She didn’t know the answer to that, but she knew that saying no to Chris when he looked at her in such a way was nigh unto impossible.
“Very well,” she finally agreed, tugging her hand free. “But If I am to play this part, I’ll require something in return.”
“Anything,” came his answer.
She gave him a look that challenged him to deny her. “From now until the time you return to your boorish ways, I would like for you to make a complete cake of yourself over me.”
AS THE GROUP GATHERED in the drawing room following dinner, Christopher learned fairly quickly exactly how much of a cake Harriett meant for him to make of himself. She approached him with a beautiful smile, complimented him on how well he looked, and tucked a note into his hand before joining his mother on the sofa.
He fingered the note as his eyes lingered on her. The elegant slope of her neck and shoulders, the curves that attracted his notice every time he saw her, and her natural grace and elegance. Add to that her sparkling eyes, her vibrant ebony hair that caught the highlights from her golden gown, and her kissable lips, and Christopher could not deny that she was indeed breathtaking.
His thoughts returned to the previous night, when he’d nearly kissed her after they’d finished their cake. Looking back, he almost wished he would have if only to see what her response would have been. Would she have returned his kiss, or would he have angered her beyond redemption? He couldn’t say, only that his fear of the latter had caused him to shy away.
Christopher still had no idea how he had convinced her to play the part of an infatuated lady, but she’d risen to the occasion with gusto. All throughout dinner she had flashed him smiles, secret looks, and exchanged words with his mother, giggling and laughing all the while like a giddy debutant. If it were anyone else, such antics would annoy him in the extreme, but Harriett transfixed him. At some point during dinner, something shifted inside him, and he found himself wanting her overtures to be real instead of feigned.
He bit his lip as he glanced down at the note. He probably should tuck it inside his jacket for later perusal, but his curiosity could not be quieted. He casually turned away from the others and quickly broke the seal, finding a slip of parchment tucked inside the note.
Chris,
How very romantic of you to write me a sonnet. Do say you will read it aloud to me this evening. I’m certain your parents will be most impressed by your clever and charming way with words. I’m certain I will be as well.
Yours,
Harriett
He had to press his lips together as he scanned the slip of parchment. Surely she did not mean for him to actually read this aloud. Only a dandified buffoon would write something so absurd, let alone recite it in public.
He glanced up and caught her grinning at him. An unspoken challenge sparkled in her eyes, daring him to make an utter cake of himself. A promise is a promise, she seemed to say.
“What is that you are reading?” asked his mother.
He quickly folded the note and stuffed it into his pocket. “Nothing.”
Harriett leaned towards his mother with a sly look. “I believe he is spinning a Banbury tale, Mrs. Jamison. Look, I do believe he’s blushing.”
Christopher scowled. “I assure you, my lady, I am not blushing.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “Perhaps I ought to have said that you appear flushed. Is that more masculine?”
“I think you are right, Harriett,” added Cora. “He does look a trifle pink.”
Christopher eyed Cora with suspicion, wondering if she had aided in the writing of the sonnet. It did not take much imagination to picture both ladies giggling over tea as they revised the words to “The World is Too Much with Us” by Wordsworth. How charitable of them to give him credit for their ghastly creation.
“Is it a love note, do you think?” Cora speculated.
“I hope not, or I shall be quite jealous,” said Harriett.
With all eyes on him, Christopher hesitated, wondering how to extricate himself from this situation. Like it or not, the sonnet would have to be read—the ladies would see to that—but Christopher refused to be the one to read it. Making a cake of himself was one thing. A fool quite another.
Christopher withdrew the note from his pocket, fingered it a moment, and sighed, holding it out to Harriett. “This is for you, my lady. Do with it what you will, but tread carefully. It may or may not contain a piece of my heart.” He had to force himself to say that last part.
Cora coughed to cover up a giggle while his mother smiled proudly. Jonathan and his father looked on with interest, and Christopher could only pray that Harriett would not wish to read it aloud either.
She accepted the note with a gracious, “You intrigue me, sir,” and went on to make a pretense of reading the poem. Christopher had to give her credit for appearing properly delighted and touched by its contents.
Once she’d finished, her hand covered her heart as she peered at him. “What a beautiful sonnet, Lieutenant. I shall always treasure it.”
“Do say that you will read us a line or two from it, my dear,” begged his mother. “I had no idea my son had a talent for poetry.”
“Only a line or two would not do it justice, Mrs. Jamison. You must read it in its entirety if you wish to acquaint yourself with his talent.” Harriett directed a look of adoration his way before handing over the slip of parchment.
“I should very much like to hear the poem as well,” inserted Jonathan, making Christopher want to snatch it back and toss it into the fire. Only with great effort was he able to take a seat and look properly self-conscious.
His mother held the note out in front of her and squinted at it. “I can see you took your time with this, Christopher. Your letters are much improved.”
Harriett’s lips twitched, and Christopher barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He wished his mother would get on with it and be done.
After more shifting and squinting, she began.
“Lady H— is much with me; late and soon,
With hope unfeigned, I lay waste my powers;
Nothing in her is remotely dour,
I have given my heart, a stirring boon!
Her ebony hair bares her beauty to the moon;
Her deep brown eyes hold me captive all hours,
Her fair skin resembles pale-peach flowers;
For her, for everything, I am most in tune;
She moves me so. Oh yes! I’d rather be
A dandy suckled in fashions outworn;
Then lose her. And so I sit on this bench,
Catching sights of her that make me less forlorn;
She speaks to another and my heart does wrench;
But one smile my way, and I am reborn.”
His mother had tears in her eyes when she finished reading. Actual tears! Had she really thought it beautiful? It wasn’t even a true sonnet. It didn’t take a mathematician to notice that many of the lines contained more than ten syllables.
Harriett was certainly not crying. She and Cora appeared vastly entertained while Jonathan would undoubtedly succumb to a fit of laughter any moment. And Christopher’s father—well, his father looked very much surprised, and not in a good way.
“My dear boy, that was extraordinary,” spoke his mother. “I had no idea you could be such a romantic.”
Good gads. Christopher would never hear the end of this. He could already see it in Jonathan’s gleeful expression. What else did Harriett have in store for him? Ten days would feel like an eternity if he would be required to make a spectacle of himself every evening. But how to convince her to lower her expectations so he wouldn’t be completely emasculated by the end of the week?
Christopher walked over to Harriett, bowing low over her hand. “Lady Harriett, it is a beautiful evening. Will you do me the honor of taking a stroll with me in the gardens?”
“What a wonderful idea. I would love to.” She rose and accepted his arm, looking every inch the kitten who h
ad just outwitted a dog. She turned to the others. “Do say you will join us.”
“Of course we will,” said his mother, quickly rising and gesturing to her husband. Jonathan and Cora linked arms as well, and they all adjourned to the great hall, where a few maids were sent to collect the ladies’ coats and gloves.
As Christopher helped Harriett into a deep burgundy pelisse, he lowered his voice so only she could hear. “How many pelisses do you own, exactly?”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “If I continue to keep company with you, not nearly enough.”
“Ah, but I have promised to be on my best behavior from this point forward, haven’t I?”
“You also promised to make a cake of yourself over me, and so far the only thing you have done of your own accord was to accompany me into dinner and see that I was comfortably situated.”
Christopher frowned as he pulled on his gloves, wondering what more she had expected of him. Had she wanted him to raise his glass and call out a toast in her honor? Stare longingly into her eyes over dinner? Rhapsodize about her many virtues and attributes?
Apparently so, judging by the sonnet she had written.
They followed the others outside, and he breathed in the crisp, evening air. The sun hovered over the tops of the trees, threatening to depart within the hour. Christopher should have been in London by now, attending dinner parties, afternoon teas, balls, and inviting eligible young ladies for a drive through the park. Instead, he was here, strolling through Tanglewood’s gardens with the most complex and alluring woman he had ever known—a woman who was only pretending to be interested in him.
Christopher had implied that Jonathan still needed him, but the truth of the matter was that until the issue with the land was settled, not much more could be done. Christopher could leave tomorrow if he chose and return at the conclusion of the London season, just as he’d initially planned to do. He could begin the hunt for his future wife, allow Jonathan the time he needed to settle matters with Mr. O’Rourke, and come again once everything had settled down.
But he remained. Why? Did he truly think he could help Jonathan sort things out with Mr. O’Rourke? Did he really want to see his mother enjoy her happiness a while longer? Perhaps those played a small part in his decision, but if Christopher was being truly honest with himself, the real reason he wished to stay was holding onto his arm, glancing up at him with a mischievous gaze, and undoubtedly plotting more ways to unman him.
Christopher really needed to put a stop to that.
“Tell me, Harriett.” He slowed his steps so that they could speak without being overheard by the others. “Are you fond of men who fall all over themselves for you? If I had written a sonnet in earnest, declaring my rapture for your hair and eyes and complexion, would you be swept off your feet by such tactics, or would you begin avoiding me like the plague?”
Harriett smiled a little and shrugged. “In all honesty, the latter.”
“Then why would you place me in such a role? And why would you suggest to Mrs. Bidding that I would consider it a great honor to be gifted with one of Pippin’s puppies? Yes, Cora let that little fact slip earlier today, but I cannot understand it. Do you wish for me to drive you away by behaving like a buffoon instead of a boor? Is that it?”
“Heavens no,” said Harriett, slowing her steps until they had ceased walking altogether. When she turned and looked at him again, there was a hint of sorrow in her expression. “I am sorry for tonight. Truly. I suppose that after all that has happened between us, I wanted to, I don’t know… have a little comeuppance. I thought it humorous and fun, but if I have offended you with my antics, then I was in the wrong. I’m sincerely sorry. You are not a buffoon, Lieutenant, and I would never wish you to be.”
Surprised by her words and her earnestness, Christopher was at a loss how to respond. He hadn’t expected such a sincere apology, especially not from Harriett. He’d expected a witty rejoinder.
Yet here she stood, genuinely remorseful for something that had been… well, inconsequential really. Although he hadn’t appreciated being made to look the fool, Christopher couldn’t deny that he probably would have done the same had the situation been reversed.
How many times had she asked for an apology from him, only to receive flippancy in return? How many times had he put her or someone else in an awkward situation so that he could laugh at their expense? All’s fair in love and war had been a motto he’d often adhered to, but now, with Harriett looking so worried that she had offended him, he realized that all was not fair, not really.
For all of his posturing and Bible readings, apologies had never come easily for him, nor sincerity either. Christopher had always preferred to keep conversations superficial and had even prided himself on his ability to remain buoyant in any situation. But now, looking into Harriett’s mesmerizing eyes, he realized that sincerity was not a weakness. It was something to be commended.
Feeling humbled and undeserving of her apology, he tucked her arm through his, pulling her close as they resumed their walk. “You have nothing to apologize for, Harriett. The sonnet was a clever move on your part, and you could not find a more deserving recipient than me. And besides, you made my mother very proud and entertained the others most beautifully.”
“I was rather entertained myself,” she admitted.
“So I noticed.”
They continued on in silence, giving Christopher time to reflect upon the woman at his side—a woman who was rapidly finding a place within his heart. The words of her sonnet had not done her justice. They had focused only on her superficial qualities, which were indeed remarkable, but had mentioned nothing about who she truly was.
Why had she left that part out?
Christopher glanced at her, wishing he could see past her beautiful face and into her thoughts. After a moment or two, he felt compelled to say, “I wish you had allowed me a little say in the contents of the sonnet. It praised only your beauty and mentioned nothing about your wit, intelligence, and uncanny ability to put me in my place. Is there a reason you did not list those traits as well?”
His words seemed to please her, for she smiled. “You will have to ask Mr. Thomas Chant that question, not I. It was he who composed that sonnet, right before he offered for me last season.”
Christopher was relieved to hear her say as much, although he had to wonder at her reasons for holding onto the poem. “You must treasure it a great deal to have kept it all this time.”
“Indeed I do,” she answered lightheartedly. “Anytime I am feeling low, I pull out that poem and cannot help but laugh. Perhaps it is cruel of me to find so much humor with Mr. Chant’s efforts, but I cannot bring myself to part with it just yet. It has become too dear to my heart.”
“Do you regret not accepting his suit? You could have an entire drawer filled with sonnets at your disposal.”
She shook her head prettily. “One is all I need. But I must confess that it has become even dearer to me now. I will never forget the look on your face when your mother read it aloud.” She smiled, and Christopher couldn’t help but respond in kind.
He slowed his steps and paused to cover her hand with his own. “Promise me that you will not make me the author of any more poems.”
She blinked innocently at him. “Considering I am pursuing you as an enemy would her prey, I’m afraid I cannot.”
“I thought we agreed that you would pursue me for other, more romantic, reasons.”
“Yes, well, that is something I wish to discuss with you, Chris. I am a lady, you understand, and as such it is not seemly for me to pursue a man for any reason. So from this point forward, I believe it should be you who pursues me and not the other way around. You can consider it practice for the upcoming season. You must learn to woo a woman, after all, if you want to have any hope of capturing her heart.”
Her tone was playful and mischievous, but as Christopher thought over her words, he wondered if he could ever hope to capture a woman’s heart�
�a woman very much like Lady Harriett Cavendish.
“Is there any hope for me, do you think?” He kept his tone flippant, but he very much cared about her answer.
She freed her hand from his arm and stepped in front of him as though studying him. She dusted off his shoulders, fiddled with his cravat, and straightened his lapels. After she’d finished, she concluded, “I believe so. You are handsome, intelligent, amusing, and even kind when you wish to be. You simply need to work on your… comportment a bit more.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
She touched the tip of her finger to her lower lip and thought a moment. “Well, when a lady enters the room, for example, you should stand immediately and focus your attention solely on her.”
“Do I not already do that?”
She made a face as though sometimes he did and sometimes he didn’t. “By focus, I mean that instead of teasing or torturing her, you should offer a compliment and speak to her as though she were the only woman in the room. Not for too long, of course, but for a few moments at least. If you make a woman feel as though she is the center of your world, she will not come away from the experience unaffected.”
At that moment, Christopher felt as though he was the center of Harriett’s world, and he was most certainly affected. “Is that all I need to do?”
She laughed a little, shaking her head. “I’m afraid that is only the beginning, Lieutenant.”
“Chris,” he corrected.
“Chris,” she repeated. “You must also learn how to make heartfelt apologies, show genuine concern when a woman experiences a misfortune, and treat a lady as though she is… well, a lady. Laughter and facetiousness are all well and good, but when a woman is suffering from discomfort or humiliation, laughing at her will only worsen the situation.”
It all seemed like a great deal to think about, and Christopher didn’t know if he was capable of too much sincerity. But he could also see the wisdom in her words and how his teasing could be hurtful at times. Perhaps that was something he could improve upon.
The Pursuit of Lady Harriett (Tanglewood Book 3) Page 13