Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718)

by Merrill, Christine; Burrows, Annie; Justiss, Julia

  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 would 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 grins 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.

  Today, however, she couldn’t drag her eyes from her uncle as, having indicated with a brusque gesture that she should sit in the chair before his desk, he went round it to sit down himself.

  He huffed. Frowned. Leaned back, making the chair creak. Leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk.

  Harriet swallowed.

  ‘I have had…something in the nature of a complaint,’ he finally said. ‘About your behaviour.’

  ‘Oh?’ Not Papa, then. Thank heaven. But…had somebody told him about her tussle on the grass with Lord Becconsall? How typical that would be, to be found out now she’d vowed never to speak to him again. Knowing her uncle, he’d insist it was grounds for marriage. And the only person who would be more appalled at the prospect would be Lord Becconsall himself.

  It wouldn’t surprise her if he was so appalled that he sought out a regiment that was serving overseas and joined up at once.

  But what if he was wounded? Killed? Her stomach turned over.

  ‘It pains me to have to be the one to say this,’ said Uncle Hugo, breaking through the chaos raging inside her head. ‘But as things stand, I cannot trust Lady Tarbrook to set you to rights.’ He scowled.

  She said nothing. What was there to say? That she’d already learned her lesson, in the worst way possible? To confess that at some time just after dawn, having been unable to sleep, she’d seen that most people would say she’d probably deserved for Lord Becconsall to treat her as a joke, because of the way she’d behaved. That she shouldn’t have been out in the park, unattended. And that, therefore, whatever had happened since was entirely her own fault.

  That on the whole, she could see their point.

  ‘It is one thing ordering my staff to refuse admittance to my house to certain gentlemen,’ he began. ‘Though really, if you find some suitor unacceptable, you should have spoken to your aunt and explained why, and then she would have taken care of it.’

  She hung her head to conceal any expression of relief that might have flitted across her face. It didn’t sound as if he’d found out about her escapade in the park. Or he would have opened with that. Besides which she was a bit ashamed of having tried to go round the problem of Lord Becconsall instead of facing it head on. She knew it wasn’t her place to give such orders to Lord and Lady Tarbrook’s staff, but if she’d gone to her aunt in the regular way, she’d have wanted to know what her objection was to Lord Becconsall. And she simply couldn’t face telling her.

  ‘But as for questioning them about the fate of the Tarbrook parure…’ he breathed very loudly through his nostrils, which were pinched and white, she noticed as she raised her head in surprise ‘…that, I have to tell you, young lady, is going beyond what is acceptable. My staff,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘have been for the most part with me since I was a boy. I trust them all implicitly. And to have them all upset by accusations of…theft, is something I will not have. Do you understand me?’

  By the time he spoke the last words he was standing right over her, his brows drawn down. If he hadn’t been, she might have blurted out that it was a great pity he didn’t feel the same about upsetting his wife with similar accusations.

  ‘I…I didn’t accuse anyone of anything,’ she said mulishly. ‘I only asked if anyone had any suspicions. The servants are, after all, the best people to know what goes on in a big household—’

  She flinched as Uncle Hugo slammed his fist down on his desk.

  ‘Enough! I will not have you answer me back in that insolent fashion. A mere chit of a girl like you. It would serve you right if I packed you back off to the country,
where you clearly belong if you are so ungrateful for this chance my wife has seen fit to give you, that you go round upsetting the household by making the servants fear they are about to be accused of something that is a hanging offence!’

  Only a few days ago, she’d thought the threat of being sent back to the country might have come as a relief. Because it was where she belonged. London, and London society, was like a foreign country to her. She scarcely spoke the same language as the natives. And their customs and habits made very little sense to her.

  But at that time she hadn’t fully appreciated just how much she owed Aunt Susan. To abandon her, now, would be an appalling act of selfishness. Even if it would be a means of escaping Lord Becconsall.

  So she hung her head and attempted to look repentant.

  Actually, she was a bit repentant now that Uncle Hugo had told her how she’d made the staff feel. She hadn’t considered the fact that theft of such precious items was a hanging offence.

  ‘I never meant to frighten anyone,’ she said with genuine remorse. She lifted her head to look her uncle straight in the eye, to show him that she was being completely honest. ‘I just thought that one of the staff might have seen something suspicious. Or at least been able to say exactly when the last time the genuine stones had been seen…’

  ‘You are not to plague any of my staff with any more of your impertinent questions about this matter, do you hear me?’

  She nodded. For just about everyone in the house must have heard. When Uncle Hugo got angry, his voice carried.

  ‘Because if you do, I shall most certainly send you back where you came from. And that will be the end of any chance some decent man might marry you. Though why on earth any man of sense would wish to…’ He looked at her as though she was a worm. ‘I believe there is a certain type who would overlook your lack of address because of your fortune, but what man could stomach a woman who…meddles in things that don’t concern her? That answers back?’