The Pursuit of Lady Harriett (Tanglewood Book 3)

by Rachael Anderson

  “I don’t think he ever intends to do it,” she said. “I think it’s just the way of things with him.”

  “He must have some redeemable qualities or we would be at the opera right now and not at an amateur musicale.”

  “Oh, he does,” she agreed. “It’s just…” Words failed her, and she shook her head, imploring her brother to understand her confusion and say something to comfort her.

  He straightened and leaned his hip against the railing and cocked his head at her. “Perhaps you are the problem.”

  She blinked at him, wide-eyed, thinking his words not at all comforting. “I beg your pardon.”

  He laughed. “That came out wrong, didn’t it? I only meant to say that love can turn a level-headed man into a bumbling fool. Let us wait and see what the remainder of the evening brings before we judge him too harshly, shall we? It appears as though everyone is taking their seats. Will you join me?”

  He held out his arm, but Harriett did not accept it right away. “Only on one condition. If tonight proves to be a disappointment, will you promise to challenge Lieutenant Jamison to a duel? It is a brother’s duty to stand up for his sister, after all.”

  He snickered. “You’re asking me to call out a former lieutenant in the navy? He’s probably a crack shot.”

  “Judging by his skill at archery, I would say you are correct.”

  His snicker became a chuckle. “How about I plant him a facer instead? Would that suffice?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Good.” He tucked her arm into his. “Now let us take our seats before we are forced to interrupt.”

  She nodded, and as she accompanied her brother through the doors and back to the ballroom, she noticed that her stomach did not feel quite so queasy any longer. She gave his arm a grateful squeeze, thankful to have such a brother. He’d given her a reason to smile when she needed it most. She could only hope that Chris would give her another.

  A quick perusal of the room showed no sign of him, and as Harriett took her seat, she experienced a small surge of irritation. It actually felt good and even calmed some of her fears. Why had Chris asked her to come tonight if he did not intend to speak with her? She and her family had missed the opportunity to hear Farinelli sing, and for what? To hear a series of mediocre performances? It didn’t take long before Harriett decided that it might be she who planted Chris that facer and not her brother.

  The second half of the musicale soon began, and with each passing performance, time slowed to an excruciating pace. Had her state of mind been different, Harriett might have found something to like in each performance—the musicians were all accomplished—but her frustration held her captive, stealing all pleasantness from the evening. By the time Lord Carlyle stood to announce what she prayed would be the final performance, her head pounded. Though she had tried her best not to expect anything from Chris tonight, she had expected something.

  “Before I introduce the talented musicians who will play our concluding number,” said Lord Carlyle, “I would like to give a few moments to someone I have come to think of as my own son. He has written a sonnet he would like to share, and I hope you will indulge us with this slight deviation from the program. Please extend a warm welcome to Lieutenant Christopher Jamison.”

  Applause sounded in Harriett’s ears, but it seemed to come from somewhere faraway. Had she heard correctly? Chris was to read a sonnet that he’d written?

  She twisted in her chair to see him walking from the back of the room, clutching a piece of parchment in his hand and looking for all the world like a man on his way to the guillotine.

  Harriett’s own words echoed in her mind. I want a man who finds my quirks endearing, a man who complements my weaknesses with his strengths, a man who is willing to make a fool of himself over me.

  Oh dear. Was that the reason he’d invited her here tonight—to make a fool of himself over her? If so, what did he plan to say? She could only imagine what words he’d written, and none of her imaginings brought her any peace of mind. Surely he would not claim affection for a certain Harry, would he? Harriett closed her eyes briefly, attempting to shut out worrisome thoughts about midnight assignations, climbing trees, mud puddles, or bird droppings.

  Surely he wouldn’t make her appear the fool as well. That would defeat the whole point of it.

  Christopher took the center of the stage with his confident stance and offered the crowd his heart-stopping smile. From the curious glances her family sent her way, Harriett knew they were very much interested in what he had to stay. She, on the other hand, was petrified.

  His smiled landed on her for a brief moment before he addressed the audience. “In keeping with the theme for this evening’s entertainment, I have asked the talented Miss Taylor to accompany my reading with the lovely sounds of her harp. While we wait for her to take her place, I feel it necessary to inform those of you who are skeptical of my poetic abilities”—his gaze landed briefly on Harriett—“that every word of this sonnet is mine and mine alone. If you are impressed, feel free to shower me with praise.” Laughter sounded throughout the room, and he had to wait a moment for it to die down. “But if you are not impressed, which may very well be the case, all I can offer is my promise to never write another poem as long as I live.” More chuckles sounded as he nodded towards the harpist. “Miss Taylor? Whenever you are ready.”

  The woman lifted her fingers to the harp’s strings and began to play while Chris unfolded the piece of parchment he carried. The slight tremors in his hands were the only indication that he was at all nervous.

  You don’t need to do this, Harriett thought, willing him to leave the stage at once.

  A hush fell over the room as his rich tones filled the air.

  “What’s in a Name?

  by Lieutenant Christopher Jamison

  “I encountered a lady one spring day

  Who surprised me. With liveliness and grace

  And mud on her face, she swept me away

  To an enchanting and luminous place.

  Clever and strong with a flair all her own

  She’s as unpredictable as the sea.

  Scaling trees, plopping in ponds, she is prone

  To entertain, and I love her hopelessly.

  She walks with grace, radiant and stately.

  My eyes linger on her. I contemplate

  And conclude: She is too much above me.

  But dunce that I am, I cannot negate

  The power she wields over my poor soul.

  Without her, I’m but a sad, wretched fool.”

  Silence reigned for a moment before applause echoed through the room. Harriett could only stare at Chris while her heart pounded loudly in her hears.

  I love her hopelessly.

  The words echoed in her mind, overwhelming her emotions. In fourteen short lines, Chris had done the unimaginable. He’d proven to her that he saw more in Harriett than her beauty. He saw her strengths, her weaknesses, her quirks. He saw her for who she truly was. What’s more, he loved her for them.

  She ought to be upset that he’d exposed many of her humiliations to a room filled with people, but she wasn’t. She didn’t care a whit what others might think or say if they were to discover that she was the subject of that sonnet. On the contrary, warmth, tenderness, giddiness, and joy swept through her like a burst of wind, somehow warming and chilling her at the same time.

  Oh, how she loved that man.

  The applause died down, and Chris bowed briefly before exiting the stage. He glanced at Harriett as he passed, then disappeared through a door at the side of the ballroom. Harriett would have leapt from her chair and followed him had her mother not squeezed her hand, reminding her that there was still one more performance to endure.

  As the musicians took the stage and began to play, Harriett’s foot tapped impatiently against the marble. It was a lovely tune, truly, but it seemed to go on and on and on. Did they intend to play all night? Would she be able to find Chris when it wa
s all over?

  When at last the song came to an end, she lifted her hands to join in the applause, grateful for its conclusion. Before she could leave, however, Charlotte, Arabella, and Lucy clustered around her.

  “Scaling trees? Plopping in ponds?” Lucy whispered. “What did he mean by that?”

  “And mud on your face?” added Arabella. “Was that true?”

  Harriett smiled, feeling deliciously happy. “He neglected to mention the bird droppings as well.”

  “What have you been doing at Tanglewood?” asked her mother.

  A light tap on her shoulder caused Harriett to look up and find Mrs. Jamison at her side. “Forgive my intrusion, my dear, but my son would very much like a private word with you at your convenience. He is awaiting you in the library.”

  Harriett immediately stood, more than ready to see him. “Where is the library?”

  “Come with me.”

  Mrs. Jamison led her to the same door Chris had disappeared through earlier and down a long hallway, finally stopping before a pair of mahogany doors. As Harriett drew in a deep breath, Mrs. Jamison took one of her hands between both of hers and squeezed it firmly. “Before I leave you, my dear, I want you to know that you have been a godsend to my son. Regardless of your answer, I shall always think of you with great fondness.”

  Tears filled Harriett’s eyes, and she threw her arms around Chris’s mother. “I do not know why I am crying. I must look a fright.”

  “You look lovely,” Mrs. Jamison assured her. “Now go and put my poor son out of his misery.”

  Harriett nodded and faced the doors. After taking another deep breath, she pushed one open and slipped inside, closing it softly behind her. Compared to the brightness of the ballroom, the library was dark and shadowy. The fire crackling in the hearth was the only source of light. Chris drew himself up from a large, wingback chair and turned to face her.

  How handsome and mysterious he looked with firelight flickering across his face. A few locks of hair had fallen across his forehead, and Harriett felt the strongest urge to tuck them back into place. She moved forward to meet him, stopping a few feet away to study every crease and line etched into his face, the most pronounced being those that crinkled when he smiled.

  She had missed seeing that smile and hearing his laughter. She had missed him.

  “Apparently I can add ‘poet’ to your extensive list of talents,” she said.

  He stepped forward and cautiously reached for her hand. “You liked it then?”

  She nodded. “I think your sonnet may very well have taken the place of Mr. Chant’s as one of my most treasured possessions, assuming you will make me a copy of it.”

  “Only may have taken the place of it?” he asked. “Because I’m fairly certain his so-called sonnet was not technically a sonnet.”

  “Then yours will definitely be my most treasured.”

  “I’m glad we sorted that out.” He cautiously threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her closer with wariness in his eyes. He swallowed nervously. “My family doesn’t have much, you know. It is going to take years to build our estate back to what it once was, and until then I cannot offer you the comforts you are used to having.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “I hope you also know that whatever dowry you possess will be yours and yours alone. I do not intend to touch it.”

  “Then you are a fool.”

  He smiled slightly and captured her face with his hands. “Agreed. I was a fool to propose to you the way I did and an even bigger fool to let you walk away. Will you forgive me yet again?”

  She leaned into his touch and sighed with pleasure. “I suppose I must if I am to be a good Christian.”

  He grinned. “I am glad to hear that all of my biblical readings did not fall on deaf ears.”

  “No, only annoyed ones.”

  His rich laughter echoed through the room as he pulled her into his strong and capable arms. She reveled in the feel of him as she breathed in the scents of cinnamon and leather, perfectly content to remain tucked up next to him forever.

  “You do know that I adore you, don’t you?” he murmured into her hair, sending a flurry of chills down her spine.

  “Do you?” she breathed.

  He lifted his head and pressed his forehead to hers. “I have always had a difficult time sharing what is in my heart, but from this point forward, I intend to do a better job of that.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Harriett, you have invaded my mind and heart and now hold them captive. When I contemplate a life without you, it is unacceptable to me. I want to see you every day, kiss you whenever I wish, and wake up to your beautiful face each and every morning. I want to run my family’s estate with you at my side and continue to best you at archery and shuttlecock and cards. I want to share cake with you at midnight and love you to my heart’s content.”

  He lifted his head from hers and searched her eyes. “Will you please consent to becoming my wife?”

  Tears fell freely down her cheeks, and Harriett didn’t bother wiping them away. She nodded. “Of course I will marry you. It could never be anyone but you.”

  His mouth found hers in an instant, and Harriett was swept into a glorious world of dazzling sensations and indescribable joy. He kissed her long and hard with a passion she didn’t know existed. It intoxicated her, making her feel dizzy and lightheaded and so very loved.

  Something prodded and nipped at her slipper, and with a squeal of fright, Harriett jumped back and looked down, expecting to find a rodent of some kind. But as soon as she spotted a familiar brown and white puppy sniffing at the floor, her squeal became one of delight. She dropped to her knees and gently lifted it to her face, nuzzling it with her nose.

  “You brought it with you,” she said.

  He crouched beside her and gave the puppy a playful rub. “Apparently, he’s the naughtiest of the bunch. He was supposed to stay in his basket until I retrieved him.”

  “Him?” Harriett asked with a smile, tucking the wriggling puppy against her chest.

  “I made sure it was a male so you wouldn’t be tempted to place a ghastly pink bow on its head. I was thinking we could call him Mischief.”

  She laughed. “This little fellow? Mischief? I don’t think so.”

  “Come now, after his behavior just now, you must admit the name suits him. He and Wicked have already become the best of friends.”

  The puppy squirmed from Harriett’s hold and scrambled to the floor, nipping at her slipper yet again.

  She laughed. “Very well. Mischief it is. But should we ever have children, Chris, you are not allowed to name them. Otherwise, we will have a Lucifer, Iniquity, and Trouble running about, and how would we explain such names to our neighbors? Every disaster would be blamed on one of them, and how fair would that be?”

  “If our children take after me, it would probably be more than fair.”

  She laughed again and kissed him on the cheek. “In that case, I will see to it that they take after me.”

  “How do you plan to do that, exactly?” He grinned, taking her hand and pulling her up. “By adding a duplicate letter to the end of each of their names? Are we to have a Francess, Hannahh, and Phillipp running about?” he asked, adding an extra sound to each.

  She took hold of his lapels and grinned up at him. “Even you must admit that would be the preferable option.”

  “We will be accused of being nitwits.”

  “Better nitwits than unchristian, wouldn’t you say?” she countered. “Or do you plan to do away with your sermons?”

  He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, dropping a kiss on her lips, “You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

  “Hmm…” she murmured, feeling giddy and scattered and so very happy. “Perhaps you should start kissing me before I speak. I will likely lose all train of thought and forget any and all last words.”

  He kissed her again. “Have I ever told you that you’re brilliant?”r />
  “No.”

  “You’re brilliant.”

  “Thank you.”

  With one last kiss, he loosened his hold on her and cast a pained glance at the door. “I suppose we ought to find the others and share our happy news. At least my parents and the Carlyles will think it happy. I cannot say as much for your family. I’m probably in their black books for denying them Farinelli and subjecting them to an inferior night of music. Do you think they’ll be inclined to forgive me, or should I bring my Bible along?”

  The puppy nipped at one of Harriett’s slippers again, so she scooped it up, nuzzling it against her neck. “Once we show my sisters this adorable little face, I’m quite certain they’ll forgive you anything.”

  “Are you implying that my face will not do the trick? Because I am far more handsome than Farinelli, you know.”

  She nodded in agreement. “That you are, my love. But I still think we’ll need the puppy.”

  “If you insist.” He gently extracted Mischief from her arms, tucked it against his coat, and held out his free arm for her to take. Together, they rejoined the others in the ballroom.

  As her mother and his parents exclaimed over the news of their betrothal, and her sisters doted on the puppy, Harriett’s thoughts drifted back to her visit to Tanglewood and all the events that had led her to this one blissful moment.

  For years and years, Tanglewood had sat vacant, serving no purpose whatsoever. Then, like a trickle of rain before a summer storm, things began to change. Life was introduced to the estate once more, granting it a purpose, a reason for being built. And with that life came love. It was at Tanglewood that Lucy had found Colin, Cora discovered Jonathan, and Harriett had somehow managed to snare Chris.

  And this was only the beginning.

  Across the world, a great many homes sat empty and purposeless. What would happen if a little rain happened by and breathed new life into them? The transition wouldn’t be seamless—change never was. There would undoubtedly be plenty of mischief, mayhem, and misunderstandings. But Harriett had learned that if a person chose to weather the storm, the rainbow that followed would be nothing short of miraculous.