The Pursuit of Lady Harriett (Tanglewood Book 3)

by Rachael Anderson

  Her words seemed to please him because a slow smile stretched across his lips, spreading his mustache. “I confess, I am relieved to hear it. I can now look forward to many more lively conversations to come.”

  “We shall see,” she answered as she turned around, more than ready to rejoin the Biddings.

  When Harriett arrived at the Biddings for dinner later that evening, the smug expression on the lieutenant’s face had an immediate lowering effect on her hopes. It didn’t take long for Mr. Bidding to confirm her fears.

  “Lieutenant Jamison was correct,” he said, his chest puffed out with pride. “According to the cow-leech, Pippin is indeed increasing. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  With all eyes on her, Harriett managed a nod even though she did not find the news wonderful in the least. She found it upsetting and… aggravating. Why did that dratted man have to be right? Why did she have to be wrong? Why did the whole world seem to be against her?

  Harriett sank down in her chair, attempting to keep her expression somewhat pleased as Mrs. Bidding prattled on about how darling the puppies were sure to be. There was even speculation about who the father was. Mr. Bidding and the lieutenant seemed quite determined to uncover the naughty creature so they might know what sort of puppies to expect.

  Harriett didn’t pay much attention to the discussion. Her posture rigid and her thoughts full of self-pity, she merely counted down the minutes of what was bound to be a very long night. How could a day that had begun with such promise fail to deliver anything of the kind? It seemed vastly unfair. In fact, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if, when the time came for her to depart, the clouds converged and the skies began to quake, tremble, and pour rain down upon her head.

  Her dark-orange pelisse was still clean and dry, after all.

  WHEN LIEUTENANT JAMISON AND the Biddings called upon her the very next morning to invite her for a drive, Harriett learned very quickly that he had every intention of collecting on their wager. As soon as they’d settled into the open landau, he made a grand production of gifting her with a lovely peach parasol to better protect her pelisses from dirt and bird droppings. From Mrs. Bidding’s pleased expression, the woman thought the gesture charming and romantic, but Harriett saw the gift for what it really was—a source of amusement for the lieutenant.

  “How thoughtful you are, sir,” she said.

  “Think nothing of it, my lady.”

  I won’t, thought Harriett, forced to accept the parasol and use it during their sunny drive. But every time a bird chirped or flew by overhead, and the lieutenant said, “Have a care, Lady Harriett, here comes another one,” she felt like poking him in the ribs with it.

  As soon as she returned home, she sentenced the lovely creation to the back of her wardrobe, never to be used in the lieutenant’s presence again.

  The following day it rained, and when the Biddings and the lieutenant came to call, Harriett invited them to pass the time at Tanglewood. The lieutenant proposed a game of whist and asked Mrs. Bidding to be his partner. Harriett was happy to play opposite him, having an aptitude for cards, and looked forward to putting him in his place. Less than an hour later, however, after the lieutenant and Mrs. Bidding had beaten her and Mr. Bidding soundly for the fifth time, Harriett decided she did not like whist any longer and suggested a game of loo or piquet instead. But it did not matter which game they played or how the cards were dealt. The lieutenant was almost always on the winning team.

  Drat the man.

  The following day, when he challenged Harriett to an archery tournament and trounced her yet again, she decided that Lieutenant Jamison remained in Askern and sought her company for one purpose and one purpose only—to torment her.

  “May I offer some suggestions, my lady?” he finally asked when another one of her arrows strayed to the right of the target.

  With the Biddings seated not far away, ever the observant chaperones, Harriett could not decline the offer without appearing petty. Keeping hold of the upper limb, she set the bow on the ground and turned to face him. “What suggestions do you have for me, sir?”

  He retrieved an arrow and walked over to her, taking the bow from her hands. “If you position your back foot perpendicular to the target, you’ll find the arrow is more likely to travel the direction you aim it.” With deft movements, he put the arrow in place, lifted the bow, and pulled back on the necking point of the string, saying, “And if you anchor the string against your chin, like so, your arrow will be less likely to… wander.”

  Harriett hadn’t known either of those things. She’d attempted archery only a handful of times and had never cared for the sport overly much, probably because she’d never known how to do it properly. But if she were to learn how to hit a target regularly, that might change things. In fact, it could be a diverting way to pass the time—without the lieutenant of course, as his arrows found the center of the target every blasted time.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Harriett as she accepted the bow once more, making sure to line up her back foot as he’d suggested. She tucked the arrow against the necking point and pulled on the string, lifting the bow out in front of her and bringing the string to her chin as the lieutenant had done.

  She almost flinched when his gloved fingers touched the tender part of her elbow. He turned it slightly out, and his breath tickled her ear as he explained, “This way the string will not hit your arm when you release it.”

  She didn’t trust herself to respond. Her voice would no doubt sound breathless, as his close proximity caused her heart to pound in a ridiculous fashion, so she quickly released the arrow just to be rid of him. Much to her frustration, it veered away from the target and bounced across the grass before plowing into a barren shrub.

  So much for the lieutenant’s suggestions, she thought with a frown.

  “You dropped the bow too quickly after you released the arrow,” he said. “If you remain still and count to three, you will have better luck.”

  Harriett handed the bow back to him, ready for the lesson to be over. Did the man have to be good at everything? “Perhaps I’ll give it a try another day. My arms could use a rest.”

  He smiled knowingly as though he saw right through her excuse. “Another day then.”

  Yes, Harriett thought, once you have gone back to London.

  In addition to losing at cards and archery, the lieutenant continued to favor the group with more “inspiring passages” from the Bible each night following dinner. Harriett was required to endure all sorts of counsel on the subjects of forgiveness, humility, and loving one’s neighbor. Though she would never admit it out loud, not that it mattered as God was privy to one's thoughts, she was coming to despise the Bible almost as much as cards. She even went so far as to conjure a headache to avoid attending services on the Sabbath.

  Unfortunately, that plan went awry when the Biddings and the lieutenant arrived at Tanglewood bearing a draught guaranteed to cure any headache. The lieutenant insisted that she drink it straightaway, such was his concern for her welfare, and Harriett had never tasted anything so vile in her life.

  She choked down the concoction before handing the bottle back to him with a grimace. “It seems I am in your debt, Lieutenant. Someday, I hope to repay the kind service you have done for me today.”

  “I’m sure you would love nothing more,” he said with a grin. “But I shall hope for the opposite. I detest headaches.”

  “You must rest now, my dear,” said Mrs. Bidding in a motherly way. “With any luck, the draught will relieve the pain in your head, and we shall still see you tonight at dinner.”

  Harriett nodded, thanked the woman, mustered a smile for the lieutenant, and gratefully watched them descend the steps to the waiting carriage. As she closed the door and leaned her back against it, Harriett sighed in relief. At least she would have one afternoon free from the lieutenant’s knowing looks, triumphant grins, and the constant reminders of her many deficiencies and shortcomings.

  If only
she could best him at something.

  Rather than retire to her bedchamber, Harriett sought refuge in the library. Having recently discovered a fondness for reading—the knowledge she gained acted as a balm to her bruised ego—the dark and spacious room had become somewhat of a sanctuary to her. Perhaps she would be able to learn something that Lieutenant Jamison did not already know.

  As the hour approached dinner, Harriett was in no mood to dine with anyone, least of all the lieutenant, so she sent a note to the Biddings, crying off. It was a cowardly thing to do, which did nothing to improve her disposition, and by the time morning arrived, Harriett was certain that Tabby would not think her the least bit chipper.

  Sure enough, Tabby’s brow furrowed as she studied her mistress through the looking glass. “Is your ‘ead still achin’, milady?”

  Even if it was, Harriett would never admit to it. News would somehow reach Lieutenant Jamison’s ears, and he would undoubtedly feel the need to bring her more of his dreadful tonic.

  “I’m only tired, is all.”

  “Are you fit to go drivin’ with the lieutenant this mornin’, milady? You don’t seem in good spirits, and there’s no sense in spoilin’ ‘is day if you’re needin’ a bit more rest. ‘Appen you could go out drivin’ later, once you’re feeling a mite better.”

  Tabby spoke as though it would be a bad thing to spoil the lieutenant’s day, but that was exactly what Harriett wished to do. How many of her days had he spoiled? Plenty. It was only fair that she be given the opportunity to return that particular favor, was it not? Especially when it would lift her spirits like no rest could ever do.

  With that thought, Harriett sat up straighter, her mind suddenly whirling. Of course. Why hadn’t she considered that before? The lieutenant had made no secret that he was fond of her liveliness, but what would happen if he arrived to collect her for their drive and found a changed Harriett—one who was not lively or interesting? Would he at last tire of her and decide that London would be more to his liking? It was possible. There was nothing worse than tedious conversation, after all, and with the Biddings not accompanying them this morning, Harriett could be as dull or ridiculous as she pleased.

  Tabby tucked in the last hairpin, and Harriett jumped to her feet, clasping her maid by the shoulders. “Tabby, you are brilliant.”

  The girl blinked in surprise. “I can’t think why you’d say so, milady, but I’m glad ter see you smilin’ again. Are you feelin’ better then?”

  “I feel transformed. You have given me the most wonderful idea, and I shall put it to work straightaway. Please inform me the moment Lieutenant Jamison arrives.”

  Tabby left the room in a state of cheerful confusion while Harriett began to plot and plan. She even retrieved the parasol the lieutenant had gifted her days earlier and twirled it around, thinking that she could put it to good use after all.

  As the gig stumbled along beneath partly cloudy skies with a groom stationed at the back, Harriett peeked at the lieutenant from the corner of her eye. Blue suited him, as did most everything he wore. Several shades darker than the color of the sky, his coat fit him well, and with his hat tilted at a rakish angle, he appeared a handsome and charming gentleman. His jaw was smooth, his mustache neatly trimmed, and his eyes appeared lighter than usual.

  It was a good thing Harriett had already determined not to like him or she might be tempted to fall under his spell.

  Harriett twirled the peach parasol, gushed over every sight she saw, and simpered at every word the lieutenant uttered.

  “La, Lieutenant, is that flower not the loveliest creation you have ever seen?”

  He arched his eyebrow quizzically. “Most would consider a dandelion to be a weed and not a flower.”

  “I think it as charming as this charming day, don’t you?”

  Another quizzical glance accompanied his answer. “Yes, the day is quite charming.”

  “As are you, Lieutenant Jamison. Quite charming indeed.” She batted her lashes, smiled flirtatiously, and began rambling on about the new pelisse she would commission the moment she arrived in London.

  “I believe I shall choose the color yellow to remind me of this charming and sunny day. Or perhaps blue as a reminder of the charming skies.” She leaned over and smiled flirtatiously. “Your eyes are also a charming blue as well. Did you know that, Lieutenant? Quite charming indeed.” She hoped her overuse of the word “charming” would irritate him as it did her.

  Lieutenant Jamison nodded, a small smile touching his lips. “You are in a lively mood this morning, Lady Harriett. I find it most energizing and find myself wondering what your housekeeper put in your tea this morning.”

  Harriett looked away so that he would not see the annoyed expression on her face. He still thought her lively? Truly? Well, perhaps she had been lively, but not in a good, energizing sort of way. In an irritating and draining way that ought to have brought on a headache. Why on earth was the lieutenant smiling?

  Perhaps she needed to rethink her plan and strive to say as little as possible.

  Lieutenant Jamison began peppering her with questions, wanting to know all about her family, how her friendship with Lady Jonathan had come about, and if she’d enjoyed her first season in London. Harriett tried to keep her answers as brief and dry as possible, doing her best to play the part of a proper young lady wholly lacking in personality. But he did not seem to notice the change or be bothered by it.

  “I don’t understand,” he said at one point. “If your sister is currently in London, why do you remain in Askern? Why not go to London now?”

  Harriett folded her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead, wondering how to answer the question in a placid, nondescript way. Unfortunately, there was no boring way of admitting that she could not go to town yet because the majority of the ton had not arrived. This was her second season, and if she was to make any splash at all, she would need to appear on the scene fashionably late.

  But of course she could not say as much to the lieutenant. Such information would give him reason to goad and tease her, and she would be required to rise to the occasion in order to defend her position. Within minutes, an engaging discussion would take over, and once again, the man would come away champion.

  Goodness, it was difficult to mask one’s personality.

  Harriett finally settled on, “The weather and quality of the air is finer in Askern than London.”

  “Then why go to London at all?”

  If her mother, Cora, or Lucy had asked her such a question, Harriett would have said that she’d enjoyed her first season immensely. The balls, parties, musicales, and outings had made her feel adventurous and alive. It had been fun to dress in lovely creations, flirt outrageously, and be termed an Original.

  But once again, that was too interesting of an answer to suit her objectives, and so Harriett redirected the conversation instead.

  “Did you learn your interrogation skills in the navy, sir? Or do they stem from the time you spent observing your surroundings in your favorite apple tree?”

  The moment his lips pulled into another smile, Harriett berated herself. Why had she said such a thing? The question had not been the least bit insipid or dull. It was a good thing she did not need to make a living on the stage. She was dreadful at playing the part of someone else.

  “Not from the treetops, though I did attempt to interrogate a bird at one point when I discovered a partially eaten red apple. But alas, I could not decipher its tweeting and never did get to the bottom of it.”

  Harriett could actually picture him having such a conversation with the bird. It almost made her smile.

  “Enough about birds, though,” the lieutenant said. “I am much more interested in the real reasons you remain at Tanglewood. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m guessing that you do not wish to go to town as of yet because you prefer to be the last one to the party, so to speak. You want the ton to question your absence so that your arrival will cause a stir, am I right? You see,
Lady Harriett, I have not been gone so long that I have forgotten the silly games society likes to play.”

  Harriett found nothing to like in that particular observation, or how he so easily condemned the ways of society. Was he not one of the ton himself? Did he not now sit in a gig scheming and plotting and playing his own “silly games?”

  “They are not games, sir.”

  “What would you call them?”

  “Calculations,” she replied, wondering how she might explain it so that he would understand. “I believe that the season is similar to the war in many ways. Everyone approaches it with some sort of goal. The husbands go to appease their wives, the mothers to find a suitable match for their daughter or son, and the daughter or son—well, they are more like pawns or soldiers, required to bend to the will of their superiors, are they not?”

  “Something tells me, my lady, that you have never bent to anyone’s will.”

  “Only because I have been blessed with a doting mother who believes that I will benefit more from making my own choices. Most young ladies are not as lucky as I, but that is beside the point. As I was saying, everyone comes to London for a reason, and if left strictly to chance, what is the probability that their desired outcome will come about on its own? Far less than if one is proactive, don’t you think? Surely you, of all people, can understand that.”

  He pulled the horses to a stop and shifted in his seat to study her. “When it comes to war, yes. When it comes to love and relationships… well, let’s just say that I think chance ought to play a greater role.”

  Harriett furrowed her brow, not agreeing at all. “In other words, when it comes to the future of our country, you would not consider leaving it to chance, but in the case of your own happiness, you would? That makes little sense, Lieutenant.”

  He shook his head and scooted closer, making Harriett keenly aware of his knee touching hers. “You misunderstand me, my lady. I only meant that victory in war is very different than victory in love. War has a clear objective—to defeat one’s enemy while protecting and securing the rights of your country and people. That never changes. It is the nature of war. Love, on the other hand, is much less clear. I can research every debutante coming to town this season and deduce which woman I’d like to pursue based on her beauty, wealth, accomplishments, and grace. But in the end, if I cannot also love or desire her, all my deductions and plans have been for naught and my goal must change. Otherwise, I would end up unhappily married, and how sensible is that?”