“Loose screw then?” he continued, relentless.
“Loose cannon, more like,” said Jonathan, putting an end to the ribbing. Harriett barely refrained from adding, And a wicked rogue who delights in taunting and teasing vulnerable young women—or rather, a certain vulnerable young woman. Harriett was beginning to feel increasingly singled out and could not understand why he’d fixed a target solely on her.
Probably because you fixed one on him, came an inner voice of reason, one that Harriett quickly dismissed.
Lieutenant Jamison laughed. “I can’t deny I’ve been called a loose cannon before. That particular endearment seems to follow me wherever I go.”
Harriett rolled her eyes and looked away, knowing further comment would only encourage him. She needed to get away from him and soon.
“I'm feeling a bit tired all of a sudden,” said Harriett. “I think I shall retire to my room.”
Cora shot her friend a worried and quizzical glance. Then she turned to her husband and rested a hand on his arm. “I’m certain you two gentlemen have much to discuss, and I am rather tired after our journey as well. If it’s agreeable with you, I shall go up with Harriett.”
“Of course, my dear. Whatever you wish.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Cora,” added the lieutenant in a rare show of sincerity. Harriett felt another pang of jealousy, accompanied by a small dose of hurt. Would the lieutenant ever find something to admire in her—other than her “lively” spirit, that is? Would he ever be able to say, in all honesty, that it had been a pleasure to meet Harriett as well?
Probably not.
Cora threaded her arm through Harriett’s and prodded her towards the stairs. Nothing more was said until they were safely ensconced in her bedchamber with the door closed.
“Harriett, whatever is the matter?” Cora removed her bonnet and set it on a chair, all the while staring at her friend in bewilderment. “I have never seen you in such a state.”
Harriett dropped down on her bed, cast her own bonnet aside, and leaned forward, letting her head fall into her hands. “I do not know. It's the lieutenant. He has… well, I don't know what he's done, exactly. I only know that I’ve never felt more at odds with another person in my life.”
Cora sat down and laid a hand on Harriett’s shoulder. “Has he been unkind to you?”
“No, not really. He has only teased, tried, and tested me, probably finding me wanting at every turn. Tell me, Cora, do I possess any talents at all? Any strengths that you can think of? You, for example, are always so kind and level-headed and have an unerring sense of fashion. And Lucy has a knack for creating such beautiful things—from floral arrangements to improvements around the estate. And now that my brother has encouraged her in horsemanship, she rides with even greater skill than I, and I have been riding my entire life. How is it possible that every woman I know seems to excel in various things, whereas I am only able to become average at best?”
“What in the world are you talking about?” said Cora. “An unerring sense of fashion? Me? Honestly, Harriett. You are the most fashionable woman I know.”
Harriett sighed. “Only because Mother has engaged the services of Madame Bissonette. It is she who has taught me that the colors blue, peach, gold, and deep green suit me best. I could never have drawn such conclusions on my own. I once picked out a beautiful violet silk, and Madame looked at me as though I’d gone daft. That is the only reason I know that violet does not suit me at all. And do you remember that bonnet we spied on display in the milliner’s when we first met? I thought it looked interesting in an unusual sort of way, but I did not know whether it was unusual good or unusual bad—at least not until you found something to admire in it. Only then did I know that it was a good sort of unusual. Don’t you see, Cora? My appearance is merely a product of others’ good tastes. If left to my own devices, I would look ridiculous.”
“Fiddlesticks,” said Cora. “Everyone turns to their modistes, friends, mothers, and maids for advice.”
“Advice, yes,” agreed Harriett. “Complete dependence, no.”
“You give yourself far too little credit,” said Cora, “not that it really matters one way or the other. Having good fashion sense is nothing compared to having a good character—and that you have in spades, Harriett. A kinder friend I could never find. Do you not remember how you befriended me even though I was far beneath you? And who jumped to my aid when I needed it most? Who plotted and arranged for me to come to Askern, traveled all this way to be present at my wedding, and even managed to convince my parents to attend? Heavens, you are kindness itself. I owe all my current happiness to you.”
Harriett could not deny she had done those things, although her motives were perhaps not as altruistic as her friend seemed to think. The only reason she’d befriended Cora was because Harriett had been in desperate need of a friend and she’d taken an instant liking to Cora. And although Harriett had helped with the arrangements to transport Cora to Askern, she’d been most unhappy about it.
The fact of the matter was that if anyone were to compare Harriett with Cora in a question of who was the kindest, Cora would win by leaps and bounds. Kindness was one of her greatest strengths, which led Harriett back to the question she’d posed moments before. What, exactly were her greatest strengths?
Harriett frowned, unable to think of a single one.
Looking down at her kid boots peeking out from beneath her skirts, Harriett thought that she was rather like her shoes—shiny and unblemished on the outside, due to the talents of others, and wholly lacking substance within. It was an insecurity that had begun to emerge during her first London season, but Harriett had always been able to push it aside. Until now.
“Harriett,” said Cora, her voice soft and gentle. “I don’t understand. What has Lieutenant Jamison done or said to make you so uncertain of yourself?”
Harriett shrugged and gave the only answer she could give. “He’s winning the war.”
A moment of silence descended before Cora spoke again. “To what war are you referring?”
With a sigh, Harriett lay back on the bed and tucked her hands behind her head. Her eyes traced the gold-leafing designs on the ceiling while her mind traveled back almost a week.
In a tone devoid of emotion, she began telling Cora about a man who’d raced past her on the road, leaving Harriett wet and seething. After that came the Biddings untimely arrival, the lieutenant’s decision to stay, the sweet, but unhelpful dog, the card games lost, the horrid archery lesson, the lessons from the Bible, and Harriett’s latest failed attempt to bore the lieutenant back to London.
“He is constantly laughing at me—not with me, mind you, at me. No matter how hard I try, Cora, I cannot find one weakness within him, other than his aggravating behavior, that is. And all of my attempts to uncover something have fallen short of the mark. Can you not see the sorry predicament I’m in?”
Harriett glanced at her friend, only to see Cora biting her lip in an effort to keep from smiling. It made Harriett scowl and think that Cora and Lieutenant Jamison would get along famously.
“And now you’re laughing at me as well,” Harriett accused. “Honestly, Cora, if you side with the lieutenant on this, I shall take back my praise of your kindness.”
Cora was quick to school her features into something resembling sympathy, but humor still lurked in her eyes. “Of course I will not side with Lieutenant Jamison, Harriett. You have every right to be upset with him. A gentleman ought to allow a lady to win at least a few battles.”
Harriett had said much the same thing to the lieutenant, but hearing it from Cora’s lips made it sound petulant and silly.
She frowned. “I would prefer to earn a win instead of be handed one, as though I am a child in need of coddling. But that is precisely my point, Cora. Despite my best efforts, I cannot outwit the man.”
“I see.” Cora nodded slowly, as though seriously considering the problem.
Harriett returned her gaz
e to the ceiling, wondering how she might avoid Lieutenant Jamison from now on. She could feign an illness and keep to her room, she could go to London earlier than planned, or she could suffer through the five-day journey back to her family’s estate in Danbury. Were those her only options? Why couldn’t the lieutenant be the one to depart? His parents were expecting him, after all. Surely he should feel some obligation towards them.
“Tell me what you know about Lieutenant Jamison,” Cora’s voice intruded.
Harriett opened her mouth to respond, only to frown when nothing came immediately to mind. What did she know about the man? “He’s a former lieutenant in the navy.”
Cora nodded. “Yes, I had gathered as much.”
Harriett shrugged. “He calls his horse Wicked, rides the beast recklessly, despises small dogs, and is unnaturally good at cards, archery, and everything else, it seems.”
Cora shook her head as though Harriett’s answer didn’t suffice. “No one is good at everything. Now tell me something I don’t already know.”
Harriett blew out the side of her mouth in an unladylike fashion, thinking back to all the times she had spent in his company. “He comes from Cornwall and likes to observe people from apple trees.”
Cora blinked a few times before shaking her head. “In other words, you know very little about him.”
“I do not wish to know the man. I only wish to outwit him.”
Cora laughed and shook her head, probably thinking Harriett a peagoose. She seemed to choose her next words carefully. “How can you expect to outwit your opponent if you do not know him? Don’t you think it would benefit your cause to learn about his strengths and weaknesses?”
“He has no weaknesses.”
Cora chuckled again. “You only think that because you don’t truly know him. Everyone has weaknesses. In a way, it’s what makes life worth living, don’t you think? If we were all perfect individuals, there would be no room for growth, learning, or joy when we finally do overcome. I’m quite certain that Lieutenant Jamison still has a great deal to learn. We all do.”
Harriett’s mouth opened then closed when she realized she had no reply to that. Slowly, she lifted herself up, giving the matter some more thought. Cora’s words made a great deal of sense. The lieutenant had to have some weaknesses. Surely she could discover a few of them if she put her mind to it. But did she dare give it one more try? Could her pride handle another loss if she failed again?
Cora grabbed Harriett’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Harriett, you are a beautiful, talented, intelligent, and confident woman. Don’t ever forget that.”
The words warmed Harriett’s heart, breathing vigor and peace into her soul. If everyone had weaknesses, it must follow that everyone had strengths as well. She simply needed to figure out what hers were and stop allowing the lieutenant to make her doubt their existence.
Harriett straightened her spine and lifted her chin a notch. “You are absolutely right.”
“Of course I am,” said Cora. “Now, I want you to put all thoughts of battles, wits, and wagers out of your mind and focus instead on getting to know the lieutenant the way you would any other gentleman.”
“He is no gentleman,” Harriett felt the need to insert.
“Perhaps not,” said Cora carefully. “But if you can get past that, I’m certain you can show him the beautiful, talented, confident woman you are.”
Harriett smiled a little. “You forgot intelligent.”
“That goes without saying.”
Harriett grinned and hugged her friend, feeling some of her confidence return. She may have been wrong about a great many things, but in one thing she had been correct. Cora had indeed been an answer from Heaven.
CHRISTOPHER WAVED OFF JONATHAN’S offer of a drink and relaxed against the back of the large wingback chair in the study. A small smile touched his lips as he recalled the image of Lady Harriett climbing down from the buggy on her own and rushing away in a flurry of peach muslin, her chin high, her back straight, and her bonnet slightly askew.
“What are you smiling about?” Jonathan asked as he draped his elbow over the corner of the fireplace mantle, looking very much the same as he had years before. Other than a few additional lines around his eyes and mouth, he still sported the same ramshackle hairstyle, the same lean body, and the same dignified stance. Only now he had an air of wisdom and maturity that had been absent before.
Christopher understood the change well. When life had its way with a person, one had to either give up or grow up.
They’d both grown up.
Christopher’s gaze travelled to the painting of Cora that hung above the mantle, next to where his friend stood. He studied it a moment before commenting. “It’s a good likeness. The artist has captured her beauty and goodness.”
Jonathan glanced at the piece and chuckled before taking a seat in the matching wingback chair across from Christopher, stretching his legs out before him. “Cora has disliked every picture I have placed there and this one most of all. She only agreed to sit for the artist because I begged her to, but she detested every moment of it, insisting that portraits should only be hung after a person died. I told her that I would rather look upon her face than anyone else’s, but every time she enters this room, she glares first at the painting and then at me.”
Christopher laughed. “Did she commission a painting of you to be placed in her sitting room as revenge?”
“Not yet. I’m certain she’s hoping I’ll eventually come around to her way of thinking, as I often do. But I’m afraid she’s doomed to disappointment this time. Her extreme dislike of the painting has only endeared it to me even more.”
“You are fortunate she is so patient with you. Lady Harriett would not have been. She would have retaliated straightaway, directing the artist to paint her husband wearing a pink cravat and place a small, ridiculously-pampered Yorkshire terrier atop his lap—with a bow in its hair, no less.”
Jonathan raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“The woman is stubborn and unforgiving. She cannot let matters rest until she has exacted some sort of revenge.”
“Ah. So she is like you in that respect.”
Christopher should have expected the quip. The two had always been like brothers, and as such, there had been many competitions between them. It was a well-known fact that Christopher liked to win—and Jonathan too, of course—but Christopher had always cared just a little bit more.
He adopted an air of nonchalance. “I have settled down in my old age.”
Jonathan chuckled and shook his head, obviously not believing the claim. “Do not forget to whom you are speaking, my friend. I know you too well.”
Too well indeed, thought Christopher. “Perhaps you are right,” he conceded. “But I would not call my encounters with Lady Harriett competitions as much as diversions, though she would probably disagree with me. She is so…” He did not know how to finish the sentence or even begin to explain his thoughts about the lady. He only knew that the past week had been the most entertaining and mystifying of his life. She kept him on his toes, that much was certain.
“She is so…?” Jonathan moved his hand in a circular motion, prodding his friend to finish his thought.
Propping his elbows on the arms of the chair, Christopher threaded his fingers together. “Let us just say that Lady Harriett is a challenge. She’s intelligent and confident yet vulnerable at the same time. I don’t know why, but I feel a puzzling inclination to understand her better. She, on the other hand, desires only to see my backside retreat to London with as much haste as possible. There are moments when I think we could become great friends, but something shifts and she is at loggerheads with me once more. It’s truly perplexing.”
Jonathan watched him closely, no doubt perceiving things as only a close friend could. “So it is Lady Harriett who has kept you here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I was awaiting your return.”
Jonathan chuckled and shook
his head, once again showing his perception. “You are far too impatient to twiddle your thumbs for a week, and you know it.”
Christopher couldn’t deny it, nor could he deny that Lady Harriett had piqued his interest enough to waylay him for a time. “As I said before,” Christopher allowed, brushing a nonexistent fleck from his trousers, “she has been… diverting.”
Apparently Jonathan thought he’d prodded his friend enough for one day—either that or he had something of greater importance to discuss—because he let the matter drop. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you remained. It has been too long.”
“Agreed,” said Christopher, thinking of the letter he’d received from his mother only yesterday. “Unfortunately, I must return to London soon. My parents have unknowingly sided with Lady Harriett in that they are insisting I meet up with them by the week’s end.”
“You do not wish to go?” Jonathan asked.
“It’s complicated.” Christopher drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling like too many years of no communication had left him with much to explain. “I gave them my word that I would choose a bride by the end of the season, and they are anxious for me to begin my search.”
Other than a slight widening of his eyes, Jonathan showed no reaction. “You don’t seem overly pleased by the prospect. Why make such a promise?”
Christopher felt the weight of it bear down on him the way it always did when he allowed himself to dwell on it. Only this morning, he had spoken with such conviction to Lady Harriett that love should be stumbled upon and not sought after. Yet here he was, a man forced to seek after it because of a promise he’d made to his parents. The task daunted him like no war assignment had ever done.
Christopher had come to realize that there were a few ways a man could risk his life. He could raise his sword and charge into battle, putting his mortality on the line, or he could offer for a young lady after only a brief acquaintance, not knowing whether or not the remainder of his life would be spent in misery or joy. At least in battle if things went south, his life would have been taken quickly. Marriage, on the other hand, could easily mean decades of torture. What man would be pleased by such a prospect?
The Pursuit of Lady Harriett (Tanglewood Book 3) Page 7