Lord Langley dropped his gaze. “I wrote you a note telling you why I could not go through with the marriage. My parents did not approve of the union. They threatened to cut me off.”
“Coward,” accused Antonia, regaining her seat. “I did not receive the letter until after I returned from the church—after I had waited for you for three hours. Do you have any idea how humiliating…” The dowager coughed, took a deep breath, and regained her composure with a sip of tea.
Lord Langley sat with a thud and stared at his teacup. “I thought there was nothing else I could do.”
“Nothing else? You cannot possibly suggest that leaving me standing at the altar for public ridicule was the only way you could have handled the situation.”
Lord Langley’s face turned red. “What will it take for you to forget what is past, what I cannot change?”
Antonia stilled. “Would you have changed it?”
Lord Langley paused and took a deep breath. “I cannot tell you how I have regretted my actions.”
“I never even received an apology,” stated the dowager.
“Then let me ask your forgiveness now.” Lord Langley’s voice was strained.
A slow smile crept onto the dowager’s face. “Lord Langley does not make an apology easily,” she explained to Penelope.
“Are you going to forgive him?” asked Penelope.
Antonia sipped her tea and ignored the question. “What help do you need, Lord Langley?”
“My granddaughter, Harriet Redgrave, has arrived from America, though she wishes to return and soon. I need her to stay. I also fear there may be unpleasant talk about her, considering how her mother…”
“Eloped with an American sea captain,” supplied the dowager.
“Yes, you are correct.” Lord Langley sounded like someone was choking him. “If Harriet could secure an eligible offer soon, it could stave off unpleasant rumors and malicious talk.”
“So you wish her to make an advantageous match.”
“Not just any match; I need her married off to a man within my social standing. I need to show that she is every bit the granddaughter of an earl. There can be no scandal, no whispers of her being anything less than a Langley.”
“You wish her to marry a member of the aristocracy.”
“I want a title for her!”
Antonia graced him with a cunning smile. “I shall speak with Madame X. Naturally, additional funds are required for a marriage to quality.”
Langley waved his hand. “It is of no consequence, but Harriet must be wed soon. She talks of returning to America. I cannot allow it. I cannot.”
“If anyone can assist you, it would be Madame X,” said the dowager.
“I certainly hope my trust is not misplaced. We have but one month, and that only because I lied and said there was no earlier ship. She must be made to stay. I will not, cannot, lose her again.”
Penelope exchanged a look with the dowager. Lord Langley had clearly never recovered from losing his daughter.
“We will contact Madame X,” said Penelope, “but we cannot force Miss Redgrave to wed against her will if she wishes to return to her family…”
“I am her family now,” interrupted Langley. “I was foolish once and lost my daughter. I have another chance. I will not lose her too! Whatever it takes, whatever it costs, I will see Harriet wed within a month’s time!”
***
Harriet was impressed. “This is the place?” she asked to confirm.
“Yes, miss. This is Marchford House,” said Lord Langley’s footman. The same footman who had to beg her to leave the British Museum, pleading that if he did not bring her to Marchford House within the hour as commanded, he would be given the sack. Harriet was reluctant to leave, but not heartless, so here she was.
Marchford House was built on a large scale, though not ostentatious, which made it that much more impressive. The Duke of Marchford was quality, there could be no doubt.
“Well, I suppose I should go in and find my grandfather. I hope they know where he is; otherwise, it could take some time,” said Harriet gazing up at the imposing structure.
“There is His Grace, the Duke of Marchford, now, miss,” said the footman, indicating two gentlemen leaving the house. One was a handsome man in an exquisitely tailored royal-blue superfine coat, buff breeches, and well-polished Hessians. Beside him was the Earl of Thornton, more soberly attired in olive green.
“Hello!” called Harriet running up to the men. She was more excited than she wanted to admit to see Lord Thornton again. “Good day, Lord Thornton, I did not expect to see you here. I am just coming to meet my grandfather.”
“Good day to ye, Miss Redgrave,” said Thornton with a polite bow. “I believe Lord Langley is in the morning room with the duchess and Miss Rose.”
“Thank you, I’m glad someone could give me directions; otherwise, I might get hopelessly lost in this big house.” She smiled at the men, who appeared slightly taken aback by her statement. Thinking she must have said something wrong, she changed the subject. “I am glad for your invitation to visit the Highlands. I have always wanted to see that part of the world.”
“I am glad ye will be able to attend,” said Thornton, though he exchanged a glance with his friend that suggested otherwise. “Please allow me to present my friend, the Duke of Marchford. This is Miss Redgrave, granddaughter to Lord Langley.”
The duke’s eyebrows raised skyward. “Lord Langley’s granddaughter? It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Redgrave.”
“You are no doubt surprised—grandfather was too last night,” said Harriet. “He did not know I even existed until I arrived, probably because my mum ran off to America with a sea captain.”
The duke made a slight choking sound but recovered himself quickly. “Yes, quite. You will certainly be interesting company for our little house party.”
“Interesting?” asked Harriet. The way he said the word did not sound positive.
“Ye’ll be our only American,” supplied Thornton.
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Harriet. “I’m glad to hear the house party will be small. I do enjoy more casual gatherings.”
“I could not agree more, but I fear we are both bound for disappointment,” said Marchford. “Good day, Miss Redgrave.”
The men bowed and Harriet turned to walk up the steps into the house.
“I am glad ye will be joining us, Miss Redgrave,” called Thornton, turning back to her. He gave her a small smile. “I do hope the Highlands live up to yer expectations.”
“I’m sure they will,” said Harriet, comforted that her invitation had been confirmed, “especially if I have you to guide me.” Her heart beat faster at the thought.
“The pleasure will be mine.” Thornton bowed again and turned back to his friend.
Harriet smiled all the way up the stairs and into the grand entryway. If the outside of Marchford House was impressive, the inside was astonishing. Although Harriet considered herself more of a scientist, she had an avid interest in antiquities, and Marchford House was full of them. As the butler led her to the morning room, she could not help but stop and appreciate the prominently displayed Renaissance artwork.
“Miss Harriet Redgrave,” intoned the butler as she was introduced to the morning room.
“She must not know,” said Langley in a harsh whisper, which Harriet guessed she was not meant to overhear. Her grandfather stood, a tight smile on his lips. “Antonia, please allow me to present my granddaughter, Miss Redgrave. Harriet, this is Her Grace, the Duchess of Marchford.”
Harriet came forward and gave her nicest curtsy to the duchess. The duchess gave her a sweeping look, which made Harriet wonder if she had passed inspection. From the narrowing of the duchess’s sharp, blue eyes, she guessed not. The duchess was an older lady, with perfectly white, impeccably coiffed hair in a distinguished style that befitted her age. Her gown was of shimmering emerald and everything about her from her gold-handled cane to her jeweled slippers l
ooked expensive.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Redgrave,” said the duchess with perfect diction. “I understand you are lately from America.”
“Yes. I left Boston for New York, but my ship was seized and sunk by the British Navy, and I was brought here. I had honestly never thought to visit England, but now that I am here, I am enjoying the museums. They are quite fine in my estimation.”
“Well,” said the duchess with that startled look Harriet was growing accustomed to seeing on people’s faces. “Please do have a seat, and allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Penelope Rose.”
“Hello!” said Harriet.
Penelope blinked. “Hello to you as well.” Penelope was a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, as Harriet was herself. In keeping with the occupation of a companion, Penelope was dressed sensibly, a drab comparison to her rich surroundings. Her brown hair was pulled back in a simple knot and everything about her spoke of efficiency and quiet confidence.
“I am glad you are enjoying your visit to London, Miss Redgrave,” said Penelope.
“Oh my stars!” exclaimed Harriet jumping to her feet, causing the duchess to clank down her teacup in surprise. “Is that a Titian on the wall? You have some amazing artwork!”
“Yes, yes, indeed,” said Lord Langley hastily. “Harriet, my dear, Her Grace has kindly offered to sponsor your presentation into society. But let us away. We will see you ladies at the house party. I wish you all a safe journey. Come along, Harriet.”
***
Penelope watched with some interest as Langley hustled Harriet out the door.
“Well, Madame X?” asked Antonia, meeting her gaze. “Are you ready for a matchmaking challenge?”
Penelope gave her a half smile to show she was not a coward. “I imagine you should double whatever you were intending to charge Lord Langley for our services.”
“Done!” The duchess was not one to turn away income. Her grandson, the current Duke of Marchford, had cut off the majority of her funds in an attempt to force her to move to the dowager house in the country. The dowager, however, had taken matters into her own hands and went into business with Penelope as matchmakers to the haut ton under the pseudonym “Madame X.”
“It will be a challenge,” admitted Penelope. “I may be forced to take up strong drink before the end of the house party.”
“I feel inclined to have a strong drink now,” declared the duchess. “But when we find a titled husband for the likes of Harriet Redgrave, not only will our financial worries be solved, but the reputation of Madame X as the best matchmaker in the country will be sealed!”
Five
“Ye’re a marked man,” the Earl of Thornton commented as he watched a never-ending stream of carriages pull into the drive of Thornton Hall.
“You are also a bachelor, my friend,” said the Duke of Marchford, leaning on the tower parapet beside him. “Perhaps they come for you.”
Thornton raised an eyebrow. “Ye may say it as oft as ye wish, but it still winna make it true. The maidens come for ye, the young men come for the maidens, and the parents come to ensure their favored child does not leave here without marriage papers being signed. London’s elite did not travel all the way to savage Scotland to have their daughters be mistress of this crumbling tower.”
“Thornton Hall is hardly crumbling,” objected the duke. He could hardly deny anything else.
Thornton Hall was situated in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. If one wished for a distant retreat, one could not ask for a location more remote unless one traveled to the Isle of Skye. Originally built in the sixteenth century, Thornton Hall was the ancestral home of the Maclachlan clan and had endured many improvements and expansions by subsequent lords of Thornton. The hall embraced Gothic architecture and had two requisite towers and several smaller turrets. On the rocky hills above, Thornton Hall even boasted its own ruins, the remains of Maclachlan Castle.
The grounds, at least what could be seen of them from the road, were all meticulously groomed, and the entryway, main parlors, dining rooms, and ballroom were all well appointed. Whether the upkeep of the home and grounds extended beyond what was immediately obvious was the matter of some debate.
“Everything did look verra nice when we arrived today,” said Thornton in an ominous tone. “I fear my mother has once again seen fit to replace the drapes and the upholstery. At great expense no doubt.” Despite his difficult financial situation, his mother spent money, or rather purchased things in his name, with such alarming frequency that some of the local shopkeepers had gone so far as to hint at not providing any more goods until his debts were paid.
“Lady Thornton should be pleased to serve as hostess for this house party,” commented Marchford.
“Pleased? She is beyond pleased. She is ecstatic—an emotion I fear also came with a pressing need for a new wardrobe!”
Marchford winced. “Sorry, old man. I will not have you incur any other expense for this house party, you understand. I have invited these guests and the entirety of the cost shall be mine.”
“Nay, I canna…”
“I am quite resolved on this matter. I will be forced to meet you at dawn if you continue to oppose me on this.”
Thornton lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. But only because I concede ye are a better shot.” Unfortunately, Thornton could ill afford to feed all these guests without his friend’s help, as well they both knew.
Thornton leaned his arms against the cool stones of the parapets and enjoyed the brisk breeze. “O’ course ye are welcome at Thornton at any time, but why not hold this party at yer own estate? And it’s no use telling me about the variety of hunting for a gaming party, I canna believe it.”
Marchford sighed. “The war with Napoleon goes poorly. Many now fear the emperor has his eyes set on the British Isles. The house party was intended to bring together some of our previous and current military leaders to plan the next offensive and the defense of our homeland. I wished to hold these meetings as far from London as possible to keep these plans from falling into enemy hands. London is hardly safe.”
Thornton nodded in understanding. Marchford had recently returned from three years in Spain working for the Foreign Office and had gained a reputation for flushing out spies both abroad and at home. “I thought we caught the spy who had infiltrated society.”
“We caught one, but I am relatively confident spies remain at large in London society.”
Thornton shrugged. “I dinna doubt it, with what Napoleon is paying for information.”
Marchford frowned. “How would you know what traitors are being paid?”
“I’ve heard rumors, my friend. Do ye doubt even me?”
Marchford sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “This is a nasty business. Makes me daft with suspicion.”
“I am sorry to hear yer mental state is failing.”
Marchford cast his friend an imperious look just as a large boom rocked the house and gave the tower a quivering jolt. Both men grabbed on to the battlements to keep from falling.
“What was that?” asked Marchford.
Thornton was too busy running down the stairs to answer. Following the smoke, they ran to where the sound had originated. A bedroom door burst open and more acrid smoke billowed out. A young woman staggered from the room, coughing hard and coated in soot.
Thornton caught the young lady in his arms, who appeared unsteady on her feet. He quickly scooped her up in his arms and carried her down the stairs and out through a side door so she could breathe the fresh air.
“Stop!” The lady tried to say more but began coughing again. “I can manage.”
Thornton placed her down on the stone step and rubbed her back to try to help her breathe. “Dinna fear, just take several deep breaths.”
The lady did as requested and, after several deep breaths with her head down, looked up at him with a rueful smile.
“Miss Redgrave!” A jolt of something flashed through him. What ha
d happened here? Was she all right?
“I am sorry to cause such trouble,” she said, trying to smooth back tendrils of her auburn hair that had escaped her bun. “Especially since you were so kind as to invite us.”
“Are ye hurt?”
“No, I am fine.” She smiled, her teeth white in contrast to her soot-covered face.
“I do apologize. I canna understand what has caused this. If ye will be well, I need to return to discern what has happened.”
“Oh, I can tell you that. It is my fault entirely. I have been traveling so long I simply could not wait to begin my next experiment as soon as we reached the house.”
“Experiment?” asked Thornton.
“I dabble in chemistry.”
“Chemistry?”
“Yes, I do apologize, but I was slightly careless with my mixing, and I had a tiny little explosion.”
“Explosion?” Thornton realized he was copying her like a parrot, but given her extraordinary tale, he could not find sensible speech.
“Do not worry. There’s no damage, or at least I think I kept it to a minimum. I’ve had many much larger explosions at home.”
And now Thornton could think of nothing to say. He often lacked conversation with ladies, but this was worse than usual. He sat beside her mute on the step. An awkward silence engulfed them.
Harriet pressed her lips together in a manner that hardly improved her appearance. Her face and hands were dirty and her frock appeared to have been torn in the explosion.
At length, Harriet spoke again. “I don’t think we ever properly met each other. I mean I know your title, but what is your name?”
Thornton opened his mouth but no speech emerged, his mind spinning at this unconventional female. What kind of an introduction was this? “I am Duncan Maclachlan, Earl of Thornton, at yer service.”
“Harriet.” She held out her soot-covered hand.
He smiled in spite of himself. He took her hand in his and they shook hands then held on for a moment longer. “Yer hands are not cold this time.”
A Midsummer Bride Page 4