Harriett did not answer right away. His words had touched a tender place in her heart and she found herself drawn to Lieutenant Jamison in an unexpected way. She also yearned for more than a sensible match. She wanted a match based on compatibility, respect, admiration, and desire. It was the reason she had not accepted any of the offers she’d received the previous season. But was love truly a possibility for everyone, or only the lucky few?
Harriett swallowed and allowed her gaze to drop to where her knee touched the lieutenant’s. She shifted it away and cleared her throat. “Most fashionable people would disagree with you, Lieutenant. They’d say it is far better for one’s head to rule one’s heart and not the other way around.”
“Is that what you believe, Lady Harriett?”
“I…” Her words trailed off as she realized her faux pas. She had joined the lieutenant this morning for the specific purpose of irritating and boring him to tears, yet here they were, discussing love and war, hopes, and possibly even dreams. How had such a conversation come to pass?
Apparently, she lacked the ability to remain focused on one particular goal for an extended period of time. Either that or the lieutenant was highly proficient in the art of distraction. It was probably a combination of the two.
In an effort to refocus, Harriett turned her attention to the countryside, noticing a newly plowed field in the distance. If she could not get the lieutenant to think of her as irritating or dull, perhaps she could put him off by becoming an unfashionable bluestocking. Or better yet, tell him something that he did not already know.
She nodded towards the field. “Do you think the farmer intends to grow wheat, sir? I hope so. According to the Norfolk Four-Course Method, planting wheat is the wisest thing to do, unless, of course, he planted wheat last year. In which case, he ought to plant turnips instead.”
The comment seemed to catch him off guard, and rightfully so. He blinked a few times before shaking his head in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“Have you not heard of the Four-Course System, Lieutenant?” asked Harriett, prepared to barrage him with a myriad of tedious facts about the benefits of growing wheat, turnips, and barley in successive years and even shock him by mentioning the merits of enriching the soil with animal waste from turnip-fed cattle.
But the wretched man didn’t look at all bored or even surprised. He looked amused. “I have heard of it, as a matter of fact. What I’m wondering is how you know about it. Are you a bluestocking in disguise, Lady Harriett? Because that would be delightful.”
Good grief, thought Harriett, very nearly throwing up her hands in frustration. Delightful?
Apparently, no matter what she said or how she behaved, Lieutenant Jamison was determined to think well of her. Was this another of his many attributes—to find something “delightful” in everyone no matter their intelligence or personality? How very Christian of him, she thought sourly. Perhaps the man truly did read from the Bible often.
But how was it that a former lieutenant in the navy was familiar with a lesser-known method of farming? Or was it lesser known? The book in Jonathan’s library had looked to be in newer condition and had made the technique sound revolutionary, but Harriett hadn’t checked the date of publication, so she couldn’t say for certain. Perhaps it was old news now.
Once again, the lieutenant had outwitted her, and once again, it rankled.
Drat the man! Drat his parents for not being more persuasive, the Biddings for being too persuasive, and this beautiful day for not looking more questionable. She frowned at the smattering of white, fluffy clouds that moved ever so slowly across the wide expanse of the sky, hiding the sun every now and again like an irritating game of peek-a-boo.
“It looks as though it might rain soon,” she remarked. “Perhaps we should return.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “If those clouds produce even one raindrop, I will send you a pretty posy every day for an entire year.”
Harriett tilted her face upwards and closed her eyes. Surely God would be merciful enough to grant her this one small victory over the lieutenant. One little raindrop is all I need, she pled. Preferably placed squarely on the dratted man’s nose.
Instead of a raindrop, the sun moved from behind a cloud, bathing her in light and warmth.
Drat the heavens as well.
“Why do I get the feeling that you are upset with me?” asked Lieutenant Jamison.
Harriett turned her frown on him. “Must you always triumph over me? Can you not concede even one small battle, sir?”
His eyebrows creased together in confusion. “Are we battling, my lady? I was not aware.”
“Of course we are battling! We are always battling and you are always winning. It is incredibly vexing.”
“Pray enlighten me. How, exactly, have I bested you today?” he asked, appearing both confused and entertained. “It was my understanding that we were simply enjoying some interesting conversation on a beautiful day.”
“But don’t you see?” said Harriett. “It was not supposed to be interesting. It was supposed to be tedious.”
He stared at her for a moment before his mouth began to tremble and twitch. “I’m not sure I’m understanding you correctly. Are you saying that if I had found your companionship tiring, you would have won some sort of battle?”
“Possibly even the war,” said Harriett.
“How? I must be a slowtop this morning because I cannot make sense of it.”
“Don’t you see?” she said. “If you did not find our daily outings lively or interesting, you would no longer wish to spend time with me and would renege on our wager. You might also come to the conclusion that the amusements in town are much more to your liking and make a hasty retreat, which, of course, would make me the victor at last.”
It wasn’t until Harriett voiced her thoughts aloud that she realized how ridiculous and juvenile they sounded—like a plan concocted by an imaginative child. Or a desperate woman, she thought, feeling as though she belonged in Bedlam. Perhaps a few months of confinement would restore her good sense.
The lieutenant must have thought the same because he began to laugh and laugh and laugh. At one point he even clutched his stomach and slapped his knee.
Humiliation and defeat settled around Harriett, enclosing her in a bubble of misery. She might have raised a white flag in surrender if she’d had one, but she didn’t. She didn’t have anything anymore, not even her pride.
As though sensing her drooping spirits, the lieutenant at last quieted and scooted closer, touching his shoulder to hers in a playful nudge. With that rich, perfect timbre, he said, “Lady Harriett, attempting to be tedious, dull, or even bird-witted will not serve—not when I already know you are none of those things.”
His words soothed and comforted, causing her further frustration. How did he manage to flatter her while triumphing at the same time? It made her feel weak and feeble, as though what remained of her defenses—if anything at all—could be broken down with a prettily-worded compliment.
Lieutenant Jamison picked up the ribbons, called out to the horses, and began circling the beasts around and back in the direction of Tanglewood. As the gig bounced along, Harriett remained silent and contemplative, thinking over the events of the past week and how she’d managed to land herself at this point. What was it about Lieutenant Jamison that unnerved her so? Why had she felt the need to battle with him and prove that she could outwit him? Why did it matter when she didn’t care about him at all?
As they journeyed up the carriage path leading to Tanglewood, a blessed sight met her eyes. Not far ahead stood a pristine, black carriage with four matching bays. Two footmen were unloading a trunk to be carried inside.
“They’re back!” Harriett exclaimed, feeling as though a raindrop had finally fallen in the guise of her dear friends, Lord and Lady Jonathan Ludlow. She closed her eyes and sent a silent “Thank you” to the heavens, feeling at peace with God once more.
Her friend could n
ot have arrived at a more needful time.
“Ah,” said the lieutenant. “They’ve returned a day earlier than expected. How fortuitous for the both of us, I imagine.”
Harriett had no reply to this. She waited for the lieutenant to stop the gig before scrambling down on her own.
“Good day to you, Lieutenant,” Harriett called over her shoulder as she hurried toward the house. She did not care that she was behaving in an unladylike manner. She only cared about getting away from an unsettling man and seeing her dear friend once again.
HARRIETT CHARGED INTO THE house, plowing into Lord Jonathan’s solid back. He removed his hat as he turned around, revealing a mop of unruly, light-brown hair.
“Pray forgive me, Jonathan,” she said as she stepped around him, brightening when she spied her friend conversing with the butler.
“Oh, hello, Harr—” Jonathan began.
“Cora!” Harriett exclaimed, belatedly realizing how dramatic she sounded. Had she truly just interrupted Jonathan? Goodness, what had come over her? Ladies did not jump unassisted from a gig, they did not flee their companions, they did not interrupt friends or even strangers, and they did not behave as though it had been ages since they had last seen a friend when it had not yet been a fortnight.
I really have gone mad.
Cora nodded at Watts before holding her arms out to Harriett with a smile. “How wonderful it is to see you, Harriett.” She gave her friend a quick hug before pulling back. “I was so worried that you would find Tanglewood a dreadful bore without the Shepherds to keep you company. But Watts was only just telling us that the Biddings and Lieutenant Jamison have been frequent visitors. He mentioned you had gone driving with the lieutenant only this morning, in fact, and I feared it would be hours before I would get to speak with you. But here you are.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied her friend. “Are you quite well? You look a bit flushed.”
Harriett did not find the news surprising in the least. She had just run from the lieutenant, after all. Of course she appeared flushed. She probably looked frazzled, disheveled, and cowardly as well. That’s what happened to a person when she allowed her emotions to seize control.
Harriett waved Cora's concerns aside and struggled for a light-hearted tone. “I am perfectly well, thank you. I simply could not wait to, er… ask about your wedding trip. It seems an age since I have seen you last.”
Truth be told, in her wretched state, Harriett had no wish to hear about a blissful wedding trip. And it had been blissful. The joy radiating from Cora attested to it. Dressed in a stylish deep-green traveling dress and matching bonnet, she had a glow about her that could not be dimmed. Her auburn hair shone with more vibrancy, her blue eyes sparkled, and her smile stretched far and wide.
What would it be like to have someone to cherish and be equally cherished in return? Harriett had no idea and probably never would. Bedlam likely discouraged courtship.
“We had a marvelous time, didn't we, my love?” Cora said. “We took long walks along the coast, saw the most exquisite sunsets I’ve ever beheld, ate lobster and the most decadent—” She stopped, pausing to scrutinize Harriett once again. “Are you quite certain that you're all right? Perhaps we should adjourn to the drawing room and call for some tea. You look as though you could use some refreshment.”
Harriett panicked. She didn't wish to adjourn to the drawing room where the lieutenant would come upon them once he’d seen to the gig and horses. Rather, she wanted to retire to her bedchamber with only Cora as company so that she might lay all of her troubles at her friend’s door. Cora appeared of sound mind at the moment. Surely she could prod Harriett back to seeing reason.
“Perhaps later,” Harriett said, silently imploring Jonathan to give her a few moments alone with his wife.
As though correctly interpreting her plea, Jonathan cleared his throat. “Is Jamison still about?”
A knock sounded on the door, much to Harriett’s annoyance, and Jonathan was quick to open it, revealing a grinning Lieutenant Jamison on the other side. Harriett immediately dropped her gaze to the floor, refusing to look into those laughing eyes another moment.
“Jono, old chap,” said the lieutenant.
Three hearty raps were heard—no doubt the men slapping each other on their backs in greeting—before Jonathan replied. “Christopher, you spineless jellyfish, how have you been?”
“Spineless?” the lieutenant answered. “I’m afraid that nickname will no longer suffice, my friend. Have you not heard that I'm a great war hero now?”
“Only from you, which makes it rather suspect. And war hero or not, I shall never forget the sight of you running away with an angry duck on your heels.”
“You would have fled as well had you been in my position. The creature’s bite hurt like the devil.”
“I never would have been in your position,” said Jonathan. “Attempting to steal one of its ducklings was a barbaric thing to do, and I’m most certainly not barbaric.”
“Borrow,” the lieutenant insisted. “I only meant to borrow it for a time, as you well know. After foisting Letty Lagerfield on me for the supper dance, my sister deserved to find a duckling floating in her wash basin.”
Jonathan chuckled. “If only you could have explained as much to its mother. I’m certain she would have let you borrow her offspring without protest.”
The lieutenant laughed, and the sound rumbled through the great hall, prodding Harriett to lift her gaze at last. Why did he always have to be so dratted cheerful and collected?
“It’s good to see you unchanged, my friend,” said the lieutenant.
“Au contraire.” Jonathan reached a hand out to his wife and pulled her to his side. “As you can see, I am very much changed. Not only have I become remarkably responsible, but I’ve somehow managed to snare this beautiful woman. Lieutenant Christopher Jamison, meet my wife, Lady Jonathan Ludlow.”
The lieutenant bowed low over her hand. “Jonathan is lucky indeed, my lady.”
“Please, you must call me Cora.”
“Cora it is, then.”
Harriett rolled her eyes. Where was this version of the lieutenant when Harriett had first met him? He’s laying it on thick, she wanted to tell Cora. Don’t you dare fall victim to his flattery.
But Harriett knew it was only a matter of time before Cora did exactly that. With the exception of Harriett, everyone seemed to adore the man. The Biddings, Jonathan, the stablehands, and Tabby. Even Pippin had chosen to rest at his feet the other evening—the little traitor.
“Tell me, Cora,” the lieutenant’s voice pulled Harriett back to the conversation at hand. “Now that my friend has become so very responsible, is he a dreadful bore?”
“A bore? No, I cannot say that he is.” She eyed her husband with a playful look. “But I have learned that he prefers salt only in small doses, believes paintings should be devoid of people, and despises it when chickens escape their coop.”
“Ah.” The lieutenant grinned. “He’s become a curmudgeon then. Tell me, does he rant and rage about?”
“Only before Cora reformed me,” said Jonathan, wrapping an arm around his wife. “Now I’m much more placid and on my way to becoming very dull indeed. I wouldn’t be surprised if you grew tired of me within the hour, Christopher.”
Lieutenant Jamison looked past his friend to catch Harriett’s eye. “In that case, perhaps you can give Lady Harriett some lessons. I have it on good authority that she would like to become a dreadful bore as well.”
Harriett glared at him, not appreciating the reminder of her earlier humiliation.
Cora studied her friend with open curiosity. “I’m not sure why you would wish to become such a thing, Harriett, but I must say that you could never pass yourself off as dull anymore than Jonathan could. You are both far too intelligent, witty, and interesting.”
Jonathan chuckled and placed a kiss on his wife’s temple. “My wife’s only weakness is that she’s far too kind. Cora cannot speak ill of anyone
no matter how much he or she might deserve it.”
“I would call that a strength, not a weakness.” Lieutenant Jamison bestowed upon Cora a look of genuine admiration, and Harriett felt a stab of jealousy at the sight. Why, she couldn’t say. If anyone deserved high praise and admiration, it was Cora. But the lieutenant had never looked at Harriett in that manner, and she found herself wishing he would.
“Being able to overlook the bad in people is a fine quality,” said the lieutenant, “and one that will come in very handy when associating with the likes of me. You see, Cora, according to Lady Harriett, I’m hopelessly flawed.”
Harriett’s jaw clenched as she stared daggers at the man. What sort of person said such things in polite company with her standing right there? The lieutenant, that’s who, and she refused to put up with his teasing any longer.
“I have said no such thing, sir.”
“Perhaps not in those precise words, but I’m certain you’ve referred to me as a cad.”
“I have not.” Harriett thought back over all their conversations, not recalling one instance when she’d called him that. She may have thought it once or twice, but she had not spoken it.
“Oh, that’s right,” he said. “You called me a bounder, not a cad.”
He was needling her yet again, and Harriett felt her hackles rise. “You must have mistaken me for someone else, sir. I have never called you either of those things.”
The Pursuit of Lady Harriett (Tanglewood Book 3) Page 6