A Midsummer Bride

by Amanda Forester

  “Chemicals. Explosions. Keeps them warm.” Her eyes were a bright green.

  “Might I suggest a fireplace? Or would that be too conventional for an American such as yerself?”

  “I shall try to amend my ways. For you. Since you saved me.” She gave him a slow smile.

  Perhaps it was some of those chemicals wearing off on him, but he was suddenly flushed with heat as well. Being cast in the role of hero was new to him. Whenever adventure struck, it was always his friends for whom the ladies swooned, while he was the sensible one who picked up the pieces and took care of the details. Yet in Harriet’s eyes, he saw himself a different man.

  “It was my pleasure.” Never had he spoken those words with more truth.

  “I suppose I should go help clean the mess.” She stood up and wiped the soot off her hands and onto her skirts.

  Thornton stood and gave a polite bow. She returned it with a smile.

  “Thank you for your help, Lord Duncan… I mean Lord Thornton.” She looked away.

  Thornton could not tell exactly beneath the soot, but he suspected she was blushing. “I am at yer disposal if ever any o’ yer plans go awry.”

  Harriet turned back with a broad smile. “I fear that would keep you busy day and night. And now that I think of it, I am mostly confident the fire has been put out of the drapes, but I should go confirm.” She whirled and disappeared back into the house.

  Thornton found he needed to take a few deep breaths himself before returning to the house. She was so unlike any other female he had ever met he became utterly perplexed and simply ended up being himself. Imagine a lass who dabbled in chemistry. Tiny little explosion? Not when his mother found out. He hustled back into the house. It seemed his self-assigned role as Miss Redgrave’s protector might prove to be an extensive occupation indeed.

  ***

  Harriet Redgrave rushed back into the house away from her rescuer. The main entryway was filled with confused guests all talking at once about what had happened. She avoided the crowd and ran up the side staircase Lord Thornton had carried her down. Carried. Yes, she had actually been carried, by a man who picked her up like she was a wisp, which she knew full well was hardly the case.

  Her heart was beating fast before she had even taken one step. She had done many things in her life, but never had she been swooped up by a man and rescued. Not that she needed rescuing… much… but it was an interesting sensation. As a devoted scientist she should look into this intriguing reaction.

  As an unmarried female, she should leave it be.

  She feared she had made a mess of things with Lord Thornton. Every word from her mouth made the man appear more perplexed. It was a situation most girls dream of, being carried out of a burning building by a tall, dark, handsome man, who was an earl no less. Any other girl would have known how to handle the situation. Any other girl would have flirted, whatever that might be, and would have secured his undying affection before teatime. But of course, any other girl would not have set her room on fire within two hours of her arrival.

  Harriet hustled to her room with the intent of hiding as much of the evidence as possible. Voices sliced down the hallway from her room. Unhappy, raised voices. She paused outside her door, out of sight. It had been her considerable experience that after a slight incident, people often needed a little time to settle their sensitivities before talking to her.

  “Where is Lord Langley? Should he not take things in hand?” demanded an angry male voice Harriet recognized as the Duke of Marchford.

  “Lord Langley took ill on the journey here,” said Penelope Rose. “Nothing dire I believe, but he has been confined to his bed until he has recovered, so we will be taking over as chaperones and introducing Miss Redgrave into society.”

  “Why, Grandmother?” asked the duke, his voice low and deep almost like a growl. “Why would you offer to sponsor an American, an American who apparently likes to engage in the wanton destruction of property, at my house party?”

  “I grant you Harriet Redgrave is a trifle eccentric,” hedged the Dowager Duchess of Marchford.

  “Eccentric?” interrupted the duke. “Eccentric is what you called Uncle Melvin when he took to wearing paper hats and digging holes in the garden wearing nothing but his stockings and bedroom slippers. This is… I’m not sure what. Just look at this mess of bottles and powders and things. I am afraid to touch it lest I blow out the whole wall.”

  “Every lady should have a hobby,” said Penelope. “Miss Redgrave told me she enjoys chemistry. Apparently, there was a minor incident.”

  “Minor? The drapes are still smoldering. Lady Thornton is going to be quite displeased.”

  Harriet leaned against the wall with a sigh. The Earl of Thornton was married. Naturally, why wouldn’t he be? Why should it matter to her in the slightest?

  “Lady Thornton is displeased with everything, so it will be no great change to her temperament,” muttered the dowager.

  “Grandmother, I want to know what you are about. Why take an interest in chaperoning an American chit with a penchant for blowing things up?”

  “Lord Langley asked if I might sponsor her,” explained the dowager.

  “The Lord Langley you have frequently referred to as an odious man who had as much compassion as a rabid fox caught in its burrow?” Marchford’s voice was without humor. “Miss Rose, kindly tell me what this is about.”

  A pause silenced the room and Harriet held her breath. If the duchess was not friends with her grandfather, then why had she offered to chaperone?

  “Miss Redgrave is in need of our help. We are helping,” said Penelope.

  “What kind of help?” asked Marchford suspiciously. “Grandmother, I have heard rumors that you have a contact with a matchmaker. Please don’t tell me you are mixed up in this.”

  “Your wish is granted. I shall not speak of it.”

  Harriet bit her lip. So this is why her grandfather arranged for her to attend this house party. He wanted her to get married. She turned away and found Thornton standing a few paces behind her. What must he think of her?

  He walked closer and leaned down to whisper to her. “I do believe I prefer chemistry to paper hats.”

  She smiled at his kind words, especially since she expected, and probably deserved, censure.

  He offered her his arm and they walked into the room together. Perhaps it was her own imagination, but she could feel the heat from his body. Harriet experienced an unfamiliar feeling of acceptance and something else she had more difficulty naming. It was not usual for a man to offer friendship, particularly right after she had experienced a little “incident.”

  “Good news,” Thornton announced to all in the room. “Miss Redgrave is unhurt.”

  Nobody seemed particularly relieved at his pronouncement. Harriet did a quick survey of the damage to the room. It was still smoky, but it had escaped major damage. The drapes were singed at the bottom, but perhaps no one would notice.

  “What is this?” A woman dressed in a fine silk gown and a scarlet brocade turban entered the room and surveyed it with horror. The lady was older than Thornton but still retained much of her beauty, though her appearance would have improved without the pinch between her eyebrows. “What has happened? Have the chimneys caught fire? Did that maid leave a candle unattended?”

  “Nay, it was an accident,” soothed Thornton. “No harm done.” Except the singed drapes, but the less said about that the better. “Mother, may I present Miss Harriet Redgrave. Miss Redgrave, my mother, Lady Thornton.”

  Lady Thornton was his mother, not his wife. And somehow, in spite of everything, it made Harriet smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” She extended a hand, but Lady Thornton appeared stunned, as if Harriet had offered her a snake, so she let her hand drop.

  “Miss Redgrave is the granddaughter of Lord Langley,” explained Thornton.

  “I thought Lord Langley’s only child was in a sanatorium,” said Lady Thornton bluntly.

  “Worse
than that,” said Harriet cheerfully. “She ran away with an American. I have only recently returned for a visit.”

  Lady Thornton’s jaw dropped, but whatever she was going to say was averted by Thornton.

  “I am glad ye are here, Mother, the guests downstairs are in desperate need of yer attention,” said Thornton, neatly ushering his mother out of the room.

  “It is a pity we could not get out of that invitation,” said Lady Thornton from the hallway when they were almost out of hearing. “Well, I suppose we cannot avoid the acquaintance now, but I do wish you would try to limit her exposure to our other guests. Her type can be so lowering.”

  Harriet gulped air and glanced nervously at Miss Rose and the dowager, but they were too busy avoiding her eye to notice. The Duke of Marchford was inspecting the drapes.

  “She is our guest, Mother,” said Thornton in a low voice.

  “’Tis a shame,” continued Lady Thornton. “I can hardly abide the chit being here. Her mother was fit for Bedlam; I recall the story now. Ran off with some American sea captain. Should have been locked in an asylum if you ask me. Lord Langley probably would have done so, had he been able to get to her. Goodness only knows what is wrong with the granddaughter. A danger to everyone in the house. I dinna suppose ye could ask her to leave?” Lady Thornton’s voice trailed off.

  Harriet had not been here more than a few hours and now she was going to need to leave. But go where? It had taken several days from London to get here.

  No one spoke. The dowager cleared her throat but looked away. Penelope smoothed her skirts in a casual manner, as if by ignoring the awkwardness it would go away.

  “I do believe it is time for tea,” said Penelope.

  “Perhaps I should stay here and clean up a bit,” said Harriet.

  The Duke of Marchford exchanged looks with the dowager and then Penelope. “Not at all,” he said with a sigh. “You have been invited by Lord Thornton; therefore, you are my guest as well. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to tea?” The duke offered his arm and Harriet accepted.

  So far she had caused an explosion, set her room on fire, been rescued by an earl, and was going to tea on the arm of a duke. All things considered, it had been an eventful beginning to her trip to the Highlands. But the real danger was about to begin—she was about to be introduced to society.

  Six

  Thornton continued to guide his mother away from Miss Redgrave until he had escorted her all the way back to her dressing room, which he noticed she had redecorated. Again.

  “Miss Redgrave is our guest, and whether or not her father was an American is hardly relevant to our being polite,” he gently chastised.

  His mother whipped her head toward him at his rebuke. “I am trying to help you. This is your chance to find the right lady to wed. I know several young ladies of position and wealth will be at this house party. We need to find one who has both, you know. It will do us no good for you to marry for connections alone; we need a sizable dowry.” She spoke in the clipped tone of London society it had taken several highly paid linguists to perfect. She might have started her life as the rich daughter of a Scottish merchant, but her aspirations were much higher.

  “I shall not marry for money, Mother.” Thornton stated the cold fact while staring at her, willing her to accept it this time.

  His mother’s jaw tightened and her nostrils flared. “You cannot mean that! We must have funds. We must.”

  The desperation in her voice stilled him. “What do ye owe now?”

  Lady Thornton turned away. “’Tis not my fault. My luck was going so well I could not lose.”

  “Gambling again? What did ye lose this time?”

  “Thornton Hall,” her voice cracked.

  His heart stilled. “What do ye mean? How could ye lose the estate?”

  Lady Thornton spun to him, her eyes flashing. “I needed funds for some investments and a little pocket money for some fun, so I put the estate as collateral.”

  “Ye did what?!” Thornton began to pace. “Mother, we are in a precarious financial situation as it is. I have told ye so, many, many times. How could ye?”

  “I was assured it was a secure investment, a safe bet! I was trying to win back some money for you, dear.”

  “I have told ye, asked ye, pleaded wi’ ye, not to invest wi’out checking wi’ me first.”

  “Well, it’s done. No use wasting your tears over it.”

  “Fact is, ye bet the estate and ye lost. Ye lost everything.”

  Lady Thornton’s lips formed a thin line. “So what if I did? This old hall would have been sold off years ago had not I married your father and saved it. It was my money that saved this estate, mine. That is why my father saw to it I was given full control over the estate, and if I want to bet against it or sell it off, I can.”

  “If it is yer goal to ruin me, then ye have done yer job verra well.” A cold, hard fear seeped into his bones.

  “Ruin you? Nay, how can you say that? I only want what’s best for you. Now, don’t fret now. I have a plan. There are some very rich ladies, English ladies, that would make fine brides. We have until the end of the month before…”

  “Before what?”

  “Before we will be forced to move and the lot will be sold.” Lady Thornton turned away and spoke in an airy voice, as if it was no great consequence to lose the estate that housed generations of Thornton lords. “But it need not come to that. If you follow my advice, you can be wed before the house party is through, and all will be well again.”

  Thornton shook his head. “I will not marry for money. Not even to save the estate.”

  “Duncan! Do you understand we will be forced out?”

  “Then ye best get packing.” Thornton turned and left before what he truly wanted to say could escape his lips. All his work, all his efforts to pull them out of debt, it had all been for naught.

  ***

  Despite the clear advantages to having Harriet introduced to society on the arm of the Duke of Marchford, Penelope felt obligated to suggest that Miss Redgrave wash her face and change her gown first, and then meet the guests in the tearoom. They wished Harriet to be accepted in society, and it would not do to send her down looking like a chimney sweep.

  Penelope and the dowager retreated across the hall to their rooms to give Harriet privacy to change.

  “That could have gone better,” grumbled the dowager, reclining into a chair.

  “Lord Langley forgot to mention her interesting… hobbies,” commented Penelope.

  “Alchemy is not a hobby; it is a liability. Now I understand why he would offer such a large sum to Madame X to have Harriet credibly married off, and to a titled gentleman no less.”

  “It will be a challenge to have her accepted in society,” admitted Penelope. “It is a shame so many followed the duke this far north.”

  The dowager gave her a wry smile. “Perhaps someday you will have children of your own and understand a mother’s drive to see her daughters wed. The Duke of Marchford is on the open market. Madame X has been inundated by requests to have their daughter connected to him.”

  Penelope gave a surreptitious eye roll. “Does he suspect?”

  “Suspect us to be Madame X? I am not sure. He knows we are somehow involved, and he knows I came into a bit of financial independence a few months ago after our last success.”

  Penelope smiled. It had been nothing short of a family coup to secure the funds which allowed them to remain in London, rather than be sent off to the dowager house as Marchford had planned. “At least we can have no financial worries anymore.”

  “I would not take that bet,” the dowager shook her head. “The new carriage alone was quite dear.”

  “And unnecessary,” muttered Penelope.

  “What? And travel all this way without fresh springs? It would have been the death of me.”

  “We should still have much remaining. Madame X’s last success should have set us up for life.”

&nb
sp; “For life? Wherever do you get such notions? I am a good deal more expensive.”

  “But I am not,” said Penelope simply. She did not like the way the dowager avoided her eye.

  “Let us go and check on Miss Redgrave,” said the dowager, changing the subject in a manner Penelope found suspicious. “It is time for her debut in the tearoom.”

  They found Harriet scrubbed clean and dressed in something resembling a passable day gown. Her gowns were well made and of quality material, yet were not of the latest fashion to be found in London. Penelope supposed that could only be expected since Miss Redgrave was a new arrival from America.

  As they all walked down to join the others for tea, Penelope was struck by how Harriet reminded her of a rambunctious puppy, making happy comments, wide-eyed and eager to explore something new. The impression left Penelope interested in becoming better friends with the guileless Harriet Redgrave, yet she dreaded the reaction of some society mavens who were sticklers for etiquette.

  Outside the parlor door, they met Lord Thornton, who had a fierce look about him.

  “Lord Thornton?” asked Penelope. “Is there something the matter?”

  “Nay, all is well,” he said in a tone that suggested otherwise. “Yer Grace, may I escort ye in?” he asked the duchess, as was proper.

  “I prefer Miss Rose’s arm today, but perhaps you could be of use to Miss Redgrave.”

  “I would be honored.” Thornton gave a quick bow and offered his arm to Miss Redgrave.

  “Thank you, Lord Thornton,” said Harriet. “I shall feel so much safer with you by my side.”

  “Are ye ready to face the societal lions?” asked Thornton, a smile creeping onto his face.

  “As long as you are here to make sure I am not eaten alive.”

  Penelope and the dowager held back a moment, allowing Harriet to make her entrance. It was good for her to enter on the arm of Lord Thornton, showing all those within where he thought her place to be. Within the parlor was a veritable army of London’s societal elite.

  “Oh no!” whispered Penelope. “The Comtesse de Marseille is present. She will ruin Harriet before supper.”