A Midsummer Bride

by Amanda Forester

  It was time. Time to step up to the challenge of being present in society. She would be invisible no longer. And in this dress, she was sure to be noticed.

  And the first person who was going to notice her was the Duke of Marchford.

  Penelope’s new clothes, or perhaps her new corset, made her walk differently. She always held herself with good posture, that part was nothing new, but her clinging dress made it impossible to take long steps, so she was forced to take shorter ones, and somehow everything moved and flowed a little more. Her hips rocked, her bosom jiggled—it was all quite disconcerting. She hoped she could get to the drawing room before he arrived so she could sit somewhere in the shadows, preventing him from having the dubious honor of watching her try to slink into the room.

  She was not so lucky. The Duke of Marchford rose somberly from his chair when she entered. Even when he stood at his full height, his eyebrows continued to rise. He noticed. She swallowed compulsively. Now she had to attempt to walk toward him. In full view. With him watching. Brilliant.

  She was Penelope Rose. She was not a coward. Her chin rose and she took a bold step forward. Unfortunately, a little too bold; trying to take too long a step, she caught her foot on her gown. She tripped and staggered forward, right into the arms of the Duke of Marchford.

  “I am so sorry,” she said, pushing him away even before she had found her footing.

  “Good heavens, Miss Rose,” said Marchford, easily setting her upright. “What happened to you?”

  “Your grandmother happened to me,” lamented Penelope. “She has tossed away all my clothes, everything I had packed for myself, and left me with two trunks full of the most fashionable, most impractical gowns you could ever imagine.”

  “Sounds devious enough to be my grandmother,” said Marchford warily. “I suppose I should apologize for her interference in your affairs, but I do believe you knew what you were getting yourself into.”

  “I hardly knew it would come to this.” Penelope motioned down her body.

  Marchford’s eyes trailed down her length, from her curled hair to her slippered toe. “One thing I will say for Grandmamma, she does know her fashion.”

  Penelope met his eyes. “A compliment?”

  “Simply a fact. You would look lovely if you could keep your feet beneath you.”

  “Thank you,” muttered Penelope and found a chair so as not to risk falling over. Leave it to Marchford to deliver a compliment with enough of a sting to leave one feeling wounded. “You called me here for a reason?”

  “Did I?” Marchford started as if she had shaken him awake. “Oh yes, quite. We had an arrangement in London, one that I would like to continue.”

  Penelope felt her cheeks begin to burn. The way he said “arrangement” brought to mind something entirely different than the facts would allow. She cleared her throat and tried to get herself under better regulation. It must be the dress making her stupid. “What would you have me do?”

  “Do?” Marchford’s gaze seemed to be getting distracted. He was now addressing himself to her bosom. “Yes, quite what I would like you to do.” His eyes flicked up to her face and then gravitated back down again.

  “Do you like your grandmother’s necklace with the gown?” asked Penelope, confused as to what would be so fascinating as to draw his gaze.

  “What?” He looked up at her as if surprised to see her attached to the body at which he was staring.

  “The pearls.”

  “What pearls?”

  “The pearls I’m wearing. The ones you are staring at.”

  “Oh!” He turned away and picked up some papers on the side table. “Yes, pearls. Very good. So Grandmother didn’t allow you anything sensible to wear. Too bad. Too bad.”

  “So what was it you wished to say to me?”

  “I would like you to continue to keep your eyes and ears open for me.” Marchford was now addressing his papers. “I need to know as much as I can about what is happening in this house. There is a strong likelihood that spies have attempted to infiltrate society to the extent that they may be present at this house party. If you notice anything out of the ordinary or unusual, I would appreciate it if you would inform me immediately.”

  “I shall do my utmost, although as I have said before, I shall not reveal the secrets, plots, or plans of your grandmother. As her companion, it would be unseemly.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Since we are staying at Thornton Hall, I should like to arrange a time and place to meet regularly for you to give reports. Would this place and time be acceptable to you?”

  “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “Thank you, Miss Rose.” Again, the duke did not look up at Penelope.

  “Is something the matter, Your Grace?”

  Marchford looked her straight in the eye. “I would suggest a shawl for dinner unless you would like to see a riot erupt over who gets to take you in.”

  Penelope gave a tentative smile. “You are jesting with me.”

  “A shawl, Miss Rose. Please favor me and find a shawl.”

  Penelope was halfway back to her room before she realized the duke had paid her a compliment.

  Ten

  Harriet sat in a chair, a fake smile plastered across her face. Surrounding her were attentive gentlemen, undoubtedly lacking funds, who were practically salivating at the thought of fifty thousand pounds.

  “Would you care for refreshments?”

  “I just brought her a cup.”

  “Would you like to dance?”

  “They are not playing any music.”

  “How about a private game of cards?”

  “Would you like to take a stroll in the garden?”

  “She’s not going anywhere with you!”

  “Thank you, gentlemen!” declared Harriet, rising to her feet and causing a near riot as the men who were seated jumped up, generally in the way of those who were standing. “I do need to excuse myself.”

  “I shall be pleased to escort you anywhere to the ends of the earth,” declared one potential swain.

  “That is very kind, but since my destination is the ladies’ retiring room, I doubt your presence would be appreciated by the other guests.” Harriet headed for the door, walking as calmly and sedately as a woman running for her life could do.

  On the way, she saw the dowager, who gave her a knowing smile. Harriet resisted the urge to confront the elderly lady. She supposed by publicizing her dowry, the Duchess of Marchford was trying to help, but she would appreciate it much more if the duchess would stop helping.

  Miss Priscilla Crawley was leaving the ladies’ retiring room when Harriet approached. Harriet was not particularly happy to see her, but to be fair, Miss Crawley looked utterly ravishing in a cream gown with a burgundy sash just below her ample bosom.

  “Miss Redgrave! What a shame your trunks did not arrive in time for you to dress for dinner tonight.” Priscilla gave her a sad puppy face that Harriet supposed was mock sympathy.

  Instinctively, Harriet glanced down at her white muslin gown with six inches of lace around the hem. It was one of her best, and until this moment, she had thought it very nice. “You look lovely tonight, Miss Crawley,” said Harriet, clinging to the high road.

  Priscilla cast her a haughty look as if Harriet had said something insulting.

  “Good evening, Miss Redgrave,” said a voice behind her with a strong French accent.

  Harriet turned and gave a curtsy to the Comtesse de Marseille. “Good evening.”

  “How clever of you to circulate the amount of your dowry,” said the comtesse with an arch look. “Now you shall never want for company. Desperate men may be induced to marry anyone for that prize.”

  Harriet ignored the giggles behind her from Priscilla and her friends. She tried to think of how to respond to such thinly veiled insults, but the comtesse merely sailed away with the snickering girls in her wake.

  Harriet attempted to take refuge in the ladies’ retiring room, but she found the go
ssip within even more venomous. Harriet returned to the drawing room with slow feet but painted on a smile and, with a deep breath, joined the fray, determined to do her best.

  ***

  When the men rejoined the ladies after dinner, Thornton had found himself engaged in the process of watching the tall, lithe Miss Redgrave rather than doing what he ought. As a result, he noted that Miss Redgrave lacked the cool air of social sophistication expected in society. Instead, she was open, frank, and friendly.

  Word had spread regarding her dowry and she did not lack for company. Although she smiled, the emotion did not reach her eyes. She may have won male attention, but she did not appear pleased.

  Thornton had a mind to rescue Miss Redgrave from what appeared to be some rather forward would-be suitors. Unfortunately, his mother interrupted his plans by bringing Miss Crawley to him again. Miss Crawley was a lovely girl—cool and reserved, everything Harriet was not.

  Despite Miss Crawley’s practiced aloof manner and bored demeanor, which marked her a lady of good breeding, he could not help but be amused by Harriet, who told one of her suitors she liked to climb up into the rigging of her father’s clipper ship. At his aghast face, she amended that she always wore pantaloons instead of skirts on board ship. When the poor man started to cough, she slapped him so hard on the back that he fell to the floor.

  The company stopped and took notice of Miss Redgrave hoisting the terrified man back onto his feet. They began to titter and Thornton turned and laughed into his sleeve.

  “What an awkward girl,” commented Miss Crawley with disdain. “But what can you expect from the daughter of a madwoman. I am sorry you could not refuse to allow her admittance to the house.”

  “Wouldn’t have refused her even if it was possible,” said Thornton. “Would ye care for some refreshment?”

  The lady accepted and Thornton made his escape, asking a footman to bring out more wine. It was fortunate Marchford had brought supplies, for Thornton’s wine cellar would never have served so many for long.

  Thornton made his way casually to the throng of gentlemen around Miss Redgrave. They came in every age, rank, and societal standing, but were united in their mutual need for an influx of assets. Fifty thousand pounds was a fortune. It was certainly enough to save Thornton Hall, and save himself and his mother a good deal of trouble and embarrassment. But it was not a basis for a marriage, as his mother had amply shown him.

  Miss Redgrave caught his eye when he drew near. Lord Punthorpe was in the midst of telling her the full extent of his pampered pedigree. It was a long-winded recitation, and since he had only just made it to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Thornton had to be impressed by the man’s recall of his family tree. The look in Miss Redgrave’s eye was one of a lass begging for mercy, and he could not call himself a gentleman without responding to her call for help.

  “Excuse me,” Thornton interrupted. “Forgive me, Miss Redgrave, but Lord Langley is awake and asking for ye.”

  “Oh!” said Harriet, jumping out of her chair in a manner more like a happy puppy than a lady of refinement. “I shall go at once!”

  “I shall escort you!” claimed one man.

  “No, I claim that honor,” said another.

  “Nay, ye must stay and enjoy yerselves,” said Thornton and held out his arm to Harriet. “I shall see to her safety.”

  As soon as they were outside the drawing room and beyond hearing, Harriet breathed an audible sigh.

  “The evening was wearing on ye?” asked Thornton.

  “Horribly. I enjoyed it more when I was being ignored.”

  “No chance o’ that now.”

  “Which will make for a very long house party. I’m only glad my grandfather woke up to call for me.”

  “I confess,” said Thornton, escorting her up the stairs, “that I have misled ye. I dinna ken whether yer grandfather is asleep or not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I spoke a wee fib to get ye out o’ the room.”

  “Ah! You have saved me! Thank you!” She gave him a hug which surprised him so much he instantly wanted more. This time her smile lit up her face.

  “I am glad my dishonesty meets with yer approval,” said Thornton with an uncharacteristic chuckle.

  “It does when it gets me out of a fix.” Her eyes were gleaming. “Thank you.”

  “Ye are most welcome, Miss Redgrave.”

  They stopped at the hallway leading to where the young ladies and their requisite chaperones were staying. It would be unseemly for Thornton to go further. Harriet smiled up at him, almost at eye level. It was nice to look into a lady’s eyes, not down at the top of her head.

  “Thank you again,” said Harriet. “You are definitely getting into the habit of rescuing me.”

  “All part of the Highland hospitality service.” Thornton leaned a shoulder on the wall. It was a more casual posture than he had ever taken with a member of the opposite sex, but she was so friendly, so apparently immune to societal constraints that it put him at ease.

  Harriet raised one eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, is part of the Highland hospitality service?”

  “Nothing out o’ the ordinary,” Thornton created. “Rescuing from explosions, protection from fortune hunters, and relief from dull conversation.”

  Harriet’s green eyes danced in the candlelight. “This is a standard practice for you?”

  “The standard American package.” Thornton could not say it without a smile.

  “Ah! It all becomes clear!” Miss Redgrave laughed and stepped closer. “And what do I owe you for this generous protection?”

  “Nay, no cost, naturally, to my guests.”

  “So you protect against explosions, fortune hunters, and poor conversation. What about malicious gossip?”

  “Och, lass, the ton lives on gossip and wine. To stem that tide will cost ye extra.” Thornton leaned forward.

  “Name your price,” demanded Harriet with a smile just for him.

  A kiss.

  Thornton coughed and straightened himself. He was careening toward dangerous territory. He should not be talking to her alone anyway. He had the uncommon feeling of being at ease with her, no small feat considering his experience to date with members of the fairer sex.

  “I should return to the other guests,” said Thornton, recognizing it was an abrupt change of topic, but fearing the repercussions should he allow himself to continue the conversation.

  Miss Redgrave blinked and stepped back. “Yes, yes, of course. I should not keep you.” She turned and disappeared down the hall.

  Thornton returned slowly to the drawing room, aware that he had handled things poorly. His mother was right about one thing. Miss Harriet Redgrave was dangerous.

  Eleven

  “Yes, Lord Thornton!” Marchford called from across the room when Thornton reentered the drawing room. Marchford was surrounded by a bevy of females of every size, shape, and age. He did not look happy about it. He walked over to Thornton with a trail of admirers in his wake. “What do you need?”

  Thornton was too good a friend to expose the man’s ruse, so he held his tongue until Marchford was close enough to whisper. “Am I in need of something?”

  “Yes,” said Marchford in a booming voice. “Yes, of course I can assist you. Forgive me, ladies, duty calls.”

  Marchford led the way out of the drawing room and Thornton followed him all the way upstairs to a little-used salon. There, Marchford sank into a leather chair and put his hand over his eyes.

  “Too much feminine society?” asked Thornton.

  “When I walked into the parlor, I swear I heard someone call, ‘release the hounds!’”

  Thornton smiled and sat across from him. “I seem to be in great demand tonight to protect people from unwanted suitors. Only one way to stop it.”

  Marchford gave him his full attention. “Which is?”

  “Announce yer engagement.”

  “Not you too. I am tired beyond words of matrimon
y. Besides, it is hindering my ability to search for foreign agents.”

  “Are ye certain there is a spy in our midst?”

  “I can be certain of nothing. I do know that a spy would not wish to miss such an assembly of London’s elite. I have gathered men to discuss plans for the war, but so many more people managed to acquire an invitation that I think it quite probable that a spy has weaseled his way in as well.”

  “How are ye going to flush out this spy of yers?”

  Marchford sighed again. “Have not quite figured that out yet. I hope an opportunity will present itself.”

  “Good luck, my friend. After yer success in catching spies, would ye no’ think any agent working for the emperor would be wary of ye?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Likely they would also carry a grudge. Ye may be a target as well if ye get in their way.” Thornton was ever wary.

  Marchford shrugged. “I would rather they come after me than another. If there is someone in society taking orders from Napoleon, no one is safe until that person is found.”

  “I am at yer service as always. I am surprised to say this, but I miss having Grant around. He was not particularly useful in a crisis, but at least I knew what side he was on.”

  “He was invited but is apparently still on his honeymoon,” said Marchford in a baffled tone.

  “Still? Long time, is it not? Ye would think he would grow tired of having naught but his new wife for company.”

  “True. Perhaps there is something to marriage we bachelors are missing.”

  The men pondered the question for a moment then laughed and shook their heads. After a glass of something and more talk of how to catch an enemy agent, they found the hour had grown late, so the two friends made their way to their respective bedrooms on the upper floor of the manor house. Marchford stopped and pointed without a word at his bedroom door. It was ajar.

  “Did ye leave yer door open?” whispered Thornton.

  Marchford shook his head and pulled a small pistol from his waistcoat. Silently, Thornton shuttered the light on his lantern and Marchford softly opened the door further.