “A waltz,” said Kate, ringing the bell for tea and pushing an errant red curl behind her ear. It was early—visiting hours wouldn’t begin for a long while yet—and she was still in her morning gown of white cotton. She hadn’t expected her friend but wasn’t surprised. Emma rarely stuck to schedules—either her own or anybody else’s. Kate didn’t mind. She enjoyed the hours she spent with Emma, even if it left her little time to do her hair properly before gentlemen callers arrived. Kate Kennington was a natural beauty, and if every strand was not perfectly in place, her beaux never seemed to notice. They were too busy gazing into her unusual green eyes or admiring her milk-white complexion or staring at her perfect nose and full red lips.

  “Bah, it was just one waltz,” insisted Emma, taking to her feet. She had too much energy this morning to sit tamely on the settee in the front parlor.

  “But you disappeared together afterward,” her friend remarked.

  “You make it sound like some sort of parlor trick. We didn’t disappear at all. We walked to a quiet corner, in plain sight of everyone, I might add, to distance ourselves from the crowd. The ballroom was stifling, and you know I cannot stand overly packed spaces.”

  Kate smiled. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, dear. I do not believe that there’s anything between you and the Duke of Trent. I was merely informing you of what the biddies were saying last night. You know how the ton is. They only talk about what is right in front of them. It’s of the least consequence, I’m sure. Tonight we’ll go to Lady Beverly’s route and they’ll see Trent talking to Portia Hedgley and forget all about you.”<
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  Emma stopped her pacing. “Portia Hedgley?”

  “Yes, the dowager and her daughter are trying very hard indeed to bring about the match.” Just then the doors opened and the Kennington butler stepped within. He laid the silver tray in front of Kate before asking if there was anything else. Kate assured him that they had everything they needed. When he was gone, she continued. “It would be a very suitable match, of course. Both families are well connected, wealthy and respected. There’s much talk about the duke falling in line this time. He’s advancing in years and does need to think of the succession. I would be surprised if he could withstand the persuasion of his mother and sister. The duchess is known to be quite ruthless and single-minded in pursuit of her objective. I wager he’ll have the chit just to get some peace.”

  For some reason the thought of the duke with Miss Hedgley disturbed Emma. Because they’d spent time together at a weekend party in Dorset last year, she was familiar with Portia Hedgley. But in all their time together she had discovered very little to recommend her. The young lady in question had a tendency to speak in one-word sentences—it was impossible to get her to elaborate no matter how many questions one asked her, unless one were a man. No, not a man, Emma corrected herself, recalling the smitten Mr. Uxbridge, who couldn’t get a useful utterance out of her either. The truth was that in order to get Miss Portia Hedgley to bestir herself on your behalf you had to be a peer, preferably a viscount or a marquis. Of course, a duke would do.

  Up until the point when he had demonstrated himself to be most unreasonable, Emma had liked the duke. She’d found him good humored and kind and after leaving him in the conservatory had thought he might make a nice friend. Yes, Emma had very much liked the duke, but if he wanted to throw his life away on a pinched-face climber that was his prerogative. She would not be disturbed by it. She would not be disturbed by him, certainly when he showed himself to be so unreasonably unhelpful. They deserved each other, she thought, although she couldn’t quite convince herself of the truth of the statement.

  “He could do worse,” Emma said now in an attempt to be polite.

  Kate laughed. It was more of a cackling sound than the ladylike trill she used in mixed company. “Really, my dear, after the way you railed against the pinched-faced Miss Hedgley after spending three days with her in Dorset, I’m surprised you think that there’s worse.”

  Emma smiled. “True. Perhaps I meant to say that the duke does not deserve better.”

  Pouring tea into a porcelain cup, Kate raised an eyebrow at her friend. “I’m surprised by your harshness, Em. What has the duke done to earn your ire?”

  “He refused to seduce Lavinia,” she said, glad that they were finally on the topic she’d come there to discuss.

  Miss Kennington looked up. “Well, I should hope so,” she said, as if nothing were amiss. Indeed, there really wasn’t. She was well accustomed to her friend’s outrageous statements.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean for him to seduce seduce her,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I just wanted him to flirt and arouse her interest enough that she would dump that horrible Sir Windbag.”

  “And the duke said no?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “The duke not only said no, he lectured me about the joys of marriage and seemed quite horrified when I showed an unfeminine lack of interest.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.” She handed Emma a cup of tea and poured one for herself. “He’s never toyed with the affections of unmarried ladies.”

  “Yes, yes, he devotes all his energy toward toying with the affections of bored married ladies and widows. I’m well aware of his reputation.” Emma sat down with a whoosh, spilling tea in the process. “That man vexes me so. Really, what good is a libertine who won’t seduce an innocent? He’s an aberration of nature!”

  “I trust you didn’t say that to the duke?”

  “No, not quite, although I did take him to task for being a libertine with morals. It’s simply not fair. One should be able to rely on rakehells to behave badly. Is nothing dependable anymore?”

  Her friend sounded so despondent that Kate had to hide her smile. Sometimes she was amazed by Emma’s inexperience. Although she had been among the ton for more than five years, Emma had never immersed herself in its ways. She had always stood separate, partly because she feared she wouldn’t be accepted but also because it bored her. She had too much energy and too many interests to sit comfortably in a drawing room dissecting on dits. “Perhaps the Duke of Trent is not a proper libertine.”

  “Exactly!” said Emma, jumping up again and spilling even more tea on her periwinkle walking dress. “That’s why I have come. I knew you would be able to help me.”

  Kate was sure she could help, but something about her friend’s demeanor made her uneasy. What was the Harlow Hoyden up to now? “Stop pacing back and forth like a fenced-in horse—you’re making me dizzy—and tell me how I can help you.”

  Emma stopped pacing, although she hardly felt like a fenced-in horse. “It’s very simple, my dear. All you have to do is help me compose a list of all the proper libertines in town this season, so that I might find one who’s willing to seduce Vinnie. I’m sure it shouldn’t take you above five minutes. I’ll just sit here silently while you draw up the list. Do you have a quill?” Emma reached over to ring the bell. Kate forestalled her.

  “I will draw up this list for you, of course, but first we must discuss the qualifications. What exactly are you looking for in a libertine?” In truth, Miss Kennington had no intention of indulging her friend’s whim. As far as she was concerned, there were few things more irresponsible than sending the Harlow Hoyden out into the world with a list of rakehells. She might as well instruct Emma to dance naked in the street. Both would ensure her ruin, but somehow, Kate felt, the list would do it faster—and more thoroughly.

  “Qualifications?” Emma seemed incapable of digesting the notion. “What sort of qualifications does one look for in a rake?”

  “Well, we must be discriminating, my dear. I cannot write down the name of every libertine in the country.” Kate took a sip of tea to hide her smile. The look of confusion on Emma’s face was priceless.

  “He must be adept at seducing women. That is all,” Miss Harlow said, sitting down once again on the settee.

  “But surely Lord Danforth would not do. I believe he just passed his sixtieth year. Is that the sort of man you’re thinking of?”

  “No, he must be young and handsome.”

  Kate indulged a pleased smile. “See? We are making progress already. The field is considerably narrowed. Now, about his other credentials…”

  Young, handsome and adept. Emma could think of none others. “Whoever you have in mind I’m sure is qualified enough.”

  “No, dear, we have much still to talk about. Needless to say we need someone who’s an excellent seducer, but he mustn’t be too good. I trust the point of this exercise is not to see your sister ruined.”

  “Of course not,” she said, much offended by the notion. “I love my sister and would never want anything bad to happen to her.”

  “I know that, darling, but we must make sure that our libertine knows it as well. He mustn’t seduce her for real.”

  “You mustn’t tease yourself on that front, dear Kate. Lavinia could no more be seduced by a libertine than I. She could, however, have her head turned. That’s our objective.”

  These words had the exact opposite effect on Kate than their author’s intention. Rather than leave off worrying about Lavinia’s seduction, she began to worry about Emma’s as well. Despite her worldly experience—and Kate was not convinced that racing at breakneck speed down the Newmarket road made one either worldly or experienced—Emma knew nothing of men and was poorly matched against one bent on seduction. In her mind’s eye, she could easily see Emma approaching a Lord Bancock about her sister’s virtue and walking away with a little less of her own.

  “All right,” Kate agreed, keeping this disturb
ing thought to herself. “But we must find a rake we can trust. We don’t want the tale spreading through drawing rooms. The scandal would destroy your whole family. And I daresay your mother would not thank you if you all had to retire to Derbyshire in disgrace.”

  Emma realized that this was a very real concern. Oh, she would think nothing of it if they had to bury themselves in the country, but if the story got out then surely Lord Windbag would hear of it. Nothing would be served if he knew of her scheme. “You make an excellent point. Young, handsome, adept and trustworthy. Just jot down a few names and I’ll be on my way.”

  Of course Kate recognized this for the paradox it was. Young, handsome, adept and trustworthy—these were the qualities of an eligible parti. Few of the most sought-after bachelors in the realm had this much to recommend them. Only Trent, and he had already shown his mettle. That was the caliber of gentleman they were looking for. Kate needed time to reflect on this problem. “I would love for you to leave with the list right now, my dear, but I must give it some thought. I have some ideas in my head, but I want to make sure that I choose the right gentleman. The wrong gentleman and the results could be disastrous.”

  Emma knew this was true, but still she was impatient. Now that she had a plan for breaking up her sister’s engagement, she wanted to go forward with it as soon as possible. She wasn’t made for things like waiting. “I guess you’re right,” she said sulkily.

  “Take heart, Em, the engagement was announced not a fortnight ago. The wedding itself is months away. Plenty of time to do mischief.”

  “I’m well aware of that, but it comforts me little. Every second she spends with him she falls deeper under his evil spell. Soon she may even love him. Then we’ll be in a pickle.”

  “If she loves him, then perhaps she should marry him,” Kate said logically, although she knew logic had nothing to do with the way Emma felt about Sir Waldo Windbourne.